Archive | November 2008

Alas, Something of a Set Back

Nov20

November 20, 2008
London

I am saddened to admit that I have had something of a set back and purely because I brought it upon myself by my long walk yesterday in Barnes. It is now clear to me that no matter how improved my feet feel, I still cannot thwart their limitations. There is now only so much walking I can do before my feet begin to show the ill-effects of such exercise. This morning, it was not just my left knee that felt uneasy but, sigh, my right knee as well–and this knee has never shown any signs of wear prior to this.

On the other hand, this new knee constriction might be a result of new knee-focused exercises that my physiotherapist Megan has asked me to do. They are challenging, create a burn in the knee area and could well be producing this reaction. Who knows? I do admit that I overdid it yesterday; but it is my belief that, in the long run, these new exercises will strengthen the knee muscles and that eventually all pain will disappear. But for the next two days, I will take it easy.

I took the bus to get to our Bedford Square campus today and also rode the bus back. Since I am teaching tomorrow as well (make-up class for the day we missed during Fall Break), I came straight back home to prepare my lecture for my class on Anglo-Indians in the two World Wars. Besides, Karen, my colleague, with whom I usually keep a dinner date on Thursday evenings, was also out of sorts, having picked up a stomach bug probably in Turkey where she spent fall break. She bowed out of our Thursday arrangement and also went straight home after teaching her class. With just three weeks to go before we pull the curtain down on the semester, everyone is feeling a little jaded, most of all my students who see the finish line ahead and are pushing themselves to crank out papers and start studying for final exams.

I finished editing my Christmas essay for The Examiner and should have it in the bag by tomorrow when I will email it to the editor.

Also with Ryan Air having emailed me information about their new free tickets drive, I managed to book tickets to Berlin once again and propose to be there at the end of January. There was also room at the Youth Hostel and I went ahead and made my reservations there as well. Hopefully, this time, I will be able to keep my date with the Fatherland!

I shall probably watch a little bit of Clockwork Orange over dinner and then have an early night.

Hauntingly Beautiful Barnes!

Nov19

Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Barnes

I awoke to a sunshiny morning and felt the day just hollerin’ mah name! Unable to resist, I finished grading another batch of student essays, caught up with my parents in Bombay, mapped out a route I would take to Barnes exclusively using the buses and set out with map, hat, camera, water and packed lunch.

It has now become something of an adventure to find my way to my destination using only buses. My monthly bus pass (purchased yesterday) allows me to use the bus network anywhere in London. That is pretty incredible and I decided that I must squeeze maximum value of out it. So since I am teaching both tomorrow and on Thursday this week and am going to spend Saturday in Cambridge, I figured today would be the best date to make use of it.

So off I went. I took Bus 19 from Gray’s Inn Lane and Theobald’s Road to Piccadilly Road from where I transferred to Bus 22 going to Putney. The driver was so kind and so informative. When I told him that I was headed to Barnes, he told me to hop off at Putney Bridge and catch Bus 485 from The Embankment (this is the Thames Embankment at Putney). This bus took me to Barnes Pond from where my walk began. I used Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London and had the glories of a stunning fall day all to myself to celebrate the season, the weather, nature and the joy of being alive and (almost) recovered from Plantar Fascittis.

I had been to Barnes before, a few years ago, on an exploration of the Thames. I remembered how charming this little village was and how difficult it was to believe that I was not twelve miles outside London. This time round, my forays began at Barnes Pond where the few yellow leaves still clinging to the trees made the scene magical. It was as if a bag of gold flakes had been shaken over the trees to bring them some holiday sparkle. As the ducks and the swans skimmed the surface of the pond in which a few stray weeping willows were also reflected, I thought of Shakespeare’s sonnet:

That time of year that mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or few, or none do hang
Upon those boughs that shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

It was so heartachingly beautiful and my heart sang in ecstasy at the warmth and splendour of the season. Temperature-wise, it was cold…colder than I had expected–I have yet to learn how to interpret Celsius temperatures–what does 9 degrees mean? I had worn a long sleeved cotton shirt, a cashmere cardigan and a suede jacket and I had thought those would be sufficient. But how mistaken I was. I really ought to have worn my down jacket, a scarf and my gloves too. Oh well…live and learn. NO regrets, though. Once I strode briskly along, I warmed up a little bit. And oh, I was also grateful for my new Ecco shoes which fit like a dream and made me feel as if I were walking on a cloud.

Across Barnes Green, I arrived at the memorial to rock singer Marc Bolan who was huge when I was in high school. He died suddenly in the 1970s when his girl friend who was driving a car back from a party, lost control. Bolan died instantly, his side of the car taking the ferocity of the blow. The memorial is placed on the exact spot in which he died. It is a quiet, almost hidden spot and is deeply moving. Placed there on the 25th anniversary of his death, it is also stirring for those of us who are Bolan’s contemporaries. He died just before he turned thirty and it made me realize how death has frozen him in age and time–he will forever remain young. Wasn’t it Laurence Binyon who wrote in his poem “For the Fallen” these lines when talking about England’s tragically lost war dead?

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

I thought of those lines at Bolan’s memorial, then, in thoughtful silence, resumed my walk across Barnes Common. I was the only walker on this rather chilly day and I have to admit that I started to feel jittery about halfway across it. It didn’t help that my walking notes informed me that I was entering the least frequented part of the Common, a part of London in which the notorious highwayman Dick Turpin lay in wait with his accomplice for people crossing the Common then attacked and robbed them. A little later on the same walk was a part of the Common in which a lone walker once reported being waylaid by a frightful creature who scaled the iron railings that bordered the park and landed in front of him with a thud. For years after that, walkers all over the vicinity reported sightings of a hideous creature who appeared fearsomely and scared the living daylights out of them. I decided that I would not walk alone in such deserted stretches again–at least not on days when most people are tucked up cozily by roaring fires at home!

Just when my thoughts threatened to make me feel deeply uneasy, I reached the end of the deserted stretch and found a bench on which to eat my sandwich lunch. A few people passed by, clad warmly to walk their dogs, their garb including the traditional olive-green very English “wellies”. When my feet had rest sufficiently, I resumed the walk again, this time arriving at Milbourne House, the home that 18th century novelist Henry Fielding had purchased just before he became a success with the pulication of his novel Tom Jones. Surprisingly, no one I asked knew where Milbourne House was though it stared them in the face not two hundred yards away!

Around the corner from the antiquated Essex Lodge, I walked along Barnes High Street with its rather smart shops to The Terrace, a quieter embankment which I recalled having walked over the last time I was in Barnes. There was Barnes Bridge with a pretty part of Hammersmith evident in the distance at the opposite end. I walked beneath it, passed the house once occupied by composer Gustav Holst and arrived at the historic White Hart Pub for which the White Hart Lane is named.

This street contains a number of very enticing stores selling one-of-a-kind items. Two of my favorite stores are on this street–The Dining Room Shop and Tobias and the Angel. The former was so crammed with shoppers that I wondered if there was a pre-Christmas sale on! They fell all over the merchandise which consists of antiques for the dining table including crystal and glassware, china and linen. There were baubles and ornaments of every variety and a whole load of items that would make handsome gifts–no wonder everyone and her sister was there! Best part of all was the fragrance in the store and whether these came from the bags of pot pourri (“still only ten pounds”) or the candles that lent their golden glow to the room, I am uncertain. Business was brisk and items were flying off the shelves. What I did know was that though I did not intend to shop, I could hardly tear myself away.

But then just next door, “The Angel” sat in her shop which exuded the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked mince pies. This store features handmade ornaments, mainly made of fabric and scraps of vintage material. It also sells antiques with a ‘country’ feel–lamp shades and pitchers and bowls and and accessories such as scented pouches filled with dried lavender. Though I have little doubt that all these things are handmade, I find it hard to reconcile the prices which are just outrageous. While I saw many browsers such as myself, I saw few buyers–which, I suppose, speaks for itself.

I then rounded a lane and found my way to the Roman Catholic Church of Mary Magdalen where in the adjoining graveyard was the strangest memorial in the world! This one commemorates the death of Richard Burton…no, not the actor, but the author, linguist and translator of The Arabian Nights. As a tribute to the long years he spent in Arabia, his memorial is a Bedouin tent! If you climb the ladder at the back–which I did–and peer into the glass window, you can actually see the ornate coffins of himself and his wife, Isabelle Arundel. I was so spooked by this sight that I quickly scrambled down the ladder and rushed out of the graveyard!
But then as I was leaving, in the midst of all those aged gravestones, mossy with the passage of time (Burton died in the 1880s), I passed a freshly-dug grave whose marble headstone was sprinkled over with pure white marble pieces. “This can’t be an old grave”, I thought. And so I paused to read the headstone and I swear, you could have knocked me down with a feather. The grave contained the body of a man who had been born in 1904 and had died in 1933. In the very same grave was buried his wife, a woman named Edith, who was born in 1905 and who had died in March of this year! Yes, she died at the age of 103 having spent 75 years as a widow!!! I couldn’t help but stare and imagine all those years that she lived alone, without another companion in her life. Somehow, the sight left me feeling terribly despondent while, at the same time, stirred by her extraordinary devotion to her husband.

Soon, I was crossing the street to get into yet another churchyard–this one the church of St. Mary the Virgin at Mortlake. Dating from the mid-1500s, the church is notable for its graveyard which won the award for Best Maintained Graveyard in 2001–imagine that! They actually do award prizes of this kind! A plaque inside explained the history of the grave sites. The oldest dates from the 1600s and many of them contain the remains of figures who were prominent in their respective fields in their day and age. I also visited the inside of the church which was eerily quiet and empty and had me rushing off in a hurry.

Then, before the sun quite set, I decided to find my way back home on the buses. I did so enjoy the long bus ride coming in and it was better on my return. The discovery of new spaces always interests me and the villages on the banks of the Thames are especially pretty containing as they do some very pricey real estate and very fancy shops that cater to the upscale tastes of this segment of suburban London.

I hope now to explore Putney and Chiswick and Hampstead and over the course of the month, before I return to the US and India for my winter break, I will have covered some pretty fascinating pockets of the city.

Back home, with my feet and my legs protesting loudly, I worked on a feature article for the Christmas issue of The Examiner, a Catholic weekly in Bombay, to which I have contributed a Christmas essay for the past six years. Naturally, since this is my first Christmas in England, I decided to pen a piece about my impressions which have been ‘cooking’ for several weeks in my head. I entitled the essay “Yuletide in Ole’ Blighty”.

I have finished the first draft and will start to improve on it over the next couple of days before I send it off for publication.

Another Visit to the Physiotherapist…and Christmas (Window) Shopping

Nov18

Tuesday, November 18, 2008
London

You know what they say…listen to your parents. Mine had told me weeks ago about Moov, an ointment for muscular aches and pains that is only available in Bombay. They had sent a tube over to the States through my brother Roger and Llew brought it from the States to me, two weeks ago. However, in the midst of preparing for our departure for Greece, I had stashed it away and only now that I have returned to routine with Llew’s departure, did I decide to try it out.

If you believe in miracles, you will believe in Moov. I applied some to the soles of both my feet last night before I went to bed…and believe it or not, this is one for Ripley’s Records! For the first time in at least seven months, I had no pain in my feet when they touched the ground first thing in the morning. I was so thrilled, I wanted to dance the polka! Incredible, astonishing, amazing. I lack words to express how splendid it felt not to have to face pain and discomfort first thing in the morning. Needless to say, I used another application this morning and have been relatively pain-free all day.

This morning, I had another appointment with my physio-therapist Megan Sumner who was very pleased with my progress. She did some more “soft tissue work” (read a massage of the soles of my feet and my calves) and also used the ultra sound machine to stimulate healing in my left foot which, ironically enough, is now giving more trouble than my right–which had been the one that had first driven me to the hospital. She told me that this is very normal. Patients often tell her that while the foot that had troubled them initially has healed, the other one starts to ache–a somewhat sympathetic reaction, as it were, brought on by signals from the brain during the healing process. She also gave me new exercises for my left knee which still has a bit of pain (because she says, the plantar wraps all around the leg and goes up to the thigh). When I told her about Moov, she said she was very keen to see this miracle medication. We can market it in this country, she joked, and make a fortune!

Back home, I returned to the grading of my students’ essays, did some writing on my blog and started to create web pages for my travels in Greece for my website. Then, after lunch, because the sun condescended to show itself, I decided to take advantage of its watery rays and hopped on to a bus to do some window shopping at Piccadilly and Knightsbridge.

Yuletide has arrived in ‘Ole Blighty if one goes by the exquisite windows in the major department stores. Despite the credit crunch and economic downturns, the festive spirit has not diminished. Though shoppers are seen at their frantic worst during the weekend, there were enough people at Fortnum and Masons and Harrods where I decided to check out some of the upscale merchandize that this country has to offer the discerning buyer. I found a wealth of luxury items to delight even the most jaded acquisitionist. At Fortnum, there was every possible edible goodie from teas and coffees to jams and marmalade, from chocolates and candy to cakes and puddings, from champagnes and caviar to smoked salmon and pate. The decorations matched the quality of the items being offered and as I scoured the shelves, I created my own little wish list for what I most coveted. Fortnum has a lovely porcelain tea strainer and cup custom-made for it by Herend of Hungary. Now I would love to see that in my Christmas stocking!

I took the bus next to Knightsbridge with the intention of checking out Harrods’ handsome inventory. Here, I became waylaid by Ecco, the store devoted to the manufacture and sale of quality walking shoes. My friend Cynthia Colclough had told me about Ecco when she came to visit me a few weeks ago and found my feet in such poor shape. I decided to go in there and see if they could provide me with an attractive pair of walking shoes with high supportive arches. Well, I was delighted to find that they had a mid-season sale on and a fine pair of brown shoes that fit me like a dream seemed to have my name written all over it. Without any ado, I asked the salesman to wrap them up and away with me they went! I am so pleased to get out of my sneakers, in which I have lived for the past four weeks. They are in rather a ratty condition now and it is time I placed my feet in something less clunky, though no less comfy.

Then, Harrod’s beckoned and in I went. The sight of so many scarlet wreaths all covered with metallic baubles was just too much. I felt as if I had been hit by a baseball bat, so violently did they seem to whack me in the face. Harrod’s had a mass of “traditional gifts” in their Christmas store from cashmere scarves and logo umbrellas to shopping bags and pen sets. There are hampers here too filled with wines and crackers and other temptations. There was also a Limited Edition Christmas Pudding for a whopping 50 pounds that came in a ceramic pudding basin packed in a velvet box complete with a signature seal! Two demos featured a magic black board and instant snow–both really novel but too pricey, in my opinion (as is everything in Harrods!) In the bakery section, I sampled the Chocolate Ganache Cake which was scrumptious and from the same section, I purchased a Cheese and Bacon Baguette which was still warm from the oven. What would I want in my stocking from Harrods? Well, I would settle for their wooden chest of assorted tea bags with the Harrods logo on the top. And I wouldn’t mind that LImited Edition Christmas Pud either.

It was time for me to rest my feet and return home on the Tube. I had the sudden brainwave to inquire of the assistant at the booth about the possibility of buying a monthly bus pass as I use buses so much now that my feet are incapacitated. He told me that I could have one for just 50 pounds and that it was valid for 30 days from the date of purchase. I promptly purchased one as it will serve me well until I leave London to return to the States exactly a month from now on December 19.

Back home, I did some more work on my web pages before I decided to call it a day.

My Typical ‘Commute’ to Work

Nov18

Tuesday, November 18, 2008
London

Returning to teach last Thursday, not on a double decker bus but on my own two feet, I realized that I had missed my ‘commute’ to work. I had used the entire month of September to experiment in an attempt to find the shortest, fastest, most interesting ways to get to work and back. Each time I had taken a different route. I had felt singularly fortunate to be able to do this as the Chancery Lane Tube station lies literally just 24 steps away from the entrance to my building, rather picturesquely named Bishop House–yes, Llew actually counted!

Having lived in the Connecticut countryside for twelve years, it takes us a minimum hour and a half to get anywhere in New York City! I still have to pinch myself to believe that here, in London, I am anywhere I want to be in under a quarter of an hour. Occasionally, I’ve checked my watch to make sure it hasn’t stopped as I simply cannot believe that I can get from Marble Arch to Holborn in 16 minutes flat!

High Holborn is busy during the week but deadly quiet at the weekend. Because Bishop House shares a common wall with Gray’s Inn, one of the Inns of Court of Chancery, solicitors, barristers and their support staff pour out of their chambers all day dressed in stylish business attire, carrying bulky briefcases, their lattes smoking in their firm grasp.

At Holburn Tube Station, I make a right on to Southampton Row, then a quick left into a lovely pathway called Sicilian Avenue, which is really a passage between two beautiful old buildings. The lane is bordered by charming restaurants and boutiques whose window displays change periodically and offer endless interest to me. The mouth watering aroma of smoky bacon wafts towards my nostrils from the plates of hungry patrons fuelling up for the day on full English breakfasts. At the next-door florist, I recall Mrs. Dalloway who stopped to smell the roses, as I admire the chartreuse shade of the early chrysanthemums.

Then, I make a left, cross the street and enter the garden at Bloomsbury Square immortalized by the Modernist scribes of the early 20th century who took their collective name from the neighborhood they loved so well. Across the rather tired green lawn sprinkled with a few fatigued benches sit idlers with no particular agenda for the day and I have often felt the urge to join them.

I cross over into Great Russel Street where the imposing presence of the British Museum always overwhelms me, speaking as it does of hoary antiquity. I pass by its wrought-iron railings on the side of Montague Street where a gaggle of Edwardian hotels provide, I am certain, lovely accommodation for the many visitors as eager to explore London as I am. They are welcomed by cheerful striped awnings and windows whose boxes spill over with a profusion of gay blooms. At the very end of the road, I see the grand lettering SOAS and I find msyelf delighted that I can use the vast library resources of this world famous institution of higher learning–the School of Oriental and African Studies.

I cut into Montague Place, the other end of the British Museum, where at the Edward VII entrance, foreign students giggle as they take pictures with one of the famous stone lions. The Senate House is on my right–its severe lines having provided inspiration for the forbidding ministries of public control in George Orwell’s 1984. I am not surprised that Hitler supposedly did not bomb this part of Bloomsbury as he wished to convert the building into his SS Headquarters after he had invaded Great Britain. That was some wishful thinking!

At the end of the road, I turn left sharply into Bedford Square, pass the Georgian houses surrounding the green patch of mature oaks and elms and hasten towards the comfort of my basement office in the building whose porch proclaims ” NYU in London” on the marble pavings. This is, as Virginia Woolf would have said, a room of my own –though I do share it with my colleague Karen.

And I am so proud to be one of its occupants.

My Ideal London Day

Nov18

Tuesday, November 18, 2008
London

Now that my feet are capable of carrying me once again wherever my heart desires, my thoughts turn to my idea of an ideal London Day.

I’d saunter down High Holborn, turn left at Kingsway, dodging the frenzied commuters at the Tube station . I’d make my way to Covent Garden and spend a goodly hour browsing in the antiques shops of the Jubilee Market. Pausing to examine a Bakelite bracelet in ivory from the 1930s, I’d strain my ears to listen, then decipher the Cockney twang on the tongues of the dealers hustling in old watches, chipped china mugs, rusted medals and vintage necklaces. Then, because I know better than to part easily with hard-earned pounds, I’d beat a hasty retreat and walk along the cobbled by lanes in which Victorian horses once pranced towards the imposing columns of the Neo-Classical National Gallery.

I’d spend the better part of the next two hours studying Old Masters’ works in their carved and gilded frames forcing myself to decide whether I prefer the Medieval landscapes to the waterscapes of Monet. I’d take a break on the benches by the stone lions of Trafalgar Square to eat my homemade sandwiches stuffed with such proper British ingredients as Stilton Cheese and watercress or better yet Scottish Smoked Salmon.

Then, I’d pull out my book 24 Great Walks in London and pick out a particularly hidden corner of the city in which to lose myself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, smoky pubs, Anglican churches and square gardens whose flower-beds incredibly bloom with giant David Austin roses though seemingly neglected by all. I’d take pictures spontaneously of flowers spilling out of wrought-iron window boxes and fat pigeons foraging for crumbs in deserted alleys. Reading every blue plaque I pass by, I’d thrill in the knowledge that Dickens once strolled these streets or that Virginia Woolf dallied with her literary pals in a fragrant tea room.

At sundown, I’d get to the West End to pick out a drama by an easily recognizable name–perhaps Shaw or Shakespeare or David Mamet. When the curtain rises, I’d gasp because I can recognize each of the actors from the PBS TV series I watch in the States and I’d play a little game with myself to see how quickly I can recall which shows they were in and which roles they played.

Then, I would emerge on a darkened London evening under starry skies and disappear again into a historic old pub to down a swift half of their best draft beer while watching drunken lawyers in loosened ties play at darts against the backdrop of varnished mahogany bars.

Too exhausted to do much else, I’d lollop around my living room while catching the BBC’s last newscast for the night.

Come to think of it, before my feet protested, this was often my kind of London day.

Reading, Blogging, Grading, Viewing, Listening…

Nov17

November 17, 2008
London

On a day that began with rather dismal weather, I awoke to the eerie quietness of a flat that seemed to sorely miss Llew’s presence. It was still only 6 am, but I decided to get back to routine, which meant spending an hour reading in bed. I have begun The Mature Mind: The Positive Power of the Aging Brain by Gene D. Cohen, a recent birthday present from my friends Shahnaz and Mukaram Bhagat of Bombay who handed it to me personally on their recent visit to London. It is rather technical going at the moment as the author explains the workings of the brain and those parts of it that sharpen with time when the ability to make connections far from slowing the brain allows it to come up with rather creative problem-solving techniques.

With Chapter One done, I turned to my Blog and relived the joys of our Greek Odyssey in the pages I filled for the many days we spent on the mainland and while cruising through the Cyclades. I will now turn to my website and create a few pages there while adding pictures that will bring our holiday to life. Documenting in detail the great time we had together, made me miss Llew very much and I do so wish we could have spent the year together in London. I know he would have loved it as much as I am doing; but on his first day back at work in New Jersey and his undertaking of a new assignment in a new department, I did wish him the best of luck and much success. Of course, he did call as soon as he arrived at work at the start of a new day and I heard all about his return flight and the odds and ends he has left behind in my flat.

Then, I sat to grade a few of my student’s essays. The sun made a brave attempt to break through the clouds while I was at it and I wondered whether I should venture outdoors. When I saw the weather forecast and realized how cold it was, however, I decided to stay put and continue with the grading. I went through half a pile before I returned to my own travel writing with the intention of finishing the lot tomorrow.

With the calls I made to my parents in Bombay and to Llew in the States and the online dialogue I had with Chriselle, it was 4pm before I quite knew it and with darkness having fallen outside, I decided to go out for some air. Walking through Chancery Lane and on to Fleet Street, I took a bus to the National Portrait Gallery. One month ago, I would have walked there and would have scoffed at the idea of taking the bus…but now that my feet are slowly healing, I am determined to lavish them with some TLC. Anyway, I love riding the buses and I do look forward to the day when I will hop, a la Bombay buses, on to the back of a Routemaster and sail down Fleet Street feeling for all the world as if I am in the Fort or Colaba area again!

I spent almost two hours at the National Portrait Gallery. No matter how often I visit, there is always something new to see. And this time, there were the infamous portraits of the Queen taken on her Golden Jubilee by Annie Lebowitz that caught my eye as I walked to the cloakroom to hand in my coat. I was struck by how aged the Queen looks. When did she grow so old? When did she put on so much weight? How did that elegant lady in her hats and pearls become so forbidding? There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of a smile on her face in those portraits and I realized that she was either very bored, very cross or very unhappy the day she posed for the celebrated photographer. Shot in stark black and white, the pictures only emphasize the Queen’s distance from her people and I did not care for them at all. Was it the regalia in which she had chosen to be attired that made her seem so disconnected with the viewer? Was it the setting–Buckingham Palace–with its splendour reflected in the background that disengaged her so totally from the camera? I have no clue. What I do know is that I found those portraits too solemn, too grim, too lacking in any kind of human warmth or compassion and whether this is the fault of the sitter or the photographer is hard to fathom.

I began on the second floor and went chronologically through the collection starting with the Tudors. Almost all of these people are now instantly recognizable to me through the many movies and TV shows I have watched that have documented this epoch. The rarer portraits of Dudley and Devereux, Queen Elizabeth I’s alleged lovers, were interesting for the amazing similarity they showed with the actors who have played them in recent TV series. A girl passing with her boyfriend through the gallery saw the portrait of Dudley and said, “This was her boyfriend. She had his head chopped off”. Whew! Imagine that! She pronounced those words so casually, almost triumphantly, and with so much relish–as if she had something to do with the Virgin Queen’s decrees!

I progressed then to the more literary portraits that showcase Shakespeare and his contemporaries and called to mind the excellent lectures on the History of Renaissance Literature that I had attended in the classes of the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala at Elphinstone College, Bombay. Portraits of Beaumont and Fletcher, Sackville and Norton, Wyatt and Sidney took me back to those undergrad classes and I thought it lamentable that other stalwart writers of the period were absent–such as Spenser and Marlowe, either because they never had their portraits painted or because none exist to be acquired by the Gallery.

In the Civil War section, I put faces to the names of those monarchs whose history I recently reviewed at the Banqueting Hall–James and Charles I, James and Charles II and their wives. I learned, for instance, that Catherine of Braganza brought to Charles II as part of her dowry not just the islands of Bombay, but Tangier in Morocco as well. I saw why King Charles spaniels are so called. It was because Charles I loved them and popularized them in his court. He is seen in his portrait posing with one such puppy in his lap. I read interesting extracts from the diary of Samuel Pepys in which he records his experiences, including the crick in his neck that he received from having to pose endlessly for his portrait. I was only able to complete seven rooms, however, when I was politely requested to return tomorrow as the Gallery was closing. I have resolved to return on a Thursday or Friday night when the gallery remains open till 9 pm. I intend to go through each of the rooms at leisure but because the space is small, I can see myself accomplishing this goal within a week.

Then, I walked briskly down Monmouth Street, stopping at Starbucks to purchase a Black Forest Cupcake that is special to the Christmas season, and arriving at the School of Oriental and African Studies where, in the Brunei Gallery, Dr. Gary Day of De Montford University in Leicestershire, was scheduled to give a lecture at 6. 30 pm on “Class in the UK”. The audience consisted mainly of NYU students taking courses on British Politics and Government, but because I learn so much from these varied points of view, I try to make it a point to attend. Day’s views–he calls himself a Marxist Socialist–so riled up the capitalists in the American student audience that the Q&A that followed the lecture was indignant and aggressive. In proposing a classless society in Great Britain, created through the payment of equal wages to every single person irrespective of the kind of job he did (a somewhat Platonic concept if I remember The Republic correctly) , Day met with much opposition from my students who boldly refuted his perspectives. It made for a lively evening and one I much enjoyed.

On the way back, I stopped to pick up a few essentials at Tesco and Sainsburys, then ate my dinner while watching a few old Britcoms on GOLD, the channel that has resurrected the most beloved ones. In these days of reality TV, for those of us who are allergic to such programs, this channel is a savior and I am so glad that I discovered it.

Goodbye Llew…and a Treat at Carluccio’s

Nov16

November 16, 2008
London

Hard to believe that Llew’s two-week vacation has come to an end. But neither one of us is complaining. We had a fabulous time together and made the most of every minute. Greece was splendid and our days in London were packed with wonderful activity. Llew left for the States this afternoon taking with him many happy memories of our autumn break together…and, not surprisingly, in the midst of our parting, he left his scarf behind in my closet–a small reminder of his presence, therefore, still lingers in my space.

We started our day with the 9 am mass at St. Etheldreda’s Parish at Ely Place where, after the service, we visited with our next-door neighbor Barbara Cookson. Llew packed his suitcases over coffee and within a hour, we set out to see the Elgin Marbles at the British Museum since Llew wanted to examine them again after having visited the Parthenon in Athens. Maybe because I was so sorry to see him go away, my mind refused to work and we ended up walking to Fleet Street to catch a bus to Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery and it was literally when I was on the steps of the National that it occurred to me that we were in the wrong place. We ought to have been in the British Museum to which we could have walked from my Holborn flat. Talk about the mind shutting down!!! Mine seems to be doing this much too often these days. Or maybe it’s just the fact that London has too many museums!!!

So, we walked to the British Museum in a very fine mist–not a drizzle, not a spritz–the teasing sort of spray that reminds you that it is raining! Within ten minutes, we were inside, looking at the sculpture that was taken away by Lord Elgin from the exterior of the Parthenon and brought to England. Somehow, neither one of us was impressed. In fact, we were left colder than the marble from which they were sculpted and I did turn to Llew and say, “Doesn’t have much of an impact, does it?” He seemed to agree for he really didn’t have a major reaction to the sculpture at all. I guess we’d have preferred by far to have seen the work on the walls of the Parthenon themselves. I did want to take a look at the Karyatid that is supposed to be in the British Museum. This is one of the six female sculptures that is on the Erechtheion, another building on the Acropolis. But it was nowhere in sight and Llew was running late and didn’t want to linger–so I decided to seek it out on another occasion. Walking home quickly, we stopped at Sainsburys for a few groceries, before we ate a hasty Indian meal (Chicken Do Piaza, Bombay Aloo and Mushroom Pilaf–our last meal together for a while) and he left at 1 pm in time to make his 4.30 pm flight from Heathrow. He did not even have the time to eat dessert. Instead, he carried Sokolatina (a chocolate mouse pastry from Athens) with him and said he would eat it at leisure later–perhaps while waiting at Heathrow to board his flight!

I had barely turned away from the window from where I had waved goodbye to him, when my next-door neighbor Tim Freeman rang my doorbell to invite me to join him and his wife Barbara for lunch at Carluccio’s, the chain of Italian restaurants that is very highly reputed in London. I told him that I had just eaten lunch but would be happy to join them for coffee and dessert. I was so grateful to get away for a bit as I am sure I would have spent a dismal afternoon without Llew.

Instead of which I had such a great time in the superb company of these folks and made the acquaintance of Barbara’s niece, Hannah, who was visiting them for the afternoon. Hannah is in the process of buying her first flat near Milton Keynes. She is a lovely bubbly young lady, very smart and supremely poised. A marketing specialist, she works for a company that supplies maintenance personnel to large corporate firms–a company that employs over 20,000 people all over the UK. Spending the afternoon with them really took my mind off Llew’s departure and I was able to return home in very good spirits indeed. How very kind and thoughtful of them to have included me in their lunch plans! I feel so deeply grateful.

As for the famous Carluccio’s, it truly lived up to its reputation. Tim very cleverly ordered the sort of large appetizer platters that allow for casual ‘grazing’. Though I had no real intentions of eating, I found myself drawn towards the salami and the grilled peppers smeared with pesto, the bruschetta and the prawns and the most delicious caponata I have ever eaten. I was even more thrilled to discover that one can purchase portions of it to take home. Except for the fact that my fridge is full of food, I’d have taken home a tub; but it is a treat I will postpone for another day–besides, it is so great to know that Carluccio’s is so close to our place that I can nip in there at any time and get myself a tubful!

The best part of our meal, however, was dessert. The three of them ordered the Lemon Tarts (and I can see why because the piece Tim passed me so I could taste a bit was just fantastic). I went for a Sponge Cake soaked in rum, studded with toasted almonds and chocolate shavings. Tim also ordered two glasses of Limoncello, one for him and one for me and boy did that go down smoothly! It took me right back to Naples and Capri where my friend Amy Tobin and I had sampled this sunniest of liqueurs and truly enjoyed it–unbelievably only this past March. Somehow with all the travel I have done this year, Italy already seems years away.

So I guess I will return to routine now as I catch up on my travel writing, my grading of student essays and the transcribing of my interviews. With Llew having returned to Southport, my own holiday has come to a close and it is back to the salt mines for me, come tomorrow!

Entertaining The Cranes and A Slap-Up Dinner at The River Cafe

Nov16

November 15, 2008
London

Llew decided to enjoy a lazy late-morning lie-in as his cough had kept him awake almost all night. I nipped out to Paul’s Patisserie to pick up an almond croissant for Llew and then to Marks to purchase a few ingredients for the luncheon meal we were putting together for my cousin Cheryl and her husband David Crane who, bless their hearts, traveled from their home in Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent to see Llew one more time before his return to the States.

David enjoys a very limited repertoire of foods and since minced meat in any form is something he will eat, I purchased Moussaka from Sainsburys for our meal. Neither Llew nor I feel enthusaistic about cooking for parties here in London as I have very limited kitchen equipment–enough for a couple, perhpas, but certainly not for a party. In keeping with our recent return from Greece, I planned the menu around Mediterranean Island cuisine and decided to serve Greek salted pistachios, mini scotch eggs (something David will eat) and Wensleydale Cheese with ginger together with walnut and apricot bread for appetisers. I threw together a Greek Salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers and onions and topped the lot with thick wedges of feta cheese. Then I dressed the whole salad with extra-virgin olive oil, vinegar and dried oregano. For dessert, I had planned on Greek style yogurt with honey topped with roasted chopped nuts and figs.

When Llew did awake, he helped me with the cleaning of the flat and the bathroom as my maid Felcy has deserted me completely. There is simply no sign of her and I feel like one of the housewives in India who always complain to me about their maids every time I visit them. Now that I do have one, here in London, I finally understand their anxiety! After I lay the table and rustled up the meal, we actually found the time to relax for Cherry and David did not come in until a little after 1 pm.

We had such a lovely afternoon with them as we told them about our holiday in Greece and heard about their visit to the Channel Islands–they had recently returned from Guernsey. I really do enjoy their company and feel sorry that they live so far away–Cherry is my Dad’s late sister Alice’s daughter and when we were growing up together in Bombay, our families were so close and met frequently. Still, I feel pleased that I am still in contact with so many of the members of my extended family and that I see them wherever in the world I travel.

Soon, too soon, darkness had descended upon Holborn and the Cranes made a move. This left Llew and me about an hour to clear up and put away leftovers before we got ready to leave for our big meal out. I have been looking forward to this evening for ages as I had made reservations at The River Cafe months in advance of Llew’s arrival in London. It is difficult to get a table at this very popular and very well-reviewed London eatery that set new standards when it was first opened in 1987 by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers whose husband is Lord Richard Rogers, one of England’s most famous architects. The duo work hard to source only the finest ingredients and have created an Italian menu that changes frequently in its emphasis on seasonal ingredients served with flair and expertise. I was eager to share this dining experience with Llew and was so glad that I could get seats while he was visiting London.

Getting to the restaurant in Hammersmith proved to be a Herculean task indeed. It involved a long Tube ride to Hammersmith and then a cab ride into what seemed like the middle of nowhere. It seems that the restaurant which is located on the Thames Path East is based in the former Dickhams oil storage facility that was converted into a restaurant by Lord Rogers. It featured an open kitchen (something rather revolutionary for England at the time) and recently went through another renovation. Llew and I were fascinated by a huge wall clock that is projected by a camera on a wall and that somehow keeps time. We were unable to fathom how it worked. Is the clock in the camera? Is the mechanism of the clock behind the wall? It was quite uncanny.

When we did get seated and were taken care of with immense finesse–our coats stashed away in a cupboard, the loo pointed to–the wine waitress appeared with the wine list. Llew went for a Cabernet Sauvignon, I chose a drier white, a Verdeca Farone. Bread was passed around with olive oil for dipping in true Tuscan style. The menu is not extensive, but every item sounded delicious and we spent a long time debating possible choices. Finally, we chose to split as a ‘primi’ a Linguine con Granachi with Devon crab, fennel seeds, chilli flakes, parsley and lemon, a dish so subtly flavorful that it is hard to describe. But for the fact that we still had separate ‘secondi’ to savor and I wanted to save room for dessert (or ‘pudding’ as they say here), I could quite easily have eaten a serving alone. Keeping with the seafood theme, I opted for Cap Santa Alla Griglia, a platter of chargrilled Scottish scallops with roasted squash and sweet potatoes on a bed of lentils. Llew, on the recommendation of the waitress, went for the Coscia D’Agnello, chargrilled marinated leg of lamb with Bagnet sauce, artichokes romana and Swiss chard leaves and stalks.

Both of us thought our meal was superlative. The scallops and the lamb were grilled to perfection and the accompaniments were paired brilliantly with the key ingredient. What’s more, portions were quite substantial indeed and though we were rather too full, we decided to split a dessert and forgo coffee. So, out came the dessert list and instead of choosing the Chocolate Nemesis which would probably have been our first choice, we went for the Amaretto Walnut Cake that was out of this world–the cake was chocful of roasted chopped walnuts and the amaretto liqueur had soaked so well into the cake as to flavor it entirely. A light chocolate sauce formed a fitting topping to the very inventive pudding. Llew and I sighed when it was over. We had spent a lovely evening together, watching the beautiful people around us, all dressed to kill for a night that was clearly special to each of them. There were older couples with their younger children and women diners who looked like models from a fashion magazine. I tried to do some celebrity spotting but have to admit that I do not really recognize any of the local celebs, so though there might have been a few around, they made no impact on me. Despite the fact that his cough had made Llew feel out of sorts all day, his spirits were lifted immensely by the meal. I was glad that this was our parting dinner, the last one we would enjoy together until we meet again in the States when I return to Connecticut for Christmas.

We obtained directions to the bus stop and outside, in the mild night air, we walked the five minutes to it. A bus showed up within five minutes and we were soon at Hammersmith Station. For the first time since my arrival in London, I fell asleep on the Tube–blame the wine, I guess–and was glad that Llew was with me to wake me up at Holborn.

It had been a fulfilling day and as we fell asleep, we savored our last night together. I tried hard to forget that Llew will be leaving tomorrow.

House of Lords, Banqueting House and “Wicked” at the West End

Nov14

Friday, November 14, 2008
London

Prince Charles turned 60 today and in his official birthday portrait, I realized with a start how much he has aged. Another Charles was very much in our thoughts as Llew and I toured the Banqueting Hall this morning…but let’s begin at the beginning.

BBC’s Breakfast Show reminded us repeatedly that it was “an unseasonably mild day for this time of year” and not intending to waste a minute of it, we set out on a self-guided walk entitled “Wanderings In Westminster”–what would we do without Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London? We fuelled up well on a carb-heavy breakfast (Waitrose’s Muesli, Walnut Bread and Sainsbury’s Three Fruits Marmalade) and set out, somewhat lightly clad, much to our regret, for the day turned progressively cooler and we were freezing by the time we got home at 4 pm.

Still, the day started out beautifully and on the Route 11 bus from Fleet Street, we enjoyed inching our way slowly to Westminster Underground Station from where we launched into our rambles. First stop, The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. We have, of course, admired those buildings often and from many angles–even on memorable landings into Heathrow airport at the crack of dawn. But never had we visited the interiors–simply because we always thought it involved a huge song and dance. Permission had to be obtained from local MPs, appointments had to be made, etc. etc. Well, we couldn’t have been more wrong. A jolly policeman at one of the security posts informed me quite simply that all I needed to do was walk a few meters ahead to a gate where entry to the House of Lords could easily be obtained.

Llew and I stared at each other in astonishment. Though a visit to Parliament was very much in my plans before I returned to the USA, neither one of us expected to tour the hallowed premises this morning. So, we couldn’t get over our good fortune when we were marched in through innumerable doors and heavy security gates that involved the taking of our pictures and the presentation of visitors passes, not to mention personal frisking and a surrender of our personal property, before we were permitted to enter. Since only the House of Lords was in session today, we were admitted into the ornate chamber that contained the even more ornate throne on which the monarch sits during her rare visits to the House. Immediately, we were struck by the similarity of these interiors with those of the Houses of Parliament in Budapest, Hungary, which had been modelled entirely on those of the UK and sits serenely upon the Danube. The elaborate decoration on walls and ceilings, floors and pillars that included gilding and sculpture and paintings left us unable to decide exactly on what we should focus. Best part of all was the long and somewhat forbidding Westminster Hall with its timbered ceiling and stone walls–the only part of the buildings that remained intact despite a catastrophic fire in the mid-1800s. It was here that we walked through the pages of funereal history, here that Thomas More appeared before the tribunals to plead his case before being sentenced to death, here where kings and queens have lain in state upon departing this life. It is hard to fathom how closely the stories of British Parliament are connected with the stories of royalty until one enters such august interiors and breathes the very air of solemnity that prevails.

We were seated in a queue until enough space was found in the galleries to accommodate us. When our turn finally arrived, we were ushered up a spiral staircase into the “Stranger’s Gallery” where antiquated notices on the wall informed that any form of participation would be considered “out of order”. Ha ha ha. As for the proceedings, there was a rather tedious presentation of an EU Committee Report on the increase of organ supply in the EU. A couple of people responded to the report, others shook their heads in a learned fashion and others looked plain bored as they sprawled in their seats in rather undignified a manner. I thought I recognized the Goan MP Keith Vaz who is somewhat unmistakable with his bald pate, glasses and cheerful smile–but I could be mistaken. He could well have been Swraj Paul for all I knew! Still, it was fascinating for us to watch the UK government at work and to see for ourselves the sort of scenes one has seen endlessly on TV over the years. What amused us was the sale of “House of Lords Apple and Raisin Chutney” in the gift shop together with more appropriate items such as 2009 pocket diaries and Christmas ornaments featuring the portcullis of the building.

Delighted at the unexpected opportunity to take in the experience of touring the Parliament Buildings together, Llew and I continued our walk. We passed by old and practically unknown parts of London tucked away behind the Parliament Buildings such as the home of T.E. Lawrence of Arabia and St. James’ Church on Smith Square before we arrived in Dean’s Yard and the school in which Ben Jonson, Christopher Wren and Sir John Gielgud was once pupils and from then on to the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. We’d have liked to have toured those too but time and my feet did not permit us to wander around at leisure. I decided to save that treat for another day.

Instead we crossed Birdcage Walk to enter St. James’ Park which looks totally different in its autumn avatar. Though most of the leaves have fallen already, there was a golden glow reflected in the duck pond where we saw magnificent black swans with vivid red beaks and grey mallards with orange beaks fight for crumbs. Then, we were crossing the Horse Guards Parade to arrive at the Banqueting Hall where we spent the most fascinating hour with audio wands that took us in detail through the history of the building, its spectacular Hall decorated with the ceiling paintings by Peter Paul Reubens that reminded us of England’s troubled Civil War years, the victories of Oliver Cromwell and the tragic execution of Charles I.

Needless to say, we found Reubens’ work compelling and were able to study the panels carefully through mirrored tables on casters that allowed them to be wheeled across the vast room so that the tiniest details could be scrutinized. Depicting the glorious reign of James VI of Scotland who became James I of England (father of Charles I), and the union of two great nations through the crown that sat upon his uneasy head (he was fiercely Catholic in a nation that had become staunchly Protestant), Reubens used classical mythology to glorify the king–the Goddess of Learning Minerva features prominently in the design as do fat and cheeky putti–cheeky because they had bulging cheeks and rotund bottoms! I marveled at the thought that it was within this room that the elaborate masques of Ben Jonson of which I had learned so much during my History of Literature classes, were once performed with even the King and the Queen taking part. The audio guides gave us such a wealth of insight and perspective on the many ways in which this single room affected the annals of history. No wonder Llew and I were absorbed for over an hour as we listened intently and gazed in awe.

The building is no less renowned for the architectural genius of Inigo Jones who was deeply influenced by the grandeur of Italy following a visit to the country and upon returning to England was determined to include, for the first time ever, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns in his work–forever leaving his mark on London’s landscape. Prior to his time, only the half-timbered buildings of Elizabethan and Tudor architecture had prevailed. Jones’ desire to introduce the classical lines of Andrea Palladio to England paved the way for the magic of Christopher Wren who was to follow a century later. I was thrilled that we visited this grand mansion–something I have long been meaning to do–and that we indulged in the opportunity to see a part of the city that few tourists visit.

We left feeling deeply moved by the poignant fate of Charles I on a day when another Charles, the man who will be king, celebrated his diamond birthday while waiting to ascend the throne. I have been told that when he does become King, he plans to change his name as the Charleses who preceded him to the throne have met with such morbid fates.

We were out on the street then in a day that seemed to have turned suddenly frigid and as Llew spent the afternoon resting at home, I caught up with telephone calls and made some more bookings for theater tickets in the spring. I am thrilled to have found practically the last available tickets to see Judi Dench in Madame de Sade and Jude Law as Hamlet, both at the Wyndham Theater. While Llew took a nap, I also managed to get tickets for a traditional British Christmas pantomime, Peter Pan, which stars Simon Callow (one of my favorite British actors) as Captain Hook in a version that will be performed in Richmond. My friend Jenny-Lou Sequeira from New Jersey will be here to spend a few days with me just before Christmas with her daughter Kristen and we thought she would especially enjoy this children’s show.

It wasn’t long before Llew and I were on the bus again headed for the Apollo Victoria Theater to see the musical Wicked–finally! Chriselle had seen this show on Broadway years ago when it first opened and had not stopped raving about it. The title refers to The Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz and the story of this play precedes Dorothy’s arrival in Kansas and her meeting with her co-travelers on the yellow brick road in the famous ruby slippers. Those, Wicked inform us, happens to belong to the Wicked Witch’s crippled sister, Nessa.

Chriselle, of course, knows The Wizard of Oz rather well having acted in it as a Munchkin years ago while still in high school. Llew and I enjoyed it but were not unduly impressed. While the sets and costume were spectacular, the music did not appeal to either one of us. Amazingly, the theater was full with not a single seat available and though we were perched high up in the Stalls, the opera glasses for which we paid a very reasonable 50 p allowed us to see the actors up close and personal. Though poor Llew has been afflicted by a horrendous cough that has kept him awake at night and made the viewing of the show rather dismal for him, I did cheer him up at the interval with that most British of theater traditions–a cup of double chocolate ice-cream that comes in a cup with its own spoon cleverly attached to the cap! Far from annoying his throat even more, the ice-cream seemed to soothe it and he was spared a coughing fit for a good half hour after he enjoyed this treat.

We were out into the cool night air soon enough, looking for a bus that would take us back home to Holborn. Passing down Oxford Street, we realized that Yuletide has arrived in London as strings of lights hang in chandelier-fashion above the roofs as the buses pass under them and the department stores seem to be vying with each other in the dazzling spectacle of holiday lights that adorn their premises. It is a great time to be in London and we are soaking it all in.

Back in the Saddle Again

Nov13

Thursday, November 13, 2008
London

It was difficult, this morning, to snap out of holiday mode and resume the tenor of working life. But get back into the saddle I did this morning as I set off, on foot, for Bedford Square to teach my two classes. My students regaled me with stories of their respective vacations in exciting European venues–Athens and Amsterdam, Brussels and Berlin, Madrid and Rome and Venice and Bruges. It seemed they had been everywhere. But with midterms cleared and the end of the semester staring them in the face, they are cranking up the pressure upon themselves to produce the best work they can in the remaining weeks before we close shop for our winter break.

Classes done, I kept office hours during which I had a meeting with David Crout to plan our field trips for next semester. I am hoping to take my students to Cornwall and to Portsmouth and Winchester. Then, I left work to return home to Llew. He had spent the day taking a self-guided walk in Belgravia based on my book 24 Great Walks in London and had traipsed through the homes of Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, novelist Ian Fleming, author Arthur Conan Doyle and had seen some tiny pubs in out of the way places that made his wanderings rather wondrous, he said.

Our plans to walk along the Thames Embankment in the evening after night had fallen to take in the illuminated monuments had to be nixed as a steady drizzle throughout the afternoon made it unpleasant. Instead, we sat at home and watched the opening scenes of Todd Haynes’ film I’m Not There based on the life and music of Bob Dylan. Because we were so cozy together on the couch in our living room, Llew actually commented that it felt as if we were back home again in Connecticut–I actually dozed off in the midst of the movie–just as I do at home!

A half hour later, we dressed and left our flat to join my colleague Karen Karbeiner and her husband Douglas at The Bleeding Heart Tavern, a recommendation of my next-door neighbor Tim Freeman who together with wife Barbara has tried out most of the eateries in our area. This old establishment is hidden away in a secret cobbled courtyard in Holborn and boasts a colorful history. Associated with Lord Christopher Hatton (after which the adjoining street, Hatton Garden is named), consort of Elizabeth I, and his wife Elizabeth Hatton, the watering hole was frequented by many an Elizabethan rake at a time when the street was known as Charles Street and the public house also went by another name. Then, it is said that Elizabeth Hatton was dragged dramatically out of the tavern by a jealous jilted lover who spirited her away. The next day, her body was found torn to pieces, her heart still bleeding hideously over the cobbled stones of the courtyard which from that time onwards bore its arresting name.

On that ghastly note, we ordered our drinks and dinner from a small but very impressive menu. Karen and Llew went for the lamb burgers, Douglas chose the whole roasted baby chicken and I opted for the Traditional Fish Pie. The fact that we polished our plates so thoroughly makes no other comment about the food necessary. Though the noise in the tavern was rather loud and we had to strain our voices over the din, our conversation was scintillating throughout as Karen and Douglas told us all about their recent travels in Turkey–they went to Istanbul, Anatolia and Troy–and wanted to know all about our holiday in Athens and the Greek Islands. We had so much to tell each other about the culture, the people, the history, the food and the traditions we encountered. Then, because it had been a long day for Karen and me, we called it a night and Llew and I were delighted to be back home in exactly five minutes.

As Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is a another day”…