Archive | August 2013

An Adventurous Return Stateside!

Aug13


Sunday-Monday, August 10-11, 2013
 London
 
            It is customary for me to end my blog posts with an account of my last day—but this time round, my return home was fraught with so much drama that I simply have to include an account of it.
           
A Brush with Celebrity:
By a complicated routing that had involved arriving in Europe through Copenhagen, Denmark, almost two months ago, I had to return there to board my flight to the States. Easyjet was by far the cheapest way to do that—so there I was in a serpentine queue at Gatwick airport, at the crack of dawn, periodically passing by a young man that looked annoying familiar. And yet I could place him. Several minutes of rather agonizing brain racking led me to realize he was an actor whom I have grown familiar with through Doc Martin, a show I watch regularly on PBS in Southport. Although I did not know his name, I remember him as Al, the very slim son of the very fat Bert who runs a waterside restaurant, in the Cornwall-based TV series.
Well, I simply had to make sure I wasn’t just imagining things. So, the next time, we brushed shoulders, I stirred up enough courage to say to him, “Excuse me, but aren’t you an actor?” He gave me the slightest smile and replied, “Yes”. I continued, “Haven’t I been seeing you in Doc Martin?” And he responded, “Yes”, again with the same embarrassed smile. And that was it! How shy he was! When I got back home, I googled him and discovered that he is Joe Absalom, a very successful TV actor. And yet how easily he had managed to fade into a crowd. No fanfare, no fuss. How marvelous, I thought, to be an actor and enjoy so much anonymity. How Brad Pitt must envy him!
           
A Short Stint in Copenhagen Again:
          Well, my flight to Copenhagen was uneventful. I had plans to stash my baggage away in the left-luggage locker and go out into the city. But frankly, by this stage in the game, I was tired—yes, indeed, I did write that…I was tired, both physically and mentally—and I was ready to simply spend a few hours relaxing at the airport. And that was precisely what I did. At Kastrup airport, I actually wrote what I thought would be my last blog post about my last day in London. I had a really good lunch from Yam Tam Thai Food To Go (good noodles with Spicy Chicken Peanut Curry), did a spot of duty free window shopping and then boarded my British Airways flight to return to Heathrow which left Kastrup at 4. 25 pm. and was scheduled to arrive in Heathrow at 5. 30 pm.
         I clearly spied the great big bridge that takes vehicular traffic from Copenhagen to Malmo in Sweden—part of it suddenly disappears under water! We had passed right under this bridge while on the cruise—just as we were eating dinner on our final night at Tamarind restaurant.
Spectacular Landing at Heathrow:
            I know that some people who read this blog regularly poke fun of me when I report how much of a city I am able to sight from 10,000 feet above sea level. And they are more than welcome to their share of guffaws. But I will tell you once again, at the risk of becoming a butt of their humor, that the touch down into Heathrow London was simply one of the most spectacular in my memory.
            First of all, it was the clearest day ever. Not a puff of cloud appeared in the perfect blue skies. I am easily able to find my bearings when we are flying right over the city at my first sighting of the Thames or the Millennium Dome. But this time, it was the Olympic Stadium that leaped out at me—and I realized we were flying right over Stratford. Then it was Anish Kapoor’s strange sculpture at the Olympic Park that emerged, crystal clear, like an inverted red exclamation mark. And then there was the Shard—that inevitable steel pin rising up as if to touch the plane’s wing.
             Once I spotted the Shard, I realized that we were flying directly above Canary Wharf. Indeed the cluster of skyscrapers was directly below my window! It was simply fascinating! Then my eye drifted across the Thames and over Wobbly Bridge as I tried desperately to spot St. Paul’s Cathedral. You’d think that so massive a structure would be easy to distinguish. But it was a bit of a struggle in the close construction of buildings that comprise The City of London. But spot it I did…and so inevitable my eyes sought out Amen Court where I had spent the last week of my stay in London—and there it was, I swear, I am not exaggerated. It was obliterated by a few trees, but clearly visible beneath me. My eyes then drifted along westward and I clearly saw the red unmistakable points of the Prudential Insurance Building on High Holborn—and, of course, less than an inch from where I was viewing the earth below me was 7 High Holborn, the building in which I had spent close to two weeks on first arriving in London. No, its outlines were not as sharp as the Prudential which towers in height and in appearance, but again, the general sense of the building’s position was easily spotted.
               Next my eyes moved westward, with the plane to the Tower of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament and along Whitehall, I clearly saw the official buildings opposite the Cenotaph (which I did not spot) with the gaping O in the center—not visible to us when we are actually walking past them on Whitehall. On to Buckingham Palace which was bathed in golden sunshine and the Victoria Memorial where I had stood only a few weeks ago with elation the day after the birth of Prince George was announced. “I was there”, I thought, as the plane moved swiftly over Hyde Park where the Serpentine gleamed smoothly. And then we were over the Thames again, losing height rapidly. I tried hard to spot Hampton Court Palace but I was not able to although I was clearly over Barnes Bridge whose distinguishing iron work makes it very obvious.
             Finally, we landed at Heathrow Terminal 5. I had less than two hours to connect to another flight—to the US.  But this was a Virgin Atlantic flight departing from Terminal 3. I took the courtesy coach provided by Heathrow for inter-terminals transfers and checked into my Virgin Atlantic flight which was scheduled to depart from London at 8.00 pm. I had just enough time to recharge my I-phone and to use Heathrow’s complimentary wifi (available only for 45 minutes at a stretch) before I boarded my flight for my return to the States.
Unexpected Mid-Air Drama:
            And then, when we were settled with drinks and were two hours into our flight (over Ireland if one went by the flight map), the Captain came on the PA system and made the shocking announcement that he had made a turn mid-air (unbeknownst to any of us). A technical glitch needing urgent attention had led him to take the decision to return the aircraft to Heathrow. He promised to get back to us soon with developments. Once we got over our shock, the cabin crew brought us snack packets—those would have to suffice as dinner, they said, as there was no time to do a full dinner service. Needless to say, we were starving by then but, left with no choice, simply had to make the best of our situation.
            A few minutes later, the Captain announced that ground staff would meet us at Heathrow airport where accommodation for the night had been arranged for us. There was no word about when we would fly out. Right enough, Virgin’s ground staff met us after we cleared Immigration and picked up our baggage. The airport’s Hoppa buses were galvanized into providing us with transport to the Holiday Inn Hotel. There, hotel reception staff, in what seemed like a jiffy, provided us with keys to our rooms and a restaurant voucher for breakfast in the morning.  Virgin’s staff informed us that we were all to be put on a flight leaving the next afternoon at 1. 15 pm. We were instructed to reassemble in the lobby by 10.00 am for the complimentary transfer to the Terminal.
            Well, most people headed straight to the restaurant for dinner. I was sleepy and tired more than hungry and not able to face another public meal. So I took my key and my baggage, found my room and decided to settle down in front of the telly as I brewed myself a cup of decaff coffee and fished out the bacon and lettuce wrap that British Airways staff had served me on the flight back from Copenhagen and which was lying untouched in my backpack. Replete, I fell asleep in a thrice and only awoke at 7. 30 am.
            A quick shower and a change of clothing later, I was down in the lobby tucking into a enormous Full English Breakfast with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, baked beans, potato hash and black pudding—yes! What a terrific way to end a adventurous departure from London. As my friend Ian tweeted it, “Quite a dramatic way to ensure one more day ‘s stay in London!”
            Post-Breakfast, we were packed into coaches, met my more Virgin Atlantic ground staff, seen speedily through check-in and placed on a flight that does not even exist on the regular roster! Everyone was especially nice to us and apologies were made frequently. I had managed to contact Llew to inform him about the change in my flight schedule. He texted me to inform me that he would pick me up from JFK airport—and so it was not necessary for me to make a shuttle booking for surface transport from JFK to Southport (although Virgin Atlantic would have reimbursed me). My flight was very pleasant indeed and on schedule, we touched down at JFK at the end of what had been for me an incredible summer to remember,              
Parting Shot:    
           Thanks for following me so faithfully on this month-long journey and for the pleasure of your company as an armchair traveler. Until I am safely back in my London Roost again, I wish you goodbye and good luck.
            And of course, I end by saying, cheerio!          

Breathless But Blissful Last Day in London

Aug13


Saturday, August 10, 2013
London
Breathless But Blissful Last Day in London
            And so it arrived finally—as all good things must—the end, that is, of my near-perfect month in London. On the one hand, as I look back, it seems to have flown in a heartbeat. And, yet, on the other, when I consider how much I crammed into 30 days, it seems as if I have spent a lifetime here.
            Alas, the clock chimes of St. Paul’s failed to wake me up at the crack of dawn—7. 30 am was more like it. I used the time whilst the rest of the household snoozed, to pack my bags carefully. By 9 am, Cynthia was up and preparing breakfast—we had cold cereal (muesli), lovely toast made with fig and hazelnut bread, marmalade and tea, and then I continued doing the odds and ends that must be accomplished in preparation for a long flight across the pond. By the end of the day, even I am shocked by the ground I covered and the astute management of time that permitted me to complete almost all of the items on my To-Do List–not just for the day but indeed for the trip.
Quick Nip into the Tate Modern Museum:
            By 11. 30 am, with my packing under control and my mind in a relatively peaceful state, I crossed Wobbly Bridge on foot and headed to the Tate Modern Gallery. It was the one major museum I had not yet peeked into—I was keen to see the Roy Lichtenstein canvas called Wham that introduced the techniques of comic books into contemporary art. Alas, I was informed that the Lichtenstein exhibition had ended two weeks ago and the canvas was no longer on display. Fortunately, I had seen it many years ago—so I felt less badly about missing the opportunity.
            Since I was in the Tate, I took a round of its newest installations and then made my way up to the 3rdfloor—the café level—for stunning views across the Thames to the dome and spires of St. Paul’s. It is astonishing how much London’s skyline has changed since I lived in it. Then, only the Gherkin had dominated the landscape—today, there is the towering Shard and still in a state of construction, the Cheese Grater and the Walkie-Talkie! Ever imaginative, Londoners are perceiving these new icons with their characteristic dry humor.
            Although my visit was short, it was lovely to take in old favorites—the Picassos and Miros, the Braques and the Legers. But time was running fast and I had much catching up to do…
    
An Errand at the Globe Theatre:
            My next port of call was next door at Shakespeare’s beautiful Globe Theater that I had also not visited during my entire extended stay. A desire to carry back home some brochures proclaiming the offerings of the new Sam Wannamaker Theater for my colleague Karen who will be teaching a course to coincide with the 450th anniversary of the publication of the First Folio, I stepped into the lobby where Tours of the Theater commence. With my brochures safe in hand, I sauntered into the shop and was much humored by the witty aprons, oven mitts, note pads, coasters, key chains, etc. that bear Shakespearean quotes. I did not buy anything, however, and with my errand accomplished, I crossed Wobbly Bridge again, fighting hordes at every step before returning to Amen Court for a quick chicken sandwich lunch.
Time to Say Goodbye:
            Cynthia and Michael, mine hosts, were off to the famed Glyndebourne Festival—a major musical event–and I waited until they left at 1.00 pm, so as to bid them goodbye. They were not expected back home until past midnight, by which time I would be fast asleep. I did not expect to burst into tears as I hugged and thanked them; but sob I did! This foursome (which includes their sons) is like my family in London and I always get tearful when leaving them; but this time, my departure was made more poignant by the fact that I will never live with them in this glorious Christopher Wren home again as they will be moving shortly into a much more compact space where they will no longer be able to offer me the luxury of a room of my own with a separate bath. Although I know that I will see them again, the thought that it will be in a different location and in different circumstances, made me very nostalgic indeed for the many stays I have enjoyed in their warm, loving and hospitable home.
     
Off to Paddington:
            With Cynthia and Michael gone and my last day in London yawning gapingly ahead of me, I was delighted that their lawyer son Edward, who had a free Saturday at his disposal, volunteered to keep me company by spending the day in whatever way I wished. Thrilled to have his company, I mentally reorganized my day and off we went.
            Our first errand was in Paddington at Sussex Gardens, just near the famous St. Mary’s Hospital where Prince George was born three weeks ago. I had meant to present a small gift to my friend Bande Hassan at dinner last night. But I had clean forgotten to carry the present with me. I promised him that I would drop it off with his concierge and that was what Edward and I first did on having taken the Tube to Paddington.  Ten minutes later, we were dropping the bag off and leaving his building and looking for transport to take us our next location.
Antiquing on Portobello Road:
            Well, for a lover of antiques and vintage bricabrac, I suppose it is sacrilegious to spend an entire month in London and not find the time to browse amongst the Saturday morning stalls on Portobello Road. So, wanting to tick that box too, we took a bus to Notting Hill and began the long and painfully slow walk to the spot where the make-shift Saturday market sprouts up. It has been my recent unfailing experience that nothing but garbage is now to be found on the streets—cheap Chinese remakes of famous English porcelain patterns (the Redoute roses for instance on bone china mugs). Anything halfway decent is now in the shops that line both sides of the street but with much heavier price tags. There is plenty of “hotel silver” to be found now, mainly in the form of teapots, creamers and sugars and numerous salt and pepper shakers. But there wasn’t anything really portable and after a quick circle around the stalls, we retraced our steps and disappeared down the Tube stairwell at Notting Hill.
Whee! The Exciting Emirates Cable Car Ride!
            The Central (Red) Line took us directly to Stratford which was virtually the end of the line. This was the area that had buzzed last year at this time during the Olympic Games, From the Tube platform, we followed signs to the DLR (Dockland Light Railway) with the idea of getting off at Royal Victoria. About ten minutes later, we were able to see the capsules of the Cable Car and another ten minutes later, we had tickets in hand for the very pricey cost of 3. 20 pounds! Indeed, it was a steal and our excitement mounted as we mounted the platform to the embarkation area for a ride on the Emirates Air Line as the Cable Car Ride is called.
            Named for its sponsor, Emirates Airlines of Dubai, this newest London attraction (that is fast rivaling the Shard and the London Eye because it is so reasonably priced) has loads of offer. Not just is the cable car ride thrilling, soaring—as it does—high above the Thames, but its proximity to the Millennium Dome (the O2) on the other side, means one can then explore that exciting venue with its restaurants, cinemas, games arcades, etc. and its own newest attraction—the ability to scour the curve of it on the outside. Furthermore, the Cable Car ride offers fantastic views—from the Anish Kapoor sculpture in the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park near Stratford to the Thames Flood Barrier, from the towering heights of Canary Wharf to the bend in the Thames as it snakes towards the sea–you can take it all in. And it is deeply exciting! Very similar to the ski lift rides that are common at skiing resorts all over the world, the capsules move slowly to allow boarding and disembarkation. Ten people can be accommodated in as single capsule, so one is often clubbed in with a bunch of strangers, but it can be a very amusing experience overall. Edward and I enjoyed it enormously and would heartily recommend it to visitors to the capital.
            Upon disembarking, we walked towards the Millennium Dome and the Jubilee Line Tube Station at North Greenwich and twenty minutes later, we were at London Bridge to see another one of London’s new attractions, up close and personal, the Shard.
Circumnavigating the Shard:
            The reason the Shard is not as popular as it was predicted to be was its sky-high ticket to the Observation Deck. It is supposedly Europe’s tallest building, although even an assessment of its height from its base does not quite impress. It is a very interesting architectural design and chances are the top will always appear unfinished; but with the 30 pound ticket cost to ascend its dizzying heights, it is unlikely there will be many takers.
            I wasn’t interested in reaching the top—all I wanted to do was walk in its base and to circumnavigate its environs. This turned out to be far from impressive too. Indeed, there is really nothing much about which the Shard can boast—other than its height. Still, I was content that I ticked off yet another item on my Visit Wish List.
A Walk in Southwark and the South Bank:
            Realizing that we were very close to Southwark Cathedral, we decided to stroll along the South Bank of the Thames to take in its Saturday evening energy. Since Borough Market was wide open, in we went looking for end-of-business-day samples (or what the British call ‘tasters’) but there was nothing to be found as salesmen washed out their platforms and packed up for the day. Past Vinopolis we went and The Anchor pub and on past the many eateries that have mushroomed quay-side. We crossed Wobbly Bridge again and looking for sustenance, entered Le Pain Quotidien opposite St. Paul’s Cathedral where we sipped Americanos and hot chocolate and enjoyed pavlovas and chocolate tarts as we both badly needed a sit-down.
A Walk at the Inns of Courts at Chancery:
            Edward excused himself at this point, as he had an errand to run in Vauxhall. We decided to meet up again for dinner at Carluccio’s at Smithfield Market and off we went on the Tube.
            I took a bus down Fleet Street and got off at Chancery Lane in order to begin the last of my DK Eyewitness Guide tours as are to be found in the book. The walking tour wound through the back of the Royal Courts of Justice with their brick and granite work. I noticed, for the first time perched high on the corner of a building, the sculpture of Sir (and Saint) Thomas More, Chancellor of the Exchequer under Henry VIII, the Reformation’s most famous martyr. This is Holborn, heart of legal London, filled with grand buildings whose architecture never fails to lift my spirits.  On weekend evenings, the place simmers down to a whisper—only a few boisterous boozers can be heard at the few pubs that dot the warren of lanes.
            On Carey and Searle Streets I walked until, off Portugal Street, I arrived at The Old Curiosity Shop about which Dickens wrote a novel. It is definitely a 17thcentury structure that survived the Great Fire of London as is evident by its sagging roof and its overhung upper storey—typical of Tudor housing. Today, a shoe store takes occupancy within but tourists do come in their numbers to take photos of a very interesting corner of this part of the city.
            Lincoln’s Inn, one of the four Inns that comprise the Court of Chancery, is a magnificent Tudor structure with banks of characteristic fancy brick work, tall chimney pots, stone gargoyles and an impressive gate house. It is said that the playwright Ben Jonson laid some of the bricks of these buildings in the reign of Elizabeth I. Although I have wandered at will through the many nooks and crannies of this venue, I was unable to enter today as the area is closed to visitors during the month of August as a result of some construction activity within.
            No harm, no foul. I left and made my way towards Sir John Soane’s Museumwhich is also heavily scaffolded—due to refurbishment. It was closed, in any case, and having visited it on many occasions, I had no intentions of going inside to peruse the impact of Soane’s obsessive collecting of architectural fragments from around the world. On another side of the Square in which prisoners were once executed (it is rumored that the screams of their ghosts can still be heard on certain nights in the area) is the grand Neo-Classical façade of the Royal College of Surgeons that hides yet another little-known museum in its bowels—the Hunterian Museum (which I have also visited a few years ago).    
            And then, on another side, was the van with free food with hordes of homeless men clustered around it to claim their evening meal. Within half an hour, it was all gone and I found myself on Kingsway looking for the Church of St. Anselm and Sr. Cecilia as I wished to pay a visit since I would be missing Sunday mass tomorrow. That too was closed as the Saturday evening mass had ended about a half hour previously. My walk had accomplished a great deal—it had taken me through parts of London that I love because of my close familiarity with them, but it had also introduced me to certain facts of which I had remained ignorant.
            There was nothing left to do except enter Little Waitrose on High Holborn to buy myself some breakfast sandwiches for my early morning departure tomorrow. I did so and walked towards the bus stop at Brownlow Street to hop into a bus to Smithfield. By 7. 45, I was at Carluccio’s and awaiting the arrival of Edward.
Last Meal in London:
            Carluccio’sis one of my favorite London Italian chains—introduced to the city by Antonio Carluccio. I was introduced to it by my former neighbors Tim and Barbara, who often ate there on a Sunday evening. Edward arrived a few minutes later and we decided to have the 2 course prix fixe meal both of us choosing a penne pasta with sausage in a tomato sauce as our main dish and finishing off with Tiramisu which we washed down with red wine and Peroni beer respectively. We chatted about Bollywood movies of which, I discovered, Edward is a big fan. But by 10.10 pm, we had to call it a day and walking into the coolness of a summer’s night, we headed back to Amen Court where I finished the last bits and bobs of my packing. Edward very chivalrously took my cases downstairs in readiness for the cab driver who would be coming to pick me up at 4.00 am!
            And thus, quite suddenly, my time in London came to a grinding halt. I set two alarms to be on the safe side and to the chimes of St. Paul’s clock, tried to get to sleep. But tension made sleep elusive and when Cynthia and Michael returned after midnight, I was still awake and able to spend a few more minutes chatting with them before bidding them goodbye again. I continued to remain wide awake right through the night and at 3.30 am, woke up to start the long drive into the lightening dawn to begin my journey from Gatwick Airport and away from London.
            Yes, I will have to admit that tears blurred my eyes as they ate in the familiar landmarks of the city for I have no idea when I will return…but I live in the confidence that return I will. For when you have as much passion for a city as I do for T’Smoke, you never need much of an excuse to come back.

Parting Shot:
            So there you have it: My Month in Blighty. If I were to sum up its fruitfulness in terms of goals accomplished, I would say I did not do too badly. I researched, wrote, and worked with the editors to complete a commissioned essay on Paradoxes of Anglo-Indian Identity. I made contact with the Images Department of the National Portrait Gallery to obtain rights and permission for the use of pictures I intend to include in my forthcoming book. I  met with sociologists and anthropologists at The School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London to gain insights into the manner in which the manuscript of my book can be improved for publication. I had fruitful meetings with faculty colleagues and staff at NYU-London who worked hard to support my work in the computer labs. I used the British Library for checking footnotes and cross-referencing sources in my bibliography. 
           I completed every single one of DK Eye Witness Guides walks through London. On an average, I walked 6 miles per day or about 12, 000 steps. And I broke my own personal walking record by walking 12 miles or approximately 25,000 steps in a single day when in Oxford.
           Outside of Central London, I visited Hampstead and Greenwich, Oxford and Leeds Castle. 
           One of the most fulfilling of my many excursions was visiting my infirm friend Stan Fuller at the Madeley Estate Home for the Aged in Witney, near Oxford.
           The most exciting part of being in London this summer was my presence in the city during the birth of the heir to the throne. I participated actively, as any die-hard Anglophile would, by making my way to the gates of Buckingham Palace to photograph the easel that announced the birth to the world. 
            I met many old friends and made new ones. They provided company, meals, long chats and insights into the British way of life. I also unexpectedly met and spent time with my old friend from Bombay, Firdaus, who was visiting London at the same time.
           I made my home in four different parts of the city and I enjoyed them all–Holborn, St. John’s Wood, Battersea and Ludgate Hill. St. John’s Wood and Battersea were new to me but I enjoyed discovering them. 
          I saw five great plays and my first opera at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden. I also saw the Bolshoi Ballet perform Tchaikowsky’s Sleeping Beauty at Covent Garden.
          I think I can say that I packed more into my month than most visitors to London do in a year. I am always grateful for the opportunities that bring me to this, my favorite city–which is why I am almost manic in my consumption of its many pleasures. 

          Please stand by now for my last and final post—on my dramatic return to the US.

Friends, Shopping, Kyoto Gardens, More Friends, More Shopping…

Aug10


Friday, August 9, 2013
London
What do you do when you realize you have only two days left in your favorite city in the world? Do you complete the rest of the items on your sightseeing To-Do List? Do you spend them shopping for last-minute items? Do you panic that you will exceed baggage weight allowance and end up paying heavy charges? Do you fill it seeing friends whose contact with you makes your life more meaningful?  Well, in my case it was all of the above.
            So when I awoke at 8.00 am after a hellish night during which I stayed wide awake until 3.00 am listening to the bongs from the clock on St. Paul’s Cathedral and regretting the caffeine- laden chocolate drink I had consumed, last thing at night, from Paul’s, I skipped Mass and began to plan my day, literally hour-wise, as I had so much to pack in.
           
Breakfast with a Dear Friend at St. John’s Wood:
I showered and skipped breakfast and took the Tube straight to St. John’s Wood and walked briskly to Gail’s, the coffee shop at which I had plans to meet my friend Marilyn. Marilyn had been away from London for the past three weeks and had only just returned—hence the late date for our first meeting. Talking of Gail’s, have you noticed how many coffee shop chains have sprouted all over London, each better than the next? These Londoners are simply spoiled for choice—and every single one is packed so the economy had better be booming.
            Marilyn arrived ten minutes later but since we wanted someplace quieter to catch up in, we stepped next door into French Café Richoux which has the best pastries in town. Since it was breakfast time, we opted for something more sensible–she had Eggs Benedict sanssmoked salmon which I was quick to gobble and I had French Toast with an Americano. It was delicious but not as delicious as our long chinwag during which we found out all the exciting things that have happened in our lives since last we met a year and half ago, also in London. Marilyn was one of the close friends I had made during my life in London and she is someone I have clung to as I have gained nothing but wisdom, comfort and entertainment from our friendship.
            But then it was time to say goodbye and to get on with other items on my agenda.   
  
Shopping…
A bus from Wellington Road took me straight to Oxford Street where I found the side entrance to Mark sand Sparks—exactly the place I was seeking. I was in and out in a jiffy as I knew exactly what I wanted: my year’s supply of cotton undies. And from the Food Hall in the basement, two bars of their scrumptious Battenburg Cake which Llew and I love. Excess Baggage or not, I am going to have the room and the weight allowance for these!
An Errand at Victoria:
From the same bus stop at which I had alighted, I jumped into the 82 bus then headed to Victoria as I had a small errand to accomplish. I have been commissioned the submission of an essay on the new Shakespeare portrait that was unearthed a few years ago in Ireland and which is now considered the only definitive portrait for which he actually posed in his lifetime—and therefore, the most authentic likeness we have of him.  
A few days ago, when passing in a bus, I had spied the use of this portrait on the sign post of The Shakespeare Pub at Victoria and since I wish to illustrate my essay with a picture to indicate that this portrait is now so widely acknowledged as Shakespeare’s own that even pubs are using it, I wished to take pictures of it.          
So with my camera carefully recording it, I composed my pictures from all sides of this corner pub and when I was satisfied with the quality of my pix, I hopped on to the Tube at Victoria and headed for my favorite part of London. I got off at Holland Park and found my way to the entrance from the North side—I usually approach it from the Kensington side.
The walk from the South side approach was lovely—flowers were in full bloom in the gardens and the shady paths that led to the center were just delightful on this particularly temperate morning in London.   
Lingering in my Favorite Spot in London:
            So knowing London as well as I do, I guess if someone had to ask me what my favorite spot in the entire city is, I would answer without a second’s hesitation. So it was somewhat inexplicable, even to me, that I had not yet found the time to linger there until my second-last day in the city. I will keep you out of suspense by disclosing that what I mean is the amazing Kyoto Garden in Holland Park. I mean where else in a city would you see masses of azaleas blooming in vivid colors in the spring? Where could you tune the rest of the world right out as you listened to the soothing sounds of a tumbling cascade accumulating foamy water in a rock pool filled with giant koi? Where could you linger as peacocks, yes peacocks, came to say Hello and rewarded you with glimpses of their stunning tail feathers? Where could you pause to appreciate the calming qualities of Zen minimalist landscaping design? I have done all of the above in the gardens that were gifted to the UK by the Government of Japan. It amazes me that this place is not mobbed—but thank goodness it isn’t. I have the happiest memories of whiling away the hours grading my students’ papers on the stone benches of this garden while glancing occasionally at herons darting into the pool. I also have happy memories of introducing Chriselle to this memorable spot—a spot she too grew to love—as we chased peacocks for pictures on the park’s lawns.
            So naturally, I stopped there to relive those happy memories at the fag end of my London stay. I nibbled on my lunch—Carluccio’s take-out offerings. Savoring them quietly, I paused to give thanks for a brilliant month that will always remain in my memory as a marvelous time for self-reflection and self-growth in a city I adore.
           
Reliving the Romance of a TV Show:
            Then, because I was in Holland Park, I left the Kyoto Gardens behind me and arrived in the Orangery. The Belvedere Restaurant by Marco Pierre White, one of London’s best-regarded chefs, was right beside me. Since I hadn’t clicked any pictures from the terrace on the evening I was at the party thrown by my friends the Harveys, three weeks ago, I asked permission of the receptionist to do so this time. She readily agreed and up I went to the terrace which overlooks the formal Italianate Garden in which key scenes from my favorite TV show of all time were shot: As Time Goes By. This is the scene in which a young Lionel Hardcastle (Geoffey Palmer) meets a young Jean Pargiter (Judi Dench) for the first time and asks her the way to Curzon Street. I clicked a few pictures there as well as ones of the bench on which Jean pauses during her lunch break when she encounters a breathless jogger.
Yes, yes, I know I am quite quite hopeless when it comes to ATGB so you must forgive me my idiosyncratic excesses; but coming to Holland Park is always for me, a pilgrimage of sorts in the same way that Beatles devotees go to the crosswalk on Abbey Road and pose for pic there. See the similarity? So I am not that cracked after all, right?
More Shopping:
            Using the more conventional exit by which I USUALLY leave Holland Park, I arrived at Kensington High Street. This gave me the opportunity to check out a couple of thrift stores before I crossed the street and went to Waitrose to buy my stock of Ainsley Herriot powdered soups that are a staple in the Almeida household and much loved by Llew and me. With a dozen packets in my possession, I left my favorite pantry in the world and hopped on a bus again.
Off to Buy A ‘Stick’:
I rode it all the way to Bloomsbury as the next item on my To-Do List was buying myself a good quality umbrella from James and Co. at Bloomsbury, one of the oldest ‘stick’ shops in the country. Indeed it was in business at a time when gentlemen carried walking sticks—then a most fashionable accessory. Today with walking sticks no longer de rigeur, the shop sells umbrellas and very expensive ones too with fancy carved handles, real crocodile skin embellishment and sturdy frames as only the English can make them. I was fed up of the el cheapoJapanese ones that bend at the slightest sign of a wind so procuring a good umbrella was on my list.
            Alas, I did not find one that was pretty enough for my liking. I particularly wanted one with beige tones to match my Burberry trench raincoat and not finding anything appealing enough, I sadly walked out of the store empty handed. Perhaps on my next trip to London, I shall find the right one for which I will not mind forking out 100 pounds or more!
An Errand at NYU and the Post Office:
            Well, at that point my day went downhill. I decided to stop briefly at NYU to find out how much I owed for the mailing of my printed material to the States only to find that my box was still sitting in the mail room and hadn’t been send off. This meant an unexpected trudge to the Post Office at Holborn with Mark, our porter, to get rates and when we discovered how expensive it was to ship by surface through Royal Mail, we balked and decided to use the courier service instead.
So we trudged back to Bedford Square and Mark promised me that the parcel will be couriered first thing on Monday. I can only hope all my books, notes and other research material will reach me intact and soon.
Tea with Roz:
            It was almost 5,00 pm and I was late by half an hour for my cuppa with my friend Roz on Tottenham Court Road. I had left my jacket at her home in Battersea and she had kindly brought it to work for me to pick up. We planned to have a cuppa for the last time before my departure and seeing how distressed I was over my parcel, she marched me off to Yumcha for a pot of Chelsea Chai. And sitting and chatting with her and laughing at little things as we often do, my distress became a thing of the past. It was just wonderful to sit in (yet another) coffee shop and shoot the breeze with one of my dearest friends in London—probably for a very long time to come.
Home Finally:
            I said goodbye to Roz, got on the Tube at Goodge Street and headed back to Amen Court. I had wanted a short rest before I left for my evening’s dinner appointment, but the NYU wild good chase had delayed me. So all I had time to do was freshen up and change and leave the house again for my 6. 45 pm appointment with Bande Hassan, Llew’s former colleague and now close family friend.
Dinner with a Dear Friend:
            I took the Tube to Marble Arch and met him at Portman Square as decided and we strolled the couple of block to the London Hilton Hotel where the famous Italian restaurant Locanda Locatelli is located. We were soon joined by Kiran, yet another of his invitees, and then we gave ourselves up to the fun and relaxation of a great evening in superb company with amazing cuisine. Service, as befits a great restaurant, was impeccable and my red prawn risotto with zucchini flowers were perfect. For dessert I had a chocolate fondant with a pistachio sauce center served with “milk ice-cream” while also nibbling on the selection of sorbets ordered for the table: passionfruit and apricot, strawberry, apple. Delightful! Indeed, Locanda Locatlelidoes not have its great reputation for nothing and we were fully satisfied.
            It was about 10.00 pm, when I bid goodbye to my host and thanked him for his generosity. He and Kiran walked me to the Tube and I was home by 10. 15 pm and in bed by 11.00 after what had been a day of purposeful agenda completion—but above all, a chance to meet my London friends without whom my stays in this city are simply not the same. I had started and ended my day with good friends and to me that was made it exceptional.
            Until tomorrow, cheerio!

A Day in the Kentish Countryside–Leeds Castle & Bearsted

Aug9


Thursday, August 8, 2013

Leeds, Kent
We could not have asked for a better day for gamboling in the Kentish countryside—I mean it was a beaut. All that oppressive heat and humidity of four weeks ago has given way to the lovely cool summer for which England is known—and, of course, it has to happen when I am getting ready to leave. Trust my lousy luck! Still, as the English say, Can’t Complain…so I will not!
            I did get to 8.00am Mast at St. Paul’s Cathedral with Cynthia (Michael was saying it), had a quick granola breakfast with lemony tea and was off on the Tube to Northolt where my friend Bash had instructed me to meet him. We were on one of our habitual jaunts into the country to which Bash always treats me because he has a car and is a very compliant driver. Over the years since I have known him, we have scoured Kent, the Cotswolds, Sussex, with Wiltshire thrown in for good measure. This time, I was excited as he was bringing along his new lady friend Kim and I was the happy witness to their new-found togetherness. Once I was introduced to Kim who turned out to be a fun person and very jolly compatible company indeed, we set off on our longish drive to Kent. We were headed to Leeds Castle where we intended to spend the day. I felt honored as both Bash and Kim had taken the day off from work to accompany me on this excursion.
Leeds Castle was Mobbed:
            A very easy drive on motorways throughout with just a few traffic glitches got us to Leeds castle by midday. I was simply stunned to see the number of cars in the car park—clearly Brits are enjoying ‘staycations’ this year as their weather has never been so warm and hospitable. And, as I said, today was blissful. We strolled from car park to ticket booth past glorious parkland for such ancient piles come with massive packets of land in real estate gifts that were bestowed long centuries ago by royal edict for services rendered.
            The entry fee was steep: 21.50 pounds per head—but it is valid for the year. So it makes sense to reach there at 10.00 am if possible to truly enjoy all that the day out at Leeds Castle can offer. And there is plenty. Apart from a Grand Tour of the Castle, there was the vast grounds in which to picnic—some very sensible people had brought along those typical English hampers that are so quintessentially a part of an English summer. There are golf courses, lakes on which large craft ply for the amusement of kids, trains that ferry passengers from ticket booth to castle entrance as the walks to and fro can be pretty exhausting, falconry displays and get this…even punting on the castle moat for a skinny 5 pounds. Had we arrived earlier and brought a picnic, we could have included this lovely activity in our agenda. But, of course, as always, we were hard pressed for time to fit it all in.
           
A Brief History of Leeds Castle:
            The history of Leeds Castle is long and complicated—suffice it to say that it is mentioned already in the Domesday Book of 1076. It is named agfer Esledes, the original owner of the castle and property. Title deeds changed hands several times until Richard II becomes involved. Once in royal hands, the castle was extended and spruced up, Its most notorious owner was Henry VIII who gifted it to his first wife Katherine of Aragon who took occupancy and cozied it up. In the 18th century, it fell in the hands of the Fairfax family who eventually moved to Fairfax, Virginia. In the 20th century, when the owners were bankrupt, they sold it to an American heiress named Bailie who was subsequently made a Baroness. She hired the French interior decorator Stephane Boudin to modernize the place and make it livable. His touches are very distinct and her living spaces are the most warm and friendly.
From the medieval to the Tudor to the contemporary, a tour of the castle presents a fine contrast in exterior and interior decorating styles and a history, one might say, of the manner in which the rich and privileged have lived through the centuries. There is a medieval fountain, for instance, set in a gabled courtyard that is lovely and four carved marble busts of Henry VIII and his three children: Mary Tudor, Elizabeth I and Edward VI. There are red boxes containing official papers that were used in important international conventions such as the Camp David summit in 1978 as Leeds Castle was often used as the venue for such high-level meetings and negotiations. There is the oldest life-size equestrian sculpture in the world and a strong box that dates from medieval times. And, above all, there are the stunning views of the property and the moat from every window on every level that give the entire place a most glorious feel.
            And it is in the moat that the punting takes place. You can sit and allow yourself to be rowed in the bucolic environment past vistas of the castle and under arched bridges that must be simply fabulous. Alas, we did not have the chance to do that as we were simply starving by the time we finished touring the castle and had to get lunch urgently.
A volunteer guide suggested we skip the castle restaurant which was pricey and go instead to the Village of Leeds to a pub named The George Inn. We complied quite readily, took the train for 50 p per head, got back into our cars and headed to Leeds Village. We found The George Inn easily enough, poked around inside, ordered our drinks (Pimms, of course, as it was the perfect day for such indulgence) and then sat outside on the picnic tables under jolly red umbrellas to pig out on pub grub:  fish and chips (for me—can’t leave England without it), steak and ale pie for Kim and hot toasted sausage and caramelized onion sandwiches for Bash. Indeed it was a memorable lunch and we spent a grand hour lingering over it all.
Cricket on the Bearsted Green:
            My guide book 25 Day Trips from London had recommended that we do not miss Bearsted Village when we visit Leeds Castle and so I passed on the recommendation to Bash. We decided to forego punting on the moat at Leeds Castle and instead made our way to the car after lunch to go in search of Bearsted. It took some seeking as the Green which is the heart of the village is approached through a discreet side street. But find it we did and we spent the best couple of hours just lingering in this lovely gracious Kentish village which is the stuff of which poems are written.
            So all the elements that make the perfect English village are in place here: St. Mary’s Church, the village watering hole, a small but classy restaurant (The Oak on the Green), loads of Tudor style houses (some so higgledy-piggledy they could actually belong to the Tudors), and of course, the distinctive Oast houses of Kent in which hops were placed for drying to make Kentish beer. These were all very much in evidence and what’s more, they were all placed, as if by deliberate design, around a gorgeous Green—a vast expanse of green compound on which kids rode their bikes, played cricket with their Dads, mums walked babies in strollers and guys brought their dogs out for a run (one looked suspiciously like Ferris—I simply had to pinch myself to believe it wasn’t him!). The Green happened to be named after Alfred Myns, a Victorian cricketer who hailed from this village and as a left-hander had brought batting glory to these parts. The village sign bears a portrait of this cricketer playing the game on the Green in a top hat (which, my cricketer friend Bash informed us—he captains the Kenton Eleven team) was how the game was played in Victorian times when it was only the pursuit of Lords! How very interesting.
           
Tea in the Local:
            By them, as Kim put it, we could all murder for a cup of tea—and so in we went to the pub right behind us for a pot of Earl Grey. And how very welcome it was too! More chit chatting in a gastro pub filled with fresh flowers saw us while away some more time. When the village clock chimed seven o clock, we reluctantly raised ourselves up from the coziness of our sofas and returned to the car for the lovely drive home.
                Bash and Kim stopped briefly at Amen Court to say Hello to Cynthia and Michael before heading back to Harrow.
Dinner Chez Colclough:

            It was a quiet but companionable dinner: fish cakes with salad and hummus with ice-cream for dessert. After dinner, we sat with my PC so Cynthia could see some of my cruise pictures and then it was time to go to bed after an amazing day.
            Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

Careening Around Canary Wharf and Charterhouse

Aug7


Wednesday, August 7, 2013

London
            Having woken up by 6.00 am and launched straight into my work, I did not wish to break off at 8.00 am to attend Mass. I, therefore, continued to stay at my computer until almost 9.00 am—which was three solid hours of work—before I went downstairs to join Cynthia for breakfast. I enjoyed her delicious porridge with tea and then it was time for me to start my packing particularly since I wished to see how I am doing with weight restrictions. About an hour later, having sorted my possessions and decided how best to divide them between my single bag and my hand baggage, I got ready to leave. There were a few places I wished to go to and a few places I wished to see before the day was through.
Church-Crawling:
I did the equivalent of a pub crawl this morning in that I did a church crawl. Having found the Wren and Hawksmore churches closed yesterday, I made one more attempt to enter them today. My first stop was the Church of St. Stephen Walbrook where I had the chance to take in Sir Christopher Wren’s prototype for St. Paul’s Cathedral. It is true that going by the plain exterior of the church with its single spire, one would never imagine that the interior could be quite so gorgeous. And it was superb. The inside of the dome is embellished with fine plaster tracery work. There is a grand altar reredos and a pulpit in dark carved wood and the altar, designed by none other than Henry Moore is a solid marble slab which some describe as a lump of cheese. Large powerful Greek pillars hold up the structure whose Neo-Classical principles of design and decoration are simply splendid.
            This church is also famous for the fact that its former Vicar, one Chad Varah, initiated the institution of the Samaritans, an organization that provides assistance to people in despair. They are taught to simply ring the number that used to be “Mansion 9000” when it was founded. The number took the caller straight to a live person on the other end who would then talk the caller out of the desire to commit a desperate act. The Samaritans still do their incredible work today and have saved several lives in the process. But it all began in this church which used to be the official church of the Lord Mayor of London (as Mansion House, the Mayor’s official residence is next door). The original telephone used to initiate this mission of mercy is kept in a glass case in the church.
With this mission accomplished, I crossed the street and entered the church of St. Mary Woolnoth which was designed by Wren’s pupil, Nicholas Hawksmoor. It was also open and I had a chance to take in its interior which sported the main features of the typical Anglican church. But clearly, in this case, it is the exterior design that is striking.
Careening Around Canary Wharf:
       I had never been to Canary Wharf other than to pass it on the DLR train when headed to Greenwich. Having heard so much about this part of London, I decided to take the Tube to get there and to wander around and explore a bit. For the uninitiated, Canary Wharf became the center of London’s banking industry, a few years ago, when they moved from the overcrowded City to this bend on the Thames. The largest banking enterprises are here—they were swiftly followed by the journalism industry that abandoned Fleet Street (apparently, the 18thand 19th century buildings were no longer able to sustain the vast amount of wiring and cable laying that digital technology demanded). Hence, the move to new state-of-the-art premises.
            Well, as might be expected, Canary Wharf is like the Nariman Point of Bombay or Hoboken in New Jersey—areas that have sprouted like mushrooms in recent years to accommodate the thrust of commerce and industry ever upwards. It is a maze of sky scrapers—all glass and chrome, but not at all a concrete jungle because clever landscaping prevents it from such terrible degradation. Instead, there is a vast artificial lake, well spaced out promenades, wide open patios for enjoying good weather and an excellent network of transport channels that make it very easily accessible. I browsed among its many restaurants because folks who work here (generally having deep pockets) need to eat—hence Carluccios, the Slug and Lettuce, One Bar, etc. are all located in this space. I could easily have spent longer lingering among its many malls, but I had to get on with my day, so I bought some caponata and a lemon tart from Carluccios for my lunch and hopped back on the Tube to get back home.
Off to NYU and SOAS for Meetings:
            Back home, I picked up another lot of papers, books, files and photocopied material that I needed to mail back home to the States and got on the bus to drop them off at NYU. I did not have much time to linger, as I had a meeting with an anthropologist at the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London to talk about drafting a proposal to the British publishers for my book. The meeting took place in the Staff Common Room on the first floor of the building in which I have often attended meetings and performances in the basement auditorium in the years gone by.
            When the meeting ended, I returned to NYU and spent the next couple of hours working steadily as well as preparing my box for mailing with the help of the porters Mo and Mark who are always so accommodating to me.
In the Footsteps of Carthusian Monks:
            My next port of call was what is known as Charterhouse near Smithfield Market. I had forgotten how exactly to reach it, but by hopping on a 55 bus, I remembered that I ought to get off at St. John’s Lane (one of my former haunts when I had lived at Cowcross Lane near Farringdon Tube station). I walked through the ancient St. John’s Doorway that had once seen knights ride through it on their way to the Holy Land and then I was at Smithfield Market and entering the vast property of Charterhouse.
            The name Charter-house comes from Chartres in France from where the first Carthusian monks originated. By the 1100s, they had reached this location and set up a monastery complete with priory church and cloisters—monks cloistered themselves from the world and once they entered the monastery had no more contact with the secular world.
            Through my friend Bishop Michael, I was able to join a tour group that was led by a Brother known as Douglas Ellison. He was introducing himself to a group of about 20 visitors who had arrived from various venues. A brief history of the Carthusiasns brought us to the founder, a knight named John de Many of the Middle Ages who is still well remembered and honored in these premises. The history then swung to the Tudor period when the original medieval buildings were pulled down and a fancy Tudor mansion was built complete with Great Hall (used then for dining and still used for the same purpose) and a chapel—both of which we visited on the tour. The interior of the chapel is filled with commemorative tombs, etc. to one Thomas Sutton who founded the Charterhouse School for Boys with which some very prominent names are associated—such as John Wesley, founder of the Methodists; Lord Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts and William Makepeace Thackeray, the novelist, all of whom were students at this school. The coat of arms of the Sutton Family which includes a species of dog similar to a grey hound, are to be found everywhere.
There were also references to the four Carthusian monks who were horribly treated during the Reformation for defying Henry VIII’s edicts. They were led away from the monastery (after the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538) to Tyburn where they were hung, drawn and quartered—a really horrific way to die. Each year, on the anniversary of their martyrdom, they are remembered at an ecumenical service that includes the Catholic clergy, in the premises. I was told that a red rose is laid on the ground to represent each of the martyrs who died that awful day. Needless to say, they were only four of the several thousands of monks and priors who refused to accept Henry VIII’s new laws and perished. Sir Thomas More, perhaps the most famous of the lot that defied Henry, was also briefly a student at this school and indeed when one tours the Tudor buildings, one very much expects to see him turn a corner.
            We were taken into the Grand Hall both upstairs and down. The buildings also suffered severe bomb damage during the War and were effectively restored and refurbished, so that many different architectural styles are evident as well as layers of stone work that are different with every passing age. It is a vast space with many different courtyards (the Master’s Court, the Wash House Court, etc). Part of the ancient Norman cloister still remains, but it is in a very unfinished state. There are 41 brothers living on the premises today under the leadership of a Master and in the presence of a Preacher (one Hugh Williams, a friend of Michael’s, who came out to say hello and greet me which was very sweet of him indeed). The tour was very enlightening and told me a lot about the place and the manner in which it has evolved over the centuries. The boy’s school eventually moved to Godalming in Surrey (where it currently exists as a very exclusive fee-paying private school) leaving the space free for the contemporary brothers. Since the place does not receive any government funding and depends entirely on grants, it is trying hard to link with the Museum of London to publicize the place (which is used for the shooting of many period films) and to attract private tour groups to take in its many interior and exterior charms. I have to say that though I enjoyed every minute of the tour, it was tiring as it went on for almost 2 hours.       
Dinner at Maze by Gordon Ramsay:
            I got back home to Amen Court by bus and took a short rest before getting ready for my evening’s plans. I was taking my host friends Michael and Cynthia and Rosemary (Roz) to dinner to thank them for being so generous with their hospitality towards me while I was a guest at their home. It was indeed a small gesture but the only way by which I could show my appreciation to them. We had 6. 45 pm reservations at Maze, the upscale restaurant by Gordon Ramsay where I had taken other friends only a few days ago. We took the Tube to Bond Street and then walked five minutes to Grosvenor Square where we were seated and awaited Roz who arrived about ten minutes later.
            Well, the food was fantastic and my guests enjoyed it enormously. We each chose a total of four courses—savory and sweet–and with the conversation flowing around the table, we made friends with our waiter Naveen who turned out to be a Catholic from Mangalore. The food was really excellent and the presentation and service simply superb. We thoroughly enjoyed it and before we could quite grasp the fact, it was almost 10. 00 pm.
A Bus Ride Through the London Night:
            We ended our evening with a bus ride on a double decker No. 11 bus that allowed us to enjoy the City by night with all the lights illuminating the many monuments of the capital. Roz gave us a ride in her car to Victoria Road where we were able to hop into a bus going home. Buckingham Palace and the Victoria Memorial were beautifully lit as were Westminster Abbey and Big Ben Tower. The renovation of the Cenotaph on Whitehall has been completed and the monument glows in a golden light. Trafalgar Square’s fountains are no longer blue for the new heir to the throne—they spout water in different colors. The Strand was vibrant with throngs just emerging form the theaters opposite the Savoy Hotel or from the restaurants of Covent Garden. Sitting upstairs we had box-side views of the proceedings down below and it was great seeing the city from this perspective at night when electric light added magic and mystique to this most architecturally stunning of urban landscapes.
            We were home by 11.00 pm and ready to call it a day.
Until tomorrow, cheerio!                     

Being a Sloan Ranger in Chelsea and Knightsbridge

Aug6


Tuesday, August 6, 2013:
London
Being a Sloan Ranger in Chelsea and Knightsbridge

            My day began with 8.00 am Mass at St. Paul’s Cathedral that I attended with my friend Cynthia whose husband, Bishop Michael was saying it. It was the feast of the Transfiguration of our Lord and was, therefore, said in the special American Chapel in the back of the cathedral—a chapel that was created by the people of Great Britain in appreciation of American effort in World War II and in memory of the Americans who died giving their lives for the defence of Europe. It was a very moving service indeed after which we met a couple of folks from Kerala—one was a Roman Catholic priest from the Bronx in New York, Fr. Jose; and the other was his nephew Shibu John, a scientist with Royal Brompton Hospital in London. Michael ended up inviting the two of them to his place for breakfast so we spent some time over porridge and toast and tea chatting with them. Today was also the morning I decided to go out and get my special breakfast from Paul’s—almond croissant with a hot chocolate (as only Paul can make it). Such yumminess! I carried it over to Amen Court and had it while Cynthia prepared breakfast for her unexpected guests.
           
Off to Chelsea:
            After breakfast, I sat working for a couple of hours. Then, Cynthia and Michael and I set out for Chelsea by Tube to see the flat into which they will soon be moving. We stopped at Trinity Church en route at Sloan Street to pay a visit—it is a beautiful Arts and Crafts Church with stained glass windows by the Pre-Raphaelites William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones. We spent a little while in prayer after which we stopped briefly inside the Jo Malone showroom for a sample spray. It was then time for us to get to the flat and survey it. Michael and Cynthia were so proud and happy to show me their new place. It is a gorgeous flat, bright, light, spacious and yet not overwhelming. They are indeed deeply blessed to have it. We sat and had a cup of coffee together and then I was off, leaving them to get back home.
Becoming a Sloan Ranger:
            I spent the next few hours doing one of the things I most love to do when I am in London—dallying on the King’s Road and browsing through its thrift shops for antique jewelry and vintage finds. On and off the 22 bus I stepped, stopping off at all the stores that are my usual haunts. And I rode all the way to the Mary Portas shop at Parson’s Green. Indeed it was my lucky day because I found a genuine Sadler’s Brown Betty teapot, an antique hand painted porcelain cup and saucer to add to my collection, an interesting necklace with twin interlocked hearts and a set of four Swarovski crystal candleholders that were all splendid buys. Indeed, as Cynthia put it, I did very well with my vintage browsing. It was also great to simply slink around Sloan Square and Sloan Street like the Sloan rangers of the 60s. Interestingly, I did actually enter the Vivienne Westwood store—the very place from which the designer made her daring debut in punk fashion that heralded the arrival of punk culture. It is a rather iconic store and I was glad to be there.
Off to Knightsbridge and Harrods:
            I could hardly believe that it is the last week of my stay here in London and I have not yet entered Harrod’s. Had I gone there as soon as I arrived, I might have had a glimpse of their half-yearly sale. There were no sales, alas, but I was there specifically to buy a Christmas pudding to carry off home and I was pleased to have a first shot at their newest stock that has just come in. I also bought a box of biscuits for my friend Bina to whose place I was headed in the afternoon. Harrodsalso gave me a chance to browse a bit in its famous Food Halls, took in its gift sections and then left.

Dinner with Friends in Harrow:

            On the bus across the street I jumped only to get off at Green Park Tube station from where I took the Tube to Euston. I was headed to Harrow to spend the evening with my childhood friend Bina who has lived in London for 25 years with her husband Naveen. At Euston, I followed the signs to the Main Line Overground trains and reached Harrow at 5. 15 pm after dozing off a couple of times on the train! Bina was waiting for me in her car at Harrow and Wealdstone station and off we went to her place.
            We spent the rest of the evening, as always, chatting and catching up. In a short time, Navin arrived and joined us for dinner. Bina and I always have a great deal to say as we go back a long way having first made friends when we were but 13 years old. Our friendship has stood the test of time and it is always a delight to meet up with her and her family in London.
            Dinner was vegetarian as Bina sticks to a non-meat meal on Tuesdays—we had rice and dal with chick peas and a mixed vegetable. By the time we were done with her delicious meal, it was 8. 45 and I was ready to leave. They dropped me back to the station and I took the fast train to get back to Euston from where I got to St. Paul’s on the Tube.
            Cynthia and Michael were admiring and envious of my buys and keep wondering how I am possibly going to carry these loads off to the States—frankly, I am wondering too! I had a bowl of vanilla ice-cream with chocolate sauce and Michael’s homemade flapjacks before I excused myself and went up to bed.           

Work at NYU, The City, Bolshoi Ballet

Aug6


Monday, August 5, 2013
Work at NYU, The City, Bolshoi Ballet
            The morning passed quickly with me putting in about 3 hours at my computer even before I got up for breakfast. I skipped morning Mass as I was so engrossed in my work, I did not want to break my trend of thought.  We had granola cereal for breakfast at the Bishop’s table with tea and then I returned to my work. A good part of the next hour was spent sorting through the vast amount of paper I have accumulated through my handwritten or photocopied notes and research at the British Library. The administrative assistant at NYU-London at Bedford Square kindly agreed to assist me in mailing them back home to the States to save me having to pay excess baggage charges.
            I called Tim to find out if I could get over to his place to pick up the weighing scale he owns and took the bus two stops down to Holborn. With scale safely in my possession, I returned home and continued to cull down my papers. When that was done, I made a bundle of one pile and carried it with me to leave at NYU-London.
Lunch at Hare and Tortoise with my NYU-Office Mate:
            James Polchin and I share a very large office at our NYU campus in New York. Because he is currently posted in London, I have the office to myself and I do miss his presence. We had made plans to meet for lunch and to catch up on all that is happening at our London site. At 1.00 pm, James arrived at The Hare and the Tortoise at Russel Square’s Brunswick Center which has great pan-Asian food. My favorite is the Curry Laksa and I make sure I have it at least once during each of my visits to London. And that was exactly what happened. James ordered sushi and sashimi and I ate my super-large prawn, chicken and squid soup which was as terrific as I always remember it to be. We had a long and very informative exchange of information and ideas and he caught me up on all the changes that have occurred on our London campus since I worked here. We laughed, we joked, we tut-tutted over things and then it was time for the short stroll to Bedford Square. I said goodbye to James there and then settled down in my office to do a spot of photocopying and to print out a number of items that I need to send off to New York. I spent more than an hour getting all this work done and then I was off.
A Walking Tour of The City:    
            A steady drizzle had begun by the time I left my office and since I did not have my brolly—I am getting used to a London sans rain—I hopped into a bus up to Chancery Lane Tube station, then took the Tube to Bank. My idea was to explore the mainly commercial heart of The City of London which comprises banks, financial institutions, etc. and a bunch of beautiful old Wren and Hawksmore churches.
            When I got off the Tube, I was right outside the great Neo-Classical edifice of Mansion House which is the office of the Lord Mayor of London (not to be confused with the Mayor of London who is Boris Johnson—BoJo—and who is ensconced at City Hall, Norman Foster’s overturned glass pudding bowl on the South Bank). Right opposite is Sir John Soane’s Bank of England Building and right next to it is the Royal Exchange Building (the original Stock Exchange Building of London). These structures are fabulous and I do adore them. But with the drizzle becoming a steady shower, I quickly found my way to the Church of St. Stephen Walbrook (on Walbrook Lane) only to be disappointed because it was closed. Bummer!
            Not losing any time, I found the next church on my agenda: St. Mary’s Abchurch which, thankfully, was open. I stepped inside and took in the lovely aged interior with its box pews, superb wood carved altar and reredos by Grinling Gibbons and painted dome (thought to have been the work of James Thornhill but now attributed to someone else).
I spent some time there in prayer before venturing out in the rain again to look for St. Mary’s Woolnoth. This church sits at the cross roads with the Bank of England. It is one of Nicholas Hawkmore’s masterpieces with its two flat spires (reminiscent of Sainte Supplice in Paris). Unfortunately, it too was closed but I could admire its beautiful exterior and its characteristic Hawksmore’s touches—the solid pillars high up near the spires, for instance.
Tired and with plans disrupted by the rain, I rode on the bus to St. Paul’s and got back home about 5.00 pm. Having slept very late at night, I took a half hour nap as I had wonderful evening plans in store—I was off to see the Bolshoi Ballet straight from Moscow perform at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden—a treat, I knew, that would be unbeatable. I simply could not get over the fact that for about 30 years since I have been coming to London, I had never seen a performance at Covent Garden and then suddenly I was seeing two in two weeks (Puccini’s La Rondine had been my first, two weeks ago)!
The Bolshoi Ballet at Covent Garden:
            Cynthia had prawn sandwiches and marble cake ready for me with tea. I wolfed it down and showered and got ready for my night out. On the Tube to Covent Garden and after a short stoll through Floral Street, I was at the theater at 7. 15 ready for my 7. 30 pm performance. The Royal Opera House looks gorgeous at night with all the lights on—the last time I had been for La Rondine, it was a matinee performance and the place wore a very different look. This was far more elegant.
            Well, I had a lovely seat and I settled down eagerly to give myself up fully to the enjoyment of the spectacle. And a spectacle it was indeed! I mean, what can I say except look for superlatives? Everything was brilliant—from the music to the choreography to the technical flawlessness of the ballet dancers as they performed The Sleeping Beauty to the stirring music of Tchaikovsky. For the next three hours, with an intermission which allowed me to stretch my legs and walk to the gorgeous glass conservatory restaurant, I had a simply splendid time. The lady sitting next to me also was alone—she is a ballet freak and extremely well-informed about it. We struck up a lively dialogue and I learnt a great deal from her in a short time. Indeed, I realized that this was my very first full-length ballet ever and what a dream it turned out to be. I could not have been more elated!
            I got back on the Tube to St. Paul’s and walked briskly home at 10. 30 pm when there were still enough people about to not make me feel uneasy. The rest of the household was asleep when I entered, so I tiptoed up to my room and settled down for the night.
            I did not fall asleep right away, however, as I have a problem with my Outlook which is allowing me to receive email but no longer allowing me to send any. I spent over an hour on the phone with a technician before my minutes on my phone card ran out and my session timed out. Overall, a hopeless experience that left me more frustrated and disappointed than over. But tired and upset, I fell asleep and hoped to sort things out tomorrow.
          Until tomorrow, Cheerio!
 

Smithfield, The Barbican, Shad Thames and Dinner at Maze

Aug6


Sunday, August 4, 2013:
London
Smithfield and The Barbican, Shad Thames, Dinner at Maze
As always, Sunday for me in London begins with an Anglican service—although having said that, I found out that service at St. Bartholomew The Great Church at Smithfield, where I decided to go, did not begin until 11.00am. I used time after breakfast (Cynthia’s lovely porridge made from scratch by stirring oats for what seems forever), to have a clear-out among my things, (especially the large amount of paper I have accumulated) and to work quite steadily.
Service at St. Bartholomew The Great Church:
            St. Bart’s, as it is commonly known, has stood in one form or the other since the 1100s, which makes it one of London’s oldest churches. It certainly looks its age, both inside and out, and is often used for movie shoots. Shakespeare in Love and Four Weddings and A Funeralare among the many that come to mind. I remember visiting the attached St. Bart’s Hospital Museum, a few years ago, from which one can get a very good idea of the origins of this institution—hospital and church which came up simultaneously. Suffice it to say that it was founded by a monk named Rahere (1100s) who made a vow to start a home for the care of the ill in Smithfield—the rest is truly history. In the church, there is a very hallowed grave stone and an effigy of Rahere—but it is the interior construction of the church that is amazing. It is Romanesque and built in three tiers—all of which makes it very photogenic. Having had its origins as a monastery, it still has one side of its cloisters (used today as a café) and a number of ancient monuments that proclaim its age. The hospital is still thriving next door.
            The service was High Anglican—which is to say, partly in Latin. So, for the most part, it was like watching a theatrical show with excellent singers and actors (preachers). The priest, One Fr. Mark Young, preached an excellent sermon (What is it about all these Anglican priests that makes them such eloquent speakers?). Although there wasn’t a full choir, the one man who did the singing was excellent. A great deal of incense floated about. I might have been back in the 1100s in the Lady Chapel (at the side) but for the fact that a female priest assisted. The readings were also quite brilliantly done. Overall, I loved every minute of what was rather a lengthy, very dramatic, service—but, at the end of the day, every second seemed fully worthwhile.
A Walking Tour of Smithfield:
            Since I was in Smithfield, I decided to use my DK Eyewitness Guide to wander around it and take in its antiquity. It is one of London’s oldest parts (what used to be the called The City—meaning The City of London as opposed to the neighboring City of Westminster) and retains some of its oldest monuments (the said church and hospital of St. Bart’s), the Victorian Smithfield Meat Market which gives the entire area its character and the warren of little streets, one of which is Cloth Fair.
            So a word about Cloth Fair would be in order: The name of the street originates from a medieval three-day Fair that brought every citizen of the city to this venue—it is basically a long and narrow street that lies right outside of the Church. Drawings from the era show thousands of people clustered together attending the fair which combined trading with amusement. The fair went on right until 1855 and was the subject of a famous play by Ben Jonson (Shakespeare’s contemporary) called Bartholomew Fair.
            So after I circumnavigated the church and took all the pictures I wanted, I stepped outside into the small side garden and from there into the street called Cloth Fair. There are two houses (Nos. 41 and 43) that remain from the 17th century—their windows are clearly Elizabethan although their ground floor has been modified. Next door at No. 45 lived one of my favorite English poets, St. John Betjeman. His home is marked in a side alley with a blue plaque. Until four years ago, when I used to live nearby in Farringdon, London, a pub-café named Betjeman’s was just below; but it has since been replaced by an organic vegetarian Italian restaurant.
A Stroll Around the Barbican Center:
            I walked the length of Cloth Fair and found myself staring at the tall tower of the Barbican Center. Since one of the items on my To-Do List for this visit was a glimpse into its famous Art Gallery, I decided to make a detour and tour the Barbican instead. I have been here before but only briefly and I had only skimmed the exterior. This time I discovered what a huge ‘’complex’ this is and how well it was planned in the 1960s to include residential, commercial and cultural enclaves so as to become a miniature city in itself—indeed it even has a Waitrose as part of its conveniences.
            Touring the Barbican meant entering tis glass doors and finding myself inside a very modern building that contained a multiplex cinema and stage space for concerts and drama. I  asked a receptionist for the exact location of the Art Gallery and was directed to the third floor but she said that it was closed as there are no exhibitions going on there right now—the next one will start at the end of September. What a terrible waste of really great space, I thought!
            I then wandered out on to a great spacious patio with fountains and a restaurant (The Barbican Food Hall). People were nursing their morning coffees while overlooking the Church of St. Giles Cripplegate—one of the old churches of the City that do not seem to be active anymore and are purely retained as showpieces to record the history of the area—there might be the occasional once weekly service or Mass said there. The poet John Milton is buried in this church. I strolled around the very substantial restaurant but did not feel like eating there alone. My rambles took me to the third floor on the elevator to have a look at the Art Gallery space. There is a door across a walkway that leads directly to the Museum of London which is very close by built almost on the ancient walls of the City.
            I left the Barbican and made my way out on the street again, passing by Waitrosefrom where I bought a snack (Tiramisu—yummy!) and ate it outside in the sunshine for there was a brisk wind and it was a trifle too cool. My feet were beginning to protest by this stage, so I simply took a bus and returned to my refuge at St. Paul’s. I felt sorely tempted to have an almond croissant and a hot chocolate from Paul’s, but believe me, my feet were very tired and I simply needed to get back immediately. I made do with a really lame layered pasta salad from Sainsbury instead—what was I thinking???!
            I spent the afternoon taking a brief nap because my friend Murali had texted me to find out if I wanted to meet for a cuppa at 4.00 pm. It was a good thought and I decided to follow on it after a rest. We decided to meet at the Design Museum, located at “Shad Thames”. I had never been there and it seemed worth a visit.
Exploring Shad Thames and the East:
            Half an hour later, I was outbound again—this time I took a bus to Tower Bridge intending to switch to another that would take me across Tower Bridge. But the London cycle race had diverted a few buses and I ended up reaching there but late for my appointment with Murali who waited patiently for me. I found that Shad Thames in a very narrow street just behind the riverside Thames promenade that is now almost completely lined by restaurants at the base of fancy luxury apartment blocks that offer accommodation to London’s yuppies. It was also lively—filled with hordes of visitors cluttering up the many little boutique shops. The Design Museum is located right at the end of this narrow lane.
The Design Museum:
            London’s Design Museum is a paen of praise to its designers who, over the years, have brought their design genius to bear on everyday items of utility. The trouble with living in a city where most museums are free means you balk at the thought of paying almost 13 pounds as entry fee—which was expected in this one. They did not honor my Metropolitan Museum ID card either—Murali and I, therefore, decided to give it a miss and settled down instead in its café for a lemony cuppa and a lovely long chinwag. As always, he is full of ideas for things I should not miss and a mine of knowledge on what is happening. Single-handedly, he could edit Time Out London, I think.
            After a while, we arose to take a walk along the waterfront (part of the Thames Path) and climbing up the steps that brought us back on the Tower Bridge, we walked across us. Our aim was to get to Petticoat Lane where a colorful market is held every Sunday. Although it was too late in the day for the market, we did reach the venue and circled around the Church of St. Botolph’s Outside Aldgate—not to be mistaken for two other St. Botolph’s that also dot the area! Alas, it took wasn’t open, so we simply walked towards public transport to get back home—he on the Tube, me on the bus, after what had been a nice stroll in the sunshine.
A Slap-Up Dinner at Maze:
            I was left with only enough time to come home, shower, iron my clothes and get ready for the dinner for which I had reserved seats at Maze, a restaurant run by TV chef, Gordon Ramsay. I was taking the friends who have so kindly lent me use of their homes in their absence at Holborn and St. John’s Wood respectively—Tim and Barbara and Raquel and Chris.
     Unfortunately, Chris took ill and was not able to join us. Tim and Barbara were awaiting my arrival at the bar with drinks in hand at 8. 25 pm as planned (I took the Tube to Bond Street and walked about 10 minutes to Grosvenor Square where the restaurant is located).  We found our table and then sat down to enjoy the creations of this well-known swearing chef! His menu is based on the tapas concept—small morsels, very flavorful and very elegantly presented. The waiter suggested we order 3 to 4 small plates per head—my friends had a hard time making their choices but we all saved room for pudding. I left Tim (who was a top West End chef in a former life) to order a bottle of Pouilly-Fuse for the table and I settled with a glass of Yakima Red beer. Our meal was lovely and the conversation so much fun that time flew and, before we knew it, it was 11. 00 pm and then about 11.30 pm when we left. Raquel called a cab and got home and Tim and Barbara dropped me off at my place at Amen Corner before getting back home to Holborn.  It was truly a slap-up meal that made a lovely night to remember.
         Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

Exploring the Sussex Downs: Petworth and Arundel

Aug4


Saturday, August 3, 2013
Sussex Downs: Petworth and Arundel
           
            A very comfortable night again in Battersea saw me awake at 7.00 am and getting ready immediately for our daytrip into the Sussex countryside. Roz, my friend, who owns a car (a rare thing in London) and has Saturday off, decided to take me on a jaunt. I made haste and packed my belongings and placed them in the trunk of her car as we intended to make use of it to drop me and my baggage off at Amen Court for my last week here—at the home of my friends Cynthia and Michael. Once I went through the process of packing and making sure I had everything, I showered, we sat down to brekkie (muesli and yogurt with coffee) and we were off.
Into the Sussex Countryside:
            We had intended to go to Chichester and since it is not too far away, Arundel. But, as luck would have it, on approaching the South Downs, we realized that we were not too far from Petworth—a National Trust property that both of us were keen to see. Roz is a member of the National Trust and entry as well as parking are free for her. My own membership has elapsed but I never lose the opportunity to enjoy one of the gracious properties that this institution maintains.
            It was a glorious day—indeed we were blessed with fabulous temperatures. A blistering sun has given way to a far more benign one and as we drove past the far suburbs of London and into the Surrey countryside, we kept exclaiming about the freshness of the greenery and the lovely rural air. In less than two hours, we were at Petworth.
Getting to Know Petworth House:
I have to admit that neither Roz nor I knew much about Petworth other than that it is one of those ancient country piles into which the hoi polloi are now welcomed. I paid the 12 pounds entry fee that gave access to the house and gardens, but we only had time to view the house and its contents—which, if you did it with care, would take a day all by itself.
After Roz parked, we walked on the gravel pathway past interesting Greek follies to get to the entrance of the house. A short ‘Introduction to Petworth’ talk was in progress by one of the volunteers, and although we missed the first five minutes of it, we joined it. It gave us a slight clue as to the home’s pedigree. And this is what we discovered:
The home was built on vast land that belonged to the Percy family, ancient Dukes of Northumberland (bequeath to them by royal charter on winning the favor of the King). I remembered a Henry Percy in Shakespeare’s Richard II—and yes, he belonged to this family. Somewhere in the hoary past, the Percys became bankrupt and one of the more astute members of the family joined forces with the Seymour family (if the name is familiar, it is because Jane Seymour became the third wife of Henry VIII and mother of his son, Edward VI—he unfortunately died at the age of 9 and never acceded to the throne. Jane died while giving birth to him and is supposedly the only wife that Henry really loved.). Again, as the decades went by, one of the family members married into the Wyndham family–which led to the influx of a huge dowry. In marrying his title with her money, the grand manor was created. It is built in the English Baroque style—which, like Syon House, is very plain on the outside. Thus, most of the home is an early18th century showpiece of wealth and taste but the chapel and the undercroft kitchens are original to the 13thcentury. The current owners of the home are known as the Earls of Egremont—they continue to inhabit a small part of the property and the house although the rest of it passed into the hands of the National Trust that has run it since 1947.
The current state of the home derives from the vision of the 3rd Earl of Egremont who was a great art lover and who opened the home to some of the leading artists of the day—Turner, Gainsborough, Joshua Reynolds, etc. are known to have frequented the home and created studios for themselves on the premises. Turner spent large portions of time there and created a great number of works—both inspired by the grounds that were landscaped by the 18th century’s great landscape designer Capability Brown and by the large number of canvasses that had resided in the home—today, these may be viewed on the walls of the ‘galleries’. They are numerous and of varying quality and some are badly in need of cleaning. But they give a succinct idea of what money could buy in a bygone era. Large rooms today function as galleries for the showcasing of a massive collection of paintings, sculpture and decorative objects (furniture, light fixtures, etc.).
Although the art work by itself is stupendous, to my mind this house was fascinating for the Carved Wood Room—the brainchild of Grinling Gibbons, the great 18thcentury wood artisan who decorated some of the finest homes and cathedrals in the land. His genius is plainly evident in this long gallery decorated with Tudor portraits (Hans Holbein’s famous one of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, for instance) where flowers, fruit, skeins of leaves and garlands, cherubs, even portraits of children have been ingeniously carved and then pinned to the walls in a delicate form of decoration that has to be seen to be believed. Never have I been treated to such artistic extravagance and I was enthralled.
The Grand Staircase leading to the top floor (closed to visitors) was painted from floor to the ceiling by the French artist Louis Laguerre—and, honestly, it has to be seen to be believed. It presents worthies of the family enthroned in the heavens—I mean how modest is that? An exuberant presentation of color and pattern, no amount of pictures could possibly do justice to it. This room came after we had feasted our eyes in room after room on works by Turner, Gainsborough, Reynolds, Lely, Van Dyck, Ruisdale, Hobbema, even a rare Bosch. It was truly an incredible art collection—not to mention a treasure trove of sculpture—but for that, one has to devote an entire day.
Already tired, we decided to visit the café for a spot of lunch and settled on cheese scones with butter and cheddar cheese with a pot of tea for me and a cappucinno for Roz and then we were on our way. We admired the wonderful border of Queen Anne’s Lace punctuated only with the occasional blood red poppy—never have either of us seen a border that is so simple yet so arresting. A few minutes later, we were in the car and heading into the village of Petworth to explore it.
Endearing Petworth Village:
            Petworth Village is small and charming and crammed with antiques shops. It truly is one of those little red tiled roof villages of England that time forgot. Extremely narrow cobbled lanes wound towards an ancient church whose grave stones have turned grey with time and the weather. We entered a couple of shops by way of exploration but did not linger too long as we had more to see and the day was wearing on rapidly. Still, I know that although our visit was brief, I have been left with a load of pictures that will always bring back lovely memories for me of a place I have long wanted to explore (I had passed briefly through it, four years ago, by car with my friend Stephanie at the wheel—but we had no time to stop and explore it then) and felt very pleased to have inspected it at long last.
And On to Arundel:
By this point in the day (it was almost 3. 15 pm), both Roz and I realized that getting to Chichester was pointless—and we decided to get to Arundel first with the idea of exploring its lovely castle. Since Roz had never been there (I had visited only briefly with Stephanie, four years ago), it made sense to see the town together. And what a lovely town it is! Like Petworth, Arundel is old, quaint, charming and retains an abundance of character in his crumbling Tudor gabled houses, its antiquated stone shops, its slate and red tiled roofs and its winding streets, crammed with tea rooms and antiques shops. I have a special fondness for a multi-dealer shop close to the Castle that is perched high on a hill. Inside I went and out I came with another English porcelain Hammersley cup and saucer for my collection with darling little birds painted all over them.
Skipping the Castle:
            On parking our car close to the castle, we discovered that we had only an hour to see it—and the place needs at least two if one wishes to do justice to it. So we decided to visit the castle on another day and simply proceed into the town and browse in its shops. It was a lovely afternoon for such a mission and we had a great time together.
Visiting the Churches:
            Arundel is known for its churches: there is a small Anglican one called the Church of St. Nicolas but the great attraction is the Gothic Catholic Cathedral of St. Philip Howard which is also perched high up on a hill and can be spied, like the castle, for miles before arriving in the town. We made a visit to the Cathedral and walked around its towering nave and altar. A recent wedding had led to beautiful flowers crowding the altar and the lectern—it was truly very pretty in that stark stone interior. Similarly, we paused in the Anglican Church and found that a wedding had recently taken place there too.
Time for A Cream Tea:
            And then it was time for a traditional Cream Tea and we found a charming tea room in the heart of the village that offered scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam and cakes! Roz had Carrot Cake, I had the superb Coffee Walnut Cake that I never miss in England. All was delicious and, quite replete with our meal, we strolled to the stone bridge that spans the river that runs through the town before we got back in the car and started the drive back to London.
Settling down outside St. Paul’s Cathedral:
            Having finally reached the last week of my stay here in the UK, I have moved into the Christopher Wren-built home of my friends Bishop Michael and Cynthia who are like family to it. Cynthia and I consider ourselves to be sisters and it is always a bit like coming home each time I enter their gracious residence on Ludgate Hill right outside St. Paul’s Cathedral. Roz braved London traffic (thankfully, the roads have opened up after a huge cycle race that has closed all access to their place during the day) and deposited me and my belongings safely into Amen Court where I shall stay for the next 7 days.
            Roz stayed for a glass of red wine during which she got introduced to Cynthia and Michael and then she was off. I spent a while chatting with my friends and catching up with them, skypeing with Llew and then unpacking and settling into my room on the upper floor.
            Cynthia fixed a simple dinner—pea pullao, cabbage and carrots for veg, a small salad and Waitrose Chicken Korma which was just delicious. It was time to call it a day and at 11. 00 pm, we went up to bed.
             Until tomorrow, cheerio!

Trekking in Woodstock and Witney, Oxfordshire

Aug3


Friday, August 2, 2013
Oxford
Tearing All Over Oxfordshire:
            Today was quite extraordinary indeed! For one thing, I have set an all-time walking record having covered 12 miles in a single day! And I never expected my day would shape the way it did but then that’s what being spontaneous and ‘in the moment’ is all about, isn’t it?
            So I awoke at 7.00 am, showered, dressed and breakfasted at Sue’s generous table with muesli and yoghurt and bread and marmalade and coffee and then blogged a bit. At 9. 40am, I began my walk from Grandpont to Oxford City Center to meet Tony at Blackwell’s at 10.00 am. Being a retired don (a professor of Oxford), he has privileges that allow him to take visitors into New College (where he taught Chemistry for 20 years) which reputedly has one of the prettiest Oxford campuses and was the site of many of the Harry Potter film locations.
A Tour of New College, Oxford, with Tony:
            Indeed, New College is marvelous and historic and although all the Oxford Colleges are, this one is special because it is constructed on the ancient walls of the City of Oxford which are preserved and inspected each year by Oxford’s Lord Mayor to ensure that they are in good repair! Indeed a scaffolding a ladder are installed with much pomp and circumstance to enable him to climb to the top to make his pronouncement! This custom derives from the purchase of land by the founder of the college Robert Pope, who was informed by the City of Oxford that he could have the land to found a college provided he maintained the walls “in perpetuity”. He agreed! Hence, this unique custom.
            Tony was a fantastic guide—indeed he is an insider who took me through the chapel with its fabulous carved stone figures on the reredos and its stained glass window designed by the 18thcentury’s Joshua Reynolds. We were unable to see the Dining Hall which is under renovation but we were able to access the gorgeous gardens with their perennial flower beds that feature in many a movie. We also saw the huge mound that was built after the moat was dug out for New College has an amazing sunken lawn. To access the mound, there is a steep flight of stairs and up those we went. Yes, we did see the famous quadrangle with its cloisters which is the scene of a famous episode in the Harry Potter film that has to do with the breaking of a wand. We walked through them and enjoyed the views from all the angles of the university’s many towers and turrets and spires. It was fabulous and I felt very privileged to enjoy this amazing tour and I was grateful to Tony for making the time to guide me and provide so many entertaining tidbits.
Off on a Walking Tour of Oxford:
            Tony said goodbye to me and I sauntered off to see the Tourist Information Center when I discovered that free two-hour tours of Oxford were being offered by young guides. I have taken these tours in Berlin and Amsterdam and I can say that they are fascinating. How could I forego the opportunity of taking one of them?
            So off we went and, of course, there were so many new things I discovered. For example:
1. The exact spot at which the three martyrs, Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley were burned at the stake for heresy by Bloody Mary was not where the Martyrs Memorial currently stands but on Broad Street near the entrance to Balliol College. It is marked by a few stones in a cross-like pattern.
2. The five floors that comprise the tallest building in the quadrangle of the Bodleian Library are in the following patterns: Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and Composite.
3. The Bridge of Sighs was built in Oxford simply because there happened to be one in Cambridge and Oxford fancied it.           
4. All Souls College only admits people who are already specialists in their fields. They must hold graduate degrees and come there to do research.
5. Pubs in Oxford were divided among those frequented by Town Versus Gown. The King’s Arms is a Gown Pub.
6. Sir Christopher Wren, one of Britain’s greatest architects, invented the system of Insurance after the Great Fire of London, before he rebuilt the city.
7. It costs 9000 pounds for a year’s study at Oxford today.
And so it went. I enjoyed the tour immensely and when it ended, poked my head into Brasenose College where most of the early episodes of Morse were shot. Graduation celebrations were in progress, so I made myself scarce having taken a few pictures. Indeed, I was fortunate to see a typical Oxford scene with graduates in their black gowns and their mortar board caps which allowed me to take a few interesting pictures.
            I then popped into the Wheatsheaf Passage to find out who had taken over the premises that belonged to the hardware store called Gill & Co, which was had closed, four years ago, after 500 years—and I discovered, to my horror, that a Nail Salon called Oxford Nails had been installed there! Horrors!
A Bus Ride to Woodstock:
            It wasn’t the last bus to Woodstock (the name of the first Colin Dexter Inspector Morse novel which became an episode of the same name) but it was an afternoon one that was filled with young Asian students off to see Blenheim Palace (which is in Woodstock). Since I had seen the palace twice before and merely wanted to wander around Woodstock, Sue, my friend, had instructed me on the existence of a small nondescript gate. This allowed access on to the Blenheim Estate to the townspeople. It would allow me to walk on the grounds by the lake without needing to pay the hefty entry fee for the palace
            I bought a day pass (7.50 pounds) for the bus and took the S3 Stagecoach Bus to Woodstock (it was headed to Chipping Norton in the Cotswolds—which I felt strongly tempted to reach!). I was informed by a resident on the bus that it was not a village but a town—indeed, he said, it is the smallest Town in the United Kingdom by royal charter. He told me the townspeople feel very offended if you call Woodstock a village. Well, well, well. Live and learn, eh?
Wandering about the Blenheim Estate:
            I wandered around the town at will and enjoyed its lovely shops, Council Hall, Parish Church and cobbled lanes before I followed Sue’s instructions and found my way on to the Blenheim Estate together with joggers, walkers, babies in strollers, dog walkers, etc. I was already pretty beat by this time but pressed on in order to walk over John Vanbrugh’s famous Bridge over the river Glyme that flows through the estate. Soon the beautiful outline of the palace came into view as did a multitude of sheep. It is very bucolic indeed just as its landscape designer Capability Brown had intended it to be. I rested on a bench for a bit, did a few stretches and after five minutes, continued on my walk to the bridge. I got into conversation with a lovely lady who told me that she walked on the estate every single day—all the way to the entrance of the Palace. Finally the tall monument came into sight and a little later, I was on the Bridge taking a few pictures of the gorgeous building behind me—the work of the great John Vanbrugh who also designed Castle Howard in Yorkshire.
            I did not linger longer than a couple of hours (during most of which I walked)  as I had a long way to go. You see, in the morning, I had finally managed to make contact with Austin Fuller, the son of my Hall Stewart Stan Fuller who had mentioned to me that my old friend, now 81, was in a Care Home for the Aged in Witney. He was doing poorly and I felt that having the opportunity to meet him, I should try to do so.
On a Mission of Mercy to Witney:
            So, when I felt I had enough of Blenheim and because the sun was much too oppressively hot anyway, I made my way back to the town, found the bus stop and a bus that went directly from Woodstock to Witney and with the instructions and directions given me by Austin, off I went in search of Stan.
            I hopped on a bus going from Woodstock to Witney and, on making inquiries inside the bus, discovered that there was a young chap who was headed exactly to Madeley Park on which estate my friend Stan was resident in a home for the aged. I asked if I could follow him there and he readily agreed. The bus ride took about 25 minutes and just before we got to Witney Town Center, we hopped off.
            Then began another long walk of 25 minutes to get to the Home. It was hot and there wasn’t a bit of shade. I felt as if I was in the midst of nowhere and was grateful for the company of the sweet guy whose name was Leigh. We kept up a cheerful conversation until we reached the venue where my jumping over hoops seemed so worthwhile. All I have to remember is the look on Stan’s face when he saw me because he had no inkling that I would be arriving to see him. It was, therefore, a mission of mercy. I was pleased to see that my friend was mobile, not in pain, still his smiling self and although a bit forgetful, still very much in control of his faculties. He is not happy about being in the place and preferred to be at home, but he also told me that he had recently fallen from the bed at 2. 00 am and lay on the ground for 2 hours in the middle of the night before help arrived. He had to be hoisted from the ground in a mechanical hoist. Ever after that he has slept in an armchair out of fear. Old age is no fun, for sure.
            I stayed with Stan for almost an hour, then started the long trek back to the Town Center for the bus. I got lost and that added to my walk but at least I had a chance to see some of the factories that produced the famous Witney woolen blankets of which Stan was so proud. At that point (about 5. 30 pm), I realized that I hadn’t stopped for lunch and that I was starving. Needing something mobile, I found a vast shopping mall which contained a Marks and Spencer place from where I bought two sets of sandwiches. I wolfed them down in the bus that came trundling by in about 10 minutes and just before 7.00 pm, I was back in Oxford again after what had been a truly tiring day.
Back on the Coach to London:
I bid goodbye to my friends Sue and Tony in whose home I had been so comfortable. Although they urged me to eat dinner before leaving, I did not want to reach London too late—so I left at 7. 20, rode the Stagecoach bus to the Gloucester Green bus station in Oxford, hopped on to the 8.00 pm X-90 coach to London and arrived in Victoria at. 9. 45pm. I did not get a 44 bus to Battersea until 10. 10 but by 10. 30 pm, I was with my friend Roz who had cheese and leek quiche and salad ready for me with a lovely cold lemonade Perrier.
            Whew! I was knackered, let me tell you, and ready to collapse. But at the end of the day, it was worth the time and trouble I took to see an old friend who was extremely kind to me so many years ago. 
            Until tomorrow, cheerio!