Archive | July 2015

Final Day in London: Museums, Theater, Slap-Up Dinner

Jul20

Saturday, July 18, 2015: London

Fitting Final Features Into Our Last Full Day in London:

            And so it dawned! Our sad final day in London because all great things must come to an end. We awoke to finish up packing and dividing the weight we had acquired into the four suitcases we are allowed between the two of us by our airline. A quick breakfast of coffee and cereal in order to help us finish our supplies in the fridge, saw us shower and dress and leave. The first item on our agenda was getting to the Savoy Theater in the Strand in the West End to pick up day tickets to see Gypsy.

 Off to Pick Up Tickets for Gypsy:

            We resolved to get out of the flat in Holborn by 9. 30 am in order to be at the theater at 10.00 am when day tickets are distributed for most London plays at a considerable discount and much cheaper than rates at the TKTS stand at Leicester Square. A brisk walk to Fleet Street to jump into the No. 15 Routemaster …and within minutes we were outside the Savoy Hotel that has recently undergone a massive renovation. Just outside is the Savoy Theater and it was to its Box office that we were headed. We got there at 9. 50 am and had a 10 minute wait with about 6 folks ahead of us in the queue.

            It is hard to believe that with the huge number of items on our program on this visit, we had not yet been to the theater. And with the vast number of offerings around plus the fact that we had not pre-booked, making a choice was easy. I thought a musical would be far better than pure drama—more entertaining, more of a range of talent on display. Neither one of us had seen Gypsybefore—a saga about the entertainer Gypsy Rose Lee set on the West coast of America. What sold me on the show as the presence of British thespian Imelda Staunton whom I have seen on the screen (Vera Drake) and on the stage before in Joe Orton’s Entertaining Mr. Sloan at the Trafalgar Studios a couple of years ago in London. In my humble opinion, she has the caliber of a Judi Dench or a Maggie Smith and it is only the lack of a truly breakout show so far that has not catapulted her into international stardom.  I was certain that a show that headlined this actress could never be anything other than outstanding. Besides, the show had Peter Davison in a lead role too—he is the darling Tristan of the TV series All Creatures Great and Small and in more recent years, we have seen him on TV in The Last Detective.  Two great stars. How could we go wrong? When we snagged two tickets, ten minutes later, at the bargain price of 25 pounds each for 70 pound seats, our joy knew no bounds.

In Search of Oscar:

            With tickets under our belt for the 2. 30 pm matinee show, we had the time to saunter across The Strand to the National Portrait Gallery. But before we arrived there, I had another small mission to accomplish. Our friend Barbara and our hostess for our stay in London had set me a challenge: she expected me to go out and find the bench/chaise longue/sarcophagus (depending on how you want to look at it) of 19thcentury playwright and dandy Oscar Wilde which was somewhere on Adelaide Street. When she explained to me where I would find it, I knew exactly where to look.

And five minutes later, we came upon it on a side street just behind the Church of St. Martin-In-The-Fields. We took our pictures with Oscar who is sculpted in rather gruesome vein to allow varied interpretation: he could be emerging from his own coffin to enter into conversation with anyone who would care to share cerebral space with him—a convenient bench, as it were, is attached to his bust to enable just such an objective.  Llew did the honors—taking pictures of me facing Mr. Wilde for the sculpture is entitled “In Conversation with Oscar Wilde”. That done, we headed off.

Mission Well Accomplished! Barbara would receive a tweeted version of one of the pix as soon as wifi connections permitted.

 Re-Visiting Members of the Bloomsbury Group at the National Portrait Gallery:

            Ever since I finished reading Priya Parmar’s excellent book Vanessa And Her Sister, I had a little secret item on my Wish List for my next visit to London. Her book had caught me up so profoundly with the lives of the members of the Bloomsbury Group that I had resolved to visit the home at No. 51 Gordon Square where the famous Thursday Evening meetings were held for several years by the sisters, Virginia and Vanessa Stevens—later Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell. Close friends who happened to share intellectual interests that included literature, art, biography, history and economics, their interconnections were cemented by their marriages and intimate relationships with each other—some heterosexual, many gay. I had visited the 20th century galleries at the National Portrait Gallery before but since we had not found the time to get to Gordon Square on this visit, I was keen to re-visit these figures through the portraits that were produced of them by their own friends.

            When I told Llew of my mission, he was game to accompany me—and we set off straight for the first floor to the galleries that deal with Britain around the period of World War I. There they were—all my favorite writers (E.M. Forster, Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey) and there were their portraits by their own friends (Duncan Grant, Vanessa Bell, Dora Carrington). Re-visiting this gallery gave us the opportunity to examine other portraits from the period and I was pleasantly surprised to come upon a sculpted bust of Nehru by Jacob Epstein—not the most complimentary representation but it was a master sculptor’s work.

            On the lower floor, I led Llew to the controversial portrait of Katherine Middleton, now the Duchess of Cambridge, by Paul Elmsley that has drawn so much flak for the aged, grey-faced, almost ugly woman he has depicted. Llew was not impressed. We also looked at Bhupen Khakar’s portrait of Salman Rushdie and some new photographic portraits of the Queen taken at her Diamond Jubilee. Finally, we ended our visit by examining a selection of portraits of National Portrait Gallery’s Director Roy Strong who has donned costumes and had his pictures taken in depictions of famous paintings. When we had seen enough, we used the rest rooms and then raced off again.

 A Highlights Tour of the National Gallery:

      No marks for guessing where we were next headed! How can I possibly leave London without going to the National Gallery and saying Hello to all my favorite friends? It is simply a no-brainer. Since it was nearing 11. 30 am, it made sense to take the hour-long Highlights Tour that starts from the Sainsbury Wing of the Museum. It gave me a few minutes to browse in the gift shop before joining a group of about 15 people to listen to the docent introduce himself and begin his tour. Llew and I took the elevator to the second floor where most tours begin and for the next one hour, we gave ourselves up entire to the expertise of the guide who took us chronologically through the following paintings:

1.      Carlo Crivelli: The Annunication with St. Emidius (1486). I discovered the talent and work of Crivelli at the National Gallery several years ago and have been enchanted by him ever since. A Venetian Renaissance artist, he was banished by the Establishment for apparent homosexual leanings. Hence, his work remains practically unknown and certainly unseen even in Italy. The National Gallery has an outstanding collection of his canvases, each more stunning than the next, for the multiplicity of symbols, the plethora of detail and the astounding realism that he brings to his subjects. I adore his work and was absolutely delighted that Llew got a chance to see one of his works as well.

2.      History of the Wohl Room(Gallery 9—1911). The guide used this splendidly decorated central room in the Museum to tell us a bit about the history of the National Gallery and its acquisitions.   

3.      Joachim Beuckelaer: The Four Elements—Earth(1560s, Antwerp). In a round room in the Museum, four works by Beuckelaer find a perfect permanent place. I have also always adored these Flemish paintings for their realism and abundance of detail. They represent the four elements by providing still lifes of items associated with them. For example, Earth is a representation of fruit and vegetable in all their appetizing detail; Air is a reproduction of birds and game fowl;  Fire is a representation of meat that is cooked through the use of fire before being consumed; and Water takes us into the deep—to the abundance of finned life that provides sustenance at our tables. The guide focused on Earth and only drew the attention of the audience to the other three paintings at the end of his commentary. I wished he had done so sooner as visitors could well have looked at them too as the room is very compact and could easily encourage comparison.

4.      Anthony Van Dyke: Lord John Stuart and His Brother Lord Bernard Stuart (About 1638). This lovely double portrait presents the sons of Charles I—the Heir standing slightly taller than his brother, the Spare! Both brothers fought on the Royalist side in the Civil War and were killed. We had seen a smaller version of a double portrait of them at Highclere Castle, two days previously. Not just renowned for his mastery of portraiture, Van Dyke being a Flemish artist was also neutral in his portrayal of English royalty.

5.      Anthony Van Dyke: Portrait of Charles I. Just besides the portrait of his sons is the famous huge equestrian one of Charles I himself also by Van Dyke—again, a similar one is in the Dining Room at Highclere Castle and we had admired it only very recently.

6.      Gallery 36—The Main Domed Room. The guide spoke about the elaboration of the interior decoration in this room and although he did not point to any paintings, he did talk about the stature that the National Gallery enjoys internationally and the manner in which it sees its mission to bring an awareness of quality paintings to the world.

7.      William Hogarth: Marriage A La Mode (1743). This series of 6 paintings is almost like a series of cartoons in that Hogarth pokes fun of the custom of marrying for money rather than for love. The guide focused on just one of them but referred to all six in passing and explained Hogarth’s penchant for satire through Art.

8.      Claude Monet: Bathers a La Grenouilliere(1869). The tour ended with a visit to the Impressionist section and a work by Monet in which I learned why the lake in which the bathers are seen taking a dunk is referred to as a frog-pond (La Grenouilliere in French). It turns out that it is a reference to the three women depicted hazily in the paintings and wearing the latest fashion in bathing suits—suits cut daringly to reveal their calves! They were, therefore, thought to resemble frogs—which is why the pool they swam in came to be known as the frog-pond! Hey, live and learn. Each time I take a guided art tour I learn something new—which is why they never fail to fascinate me.

It was a very good and a very satisfying hour indeed. But I simply could not leave the National Gallery without saying Hello to my favorite painting of them all: Courtyard of a House in Delft by Pieter de Hooch. Taking directions from a guard, we found it in Gallery 28 right besides the Vermeers and yet not in the slightest bit eclipsed by it.  But by 12. 30 pm, I was ravenous and ready to eat something urgently. I have realized that ignoring my hunger pangs only leads to a headache and I wanted to avoid that. I, therefore, led Llew down to the Gallery Café for one of my favorite of English treats: a slice of Coffee Walnut Cake. Llew did not wish to eat cake at mid-day and opted to simply watch me relish mine He decided to pick up a more substantial lunch somewhere down the road.

 Off to Flanders Field Memorial Garden:

            There was little time to spare after I had gobbled up my cake—we were meeting one of my former NYU students, Kent, who is now a friend of mine and someone I see almost every time I come to London. Kent, who has worked for Lloyds Bank in London for about five years, is returning to Hongkong to join his father’s business. Hence, he was particularly keen that we should meet this time as it is not certain when we will meet again.

            I chose the Guards Museum on Birdcage Walk for our meeting as I was keen to see the Flanders Field Memorial Garden that adjoins it. It was inaugurated by the Queen last year to coincide with the centenary of the outbreak of World War I in 1914. Somehow I expected it to me much larger and more elaborate than it turned out to be.

Llew and I rushed into the Tube at Charing Cross with the idea of making a connection to the District or Circle Line only to discover that weekend track work had disrupted the service (as it is wont to do). With no time to waste, we hailed a black cab and made it to the venue to find Kent waiting for us. Llew has also heard a lot about Kent from me and was happy to meet him for the first time. We spent the next hour with Kent as we inspected the Garden and took pictures of it. Named for the famous poem, “In Flanders Field the Poppies Blew” by John McCray, it comprises a large disc that has the entire poem engraved around it. This is a poem that every British school kid knows by heart—it is heart breaking and it is especially significant for me as I have followed the Poppy Trail in Picardy, France, and have seen how, to this day, poppies continue to bloom in the fields where trenches were once dug to conceal enemy troops and where an entire generation of young men was lost to the genocide that is warfare.             

We then walked at a leisurely pace to Parliament Square which was just buzzing with tourists on a particularly gorgeous day. It is amazing how towards the end of our stay the weather came through brilliantly for us and made our sauntering memorable. At Whitehall, we jumped into a bus that would sail down The Strand and bring us to the Savoy Theater just in time for a quick bite of lunch before our 2. 30 matinee show of Gypsy. We chose EAT as the most convenient place for pies and a sandwich and throughout this time, we chatted with Kent about his future plans. But by 2. 20, we bid him goodbye and raced across the street to the Savoy Theater.


Watching Gypsy—An Outstanding Musical:

            And what a fantastic three hours followed for us! In every sense of the word, the show was outstanding and Imelda Staunton was simply phenomenal. In what turned out to be a lovely story of the arduous nature of showbiz life, the hopes and dreams of one mother for her brood of kids, her complicated relationship with her agent (played by Davison) and her more complicated relationship with her daughters, June (Gemma Sutton) and Louise (Lara Pulver), the show kept us riveted. Staunton is truly a woman of multiple talents and while I had little doubt about her dramatic powers, her ability to sing and dance the way she did on stage simply blew me away. The house was packed, our seats were fabulous, Llew loved every second of it as much as I did and between the two of us, we were simply thrilled to have seen such a quality show and been so unexpectedly enthralled by it. Since there was only one show we had the time to see on this visit, we were besides ourselves to have caught this one.

Taking the Bus to see The Shard:

     There was one last thing we had to do before we returned home to shower, dress and get ready for our dinner appointment: I was keen to take Llew over to the South Bank so that he could see one of the newest attractions on the London skyline, The Shard. This is the conical tower that juts out into the sky on the South Bank. Viewing the city from its observation deck is a pricey business and we had no intentions of getting up there. However, it was worth jumping off the bus at St. Paul’s, crossing Wobbly Bridge (the Millennium Bridge) and getting closer to the skyscraper. Llew was glad to have done so but did not want to spend any more time on the South Bank. So we simply walked back through Paternoster Square to take a bus to High Holborn that got us there in 15 minutes.

 A Slap-Up Dinner at Simpson’s-On-The-Strand:

            I have wanted to dine at Simpson’s ever since I heard about it through an episode of As Time Goes Byon TV. But I also knew that it was a fancy, fine-dining kind of place that called for jackets in the Dining Hall. This meant that I would need to wait for Llew to arrive in London with me to be able to enjoy its offerings.

            Simpsons, it turns out, is also a bit of a London institution. It was originally opened in 1828 as a chess club in Piccadilly (where the Waterstone’s Bookshop is currently located). Since it was thought unwise to disturb chess games while in progress, it was decided to bring roast meats to the tables in silver-domed wheeled trolleys—a tradition that continues to this day.

            I had made a reservation for 7. 30 pm and we arrived just a few minutes after a lovely stroll from home to the restaurant on an evening that was made for walking. Seated at a table for four, we studied the brief menu and came to our decisions. We were taking our hosts Tim and Barbara for dinner and as Llew studied the wine list and chose a bottle of red Cabernet for the table, we made our choices. Barbara had the potted shrimp, Tim the sweetbreads  for starters while Llew and I decided to skip a starter and go directly to the main. With the compliments of the chef,  however, the waiter brought us demi-tasse cups of a chilled gazpacho that was absolutely divine—how thoughtful! Our guests both chose the Dover Sole for their main while Llew went for the Stuffed Pork Tenderloin and I chose the Roast Saddle of Lamb—I, therefore, had the privilege of being served table-side by a master carver who skillfully cut slices off a joint of meat and placed them on my plate together with redcurrant jelly and mint sauce. They came with superbly roasted potatoes and savoy cabbage. Everything was simply scrumptious. We all passed on dessert but ordered cups of coffee instead and with the conversation around the table never flagging for a single moment, we had a truly nice evening with our warm and generous hosts whose company we also thoroughly enjoy.

            It was still lovely outside as we walked through the West End’s theater lights and billboards for the short walk home. All that was left was to bid our hosts goodnight and goodbye as we had a very early start the next morning and would not be disturbing them as we sneaked out of their flat.

            The day had been very full but very exciting and it had ended on the nicest possible note. As always, we were sorry to leave London, but we had crowned an unforgettable safari in Africa with a splendid stay in our favorite city and we were not sorry to be returning home.

            As we finalized our packing, tidied, cleared and cleaned our room and bathroom and undertook the last-minute chores we needed to complete before our departure, we agreed that it was a week superbly spent and that it could not possibly have gone any better.

            Thanks for following me once again on this incredible summer tour of Africa and the UK. Although writing this journal is something I do as much for my own pleasure as or those who read it, I am always aware that you have a busy schedule and that you do me the honor of sharing some part of your day with me as you armchair-travel in my company. For that I am truly grateful.

Until I don my traveling shoes again, I say Cheerio!   

Thames Path Walk from Putney to Hammersmith And Fun Times with Friends

Jul20

Friday, July 17, 2015:

The Thames Path Walk from Putney to Hammersmith and Fun Times with Friends

            On yet another pre-dawn rising, I awoke to the discovery that the cold that had plagued me for the past three days was history. It left residual signs of a cough behind, but, for the most part, my familiar high-energy levels returned and I was ready to rock and roll. And good job too! For the day promised glorious sunshine and perfect mid-summer temps—read no humidity and the coolest of breezes playing off the river.

Morning Mass at St. Paul’s Cathedral:

            With the sun shining down on High Holborn outside my window, it seemed like the perfect morning to leave Llew at his lie-in and get to St. Paul’s Cathedral for Mass—something I did want to fit in on this trip. By 7.40 am, I climbed into casuals and rode the elevator downstairs. When a No.8 arrived, in a couple of minutes, I hopped right into it, and within five minutes, I was in St. Paul’s Cathedral where I have worshipped at daily Mass on countless occasions. In the little side Chapel, there were just 2 other folks when I arrived and within five minutes. Mass began—said, as it is done apparently every Friday—by the Bishop of London, Richard Chartres, whom I have had the privilege of meeting on a couple of occasions in the past through my friend Bishop Colclough (not that I expected him to remember me at all!).

Still, it felt odd to attend a Mass at which I was one of four members in the congregation. Later on, after Mass began, a couple of black women joined in, but it was a very quiet service indeed although beautifully said by the Bishop. For me, being at Mass in this beloved church, was an opportunity to thank the Lord yet again for the gift of my health and for bringing me again to my most beloved of cities.

              Outside, on the Square, Life raced on as office-goers clutching their coffees, entered corporate buildings to begin their day. I took the bus back for two stops and joined Llew, who had awoken for Brekkie of Sainsbury Fruit and Nut Muesli with Yogurt and coffee. We showered, got dressed and left High Holborn for the Tube ride to Putney Bridge for we were going to mess about on the river. At Putney, which is essentially a part of the city of London although it was once thought of as the countryside, the river takes on a countrified air and the suburbs that embrace its banks are upper crust: Hammersmith, Barnes, Chiswick, Kew, and finally the ritziest of them all, Richmond. The Plan of Action was to get to Putney and then start the stroll along the Thames Path all the way to Richmond—approximately 10 miles. From Richmond, we would take the Tube back home. Llew was game: we both donned comfortable walking shoes, our hats, carried bottles of water and we were off. This was something I had never done before—so I was doubly glad to have Llew’s company and to share the river with him.

Thames Path Walk from Putney to Hammersmith:

            So we Tubed it to Putney and using a local map at the Tube station, found our way to the River Thames. There is a Thames Tow Path on the opposite side but it is not as accessible as the Thames Path which provides for both walkers and cyclists. Although the walk we were roughly following started on the opposite side, we chose to stroll along the bank that passed by Bishop’s Garden and Fulham Palace. If one were to walk on the opposite bank, one would come across a plaque marking the start of the famous annual Oxford VS Cambridge Boat Race.

            As it turned out, we found ourselves walking on one of the loveliest pathways we could have taken. It was asphalted and lined by enormous London plane trees that were probably planted in the 1700s when the Embankments were built—walled and lined with brick to prevent flooding. The trees create marvelous dappled shade as their branches spread their embracing arms out to the sky. In-between each grand plane tree, there were fruit trees that were laden with sweet small stoned fruit that tasted plum-like: a cross between cherries and plums. I put a few dark red ones in my mouth and they were delicious but then because I could not really identify the fruit, I stopped eating—the last thing I wanted was to be poisoned!

Bishop’s Garden:

            Bishop’s Garden is so-called because it borders the property belonging to the Bishops of Fulham who once occupied Fulham Palace which was the official residence of the Bishop of London. We were delighted to find the Garden well-used mainly by toddlers and their mothers who had brought them out to enjoy a particularly fabulous day. There were amusement areas with swings and sliders and see-saws. There were sand pits where kids were hard at work building castles. In one part of the garden, there were fountains and a sand bank so kids could pretend they were at the beach. They could fill their pails with water, wet the sand with it and create more sand pies. The entire operation was a delight to observe. Loads of dogs and their walkers bounded along, there were strollers like us and there were joggers and cyclists. Londoners were making the most of a lovely day and getting some fresh air and exercise in the process.

Fulham Palace:

            As we walked, we noticed Barnes’ London Wetland Center on the opposite bank—evident by the lush green plantings that line the Thames Bank. On our side, there was the entrance to Fulham Palace which I had visited a few years ago when my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra were in London from Bombay at the same time that I was. We had taken the Tube and buses to get to the Palace entrance. This time, Llew and I walked in through the lovely Tudor Gateways and across the shallow dry moat to enter the property. Built in the Tudor period, the old buildings that comprise the Palace are merely a museum today. The gardens are open for the pleasure of passers-by and we stepped in to use the rest rooms as well as take in the two rooms that were once the Library and Drawing Room of the Bishops who had occupied the building. We walked out into the sunshine to enjoy purple wisteria vines climbing the burnt brown Tudor walls. There were lots of opportunities to take pictures in a lovely brick courtyard with its fountain and its urns filled with summer’s hydrangeas.

            Leaving Fulham Palace behind us, we continued along the Thames Path. The banks were soon lined with yuppie blocks of flats with glass panes offering uninhibited views of the river. And what views they were too! In the distance, we could already see the green expanse of ornamental Hammersmith Bridge spanning the river which at low tide had distinct beaches on both sides. There were dozens of crew on the river practicing their oarsmanship. There was also abundant bird life and we saw ducks of every kind. And every so often we heard planes flying low overhead. This made us realize that were definitely on the Heathrow Flight Path and I could quite understand that because I have had dozens of sightings of the Thames’ bridges upon take off or landing into Heathrow and it is always the Thames that provides for me the point of reference I need to enable me to grasp my location. For example, on landing into Heathrow on this trip, from the aircraft I got a brilliant picture of the Chinese Pagoda in an expanse of green and I knew immediately that we were flying over Kew Gardens because I could also see Hammersmith Bridge from above.

            Occasionally, we had to get off the Thames Path and take an interior detour and when we did so, we added more interest to our wandering. For we passed by beautiful Victorian terraced housing with its lovely exterior carved details that I always find fascinating. We also passed by pubs and tea rooms and coffee shops for the area has been taken over by young London professionals who make a pretty buck or two and are looking for close proximity to the city in their accommodation.

Viewing Harrod’s Depository:

But soon we were back on the river and within sighting distance of Hammersmith. On the opposite bank, we saw the famous Harrods’ Depository that was erected in 1894 in the same golden stone that forms the façade of the department store in Knightsbridge. It was built on the site of a candle factory mainly for the benefit of British families returning from long stints of Empire-building who would store their belongings here and live in a temporary Harrods’ flat in the back of the Brompton Road store whilst looking for a permanent home in London. The river frontage is a famous Boat Race landmark and since the building has a silhouette and a color similar to the Knightsbridge store, TV viewers are often confused when the commentator announces that the crews are “passing Harrods”. The outer façade of the building has the words ‘furniture’, ‘Harrdos’ and ‘upholstery’ on it and, oftentimes, orders placed at the Knightsbridge store are dispatched directly from this venue.


Lunch at Food Market at Hammersmith:

Once we arrived at Hammersmith Bridge, we decided to go out in search of lunch. We had been walking for two hours and had covered 5 miles with the various detours we had made en route. We decided at this point to cut our plans short and to leave the Thames Path segment from Hammersmith to Richmond for a future visit to London.
We needed to get something to drink as well as lunch and as we walked away from the river and towards the Hammersmith Tube station which also houses a shopping mall, we noticed large numbers of young folk carrying take-away food containers with them and heading for the lawns of the Church of St. Paul at Hammersmith. I inquired of one group of office-goers and he directed me to “a big food market just around the corner”. We dodged traffic around the islands of Hammersmith and found the Food Market in the plaza outside the Kings Mall. As we surveyed the offerings, we were stunned: every kind of takeaway ethnic meal was available. We had a choice of Polish kielbasa sausage on a roll, Jamaican jerk chicken, Argentinian empanadas, Indo-Pak rice and various curries, Chinese noodles, Vietnamese pho, Korean barbecue, German bratwurst, Greek souvlakis—you name it, they had it. We decided to get a large serving of the Mediterranean Mezze Luncheon which had a little bit of everything: Zaatar Chicken flavored with sumac served over couscous with every kind of sauce poured over it: tahini (sesame paste), lebnez (spicy yogurt sauce), cucumber tzasiki, chick peas, a bean salad, olives and pomegranate salad, dolmas (rice stuffed vine leaves). We bought a can of Diet Coke and taking our heavy food offerings with us to the gardens at St. Paul’s Church, we found ourselves a lovely place to picnic on a day that was made for enjoying the sunshine.

Since Hammersmith Mall was so conveniently located, we walked into M&S to do some food shopping as well as into Sainsbury and then laden again with our buys, we took the Tube home to relieve ourselves of the load. Back home, we decided to take a short nap until our next appointments.


Tea at Peter Jones with Roz:

            I had not yet met one of my closest London friends Rosemary (whom I know as Roz) yet as she had been busy with a conference she was organizing. It was her suggestion that we meet at the café on the top floor of the famous department store called Peter Jones at Sloan Square in Chelsea as she had about two hours to spare before rushing off to her next appointment. Besides, we had a dinner appointment close by with our friends the Colcloughs who lived on Sloan Street—overall, it was the most convenient venue for a natter, a cup of tea and a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam and I made the most of it.

            Roz was waiting by the splendid picture windows in the rooftop cafes when we got there. We admired the view for a while taking in the domes and spires of well-known landmarks that seemed near enough to touch. We picked up lovely pots of tea—a most civilized way of serving the beverage and somewhat unknown in the States—and sat down for a long catch up. Time simply flew and with Llew around, a rare appendage, he was a very avid part of the conversation as well. But soon it was time to leave and Roz hightailed it off to her next appointment.

I left Llew on a bench watching shoppers at Sloan Square as I hurried off to Waitrose on The King’s Road for more food supplies to carry back to the US and about half an hour later, the two of us were walking to our next port of call.

Dinner with the Colcloughs:

            We were ringing the bell at Grosvenor Court not too long after and had a lovely and very affectionate reunion with our friends Bishop Michael and his wife Cynthia dressed nattily in a Singaporean sarong kebaya. As Michael had recently recovered from surgery, we asked after his health. They suggested we take a walk in the garden downstairs for their building is one that surrounds Cadogan Square (coincidentally this is exactly the venue in which my American friends the Hardings had once spent several years in London). The gardens were fully laden with blooms and we enjoyed the agapanthus, tall hollyhocks, roses, fragrant bushels of lavender. We passed by the tennis courts and walked beneath the giant spreading trees that give the squares and their gardens so much character in London.

            And then we were back home enjoying wine and a G&T for me and sitting to one of Cynthia’s typically English meals: excellent Shepherd’s Pie with vegetable slaw and for dessert, there was Eton Mess: that interesting English concoction of fresh strawberries, crumbled meringues and cream or ice-cream which we enjoyed with coffee. During the evening, we were joined by the Colclough boys, Edward and Aidan, both up and coming lawyers, and in catching up with them, we had a most interesting time among some of our fondest London friends.

            It was way past 10.30 pm, when we left to walk to Knightsbridge Tube station to return home to High Holborn and at 11. 00 pm, we called it a night. Our stay in London was swiftly drawing to an end and with just one more day and night to go before we departed, we were determined to cram it well with all the things we wished to accomplish.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!     

Spending A Day at Downton Abbey: Highclere Castle, Bampton & Wolvercote

Jul20

Thursday, July 16, 2015:

Hightailing it Off to Highclere Castle—and Bampton —and Wolvercote, near Oxford!

            I have wanted to visit Highclere Castle for years—at least five years—and finally the day had dawned when we would make yet another dream come true! The sprawling estate is the setting of the fictional world of Downton Abbey to which Llew and I have become attached over the past five years. Occupied over the centuries by the families of the Earls of Carnavron, it became the preferred location site for the series because writer Julian Fellows happened to be a friend of the current Earl. After having successfully produced Gosford Park, set on another English country estate, he always hoped that his next venture would be set in Highclere. The opportunity presented itself when he launched Downton. No one ever dreamed it would become the runaway global megahit it became—but it has put Highclere Castle on the map and saved the ageing building from decline. Revenue that has poured in since the current aristocrats opened the doors of their home to the public is being ploughed back into the estate and I was pleased to be a party to its redemption.

            However, getting to Highclere Castle is a nightmare if you do not own a set of wheels. I had done a lot of research to try to find a way to get there by public coach from Victoria in London; but coaches go at odd hours and stop in faraway Newbury from where the tourist is expected to take a taxi to get to the estate. Furthermore, all available online tickets for the entire summer season had been sold out. I had entered into correspondence with the estate office and been informed that if I were to arrive at the Box Office by 10.00 am, there was a chance I could purchase a few of the “limited number of day tickets” that are made available for entry into the house no earlier than 2.00 pm. However, there were no guarantees—and the visitor arriving without a ticket takes his/her chances.  

            This was where my loyal and very accommodating friend Bash comes in. Over the years. readers of this blog would have become familiar with his name—for he has gamely chauffeured me to faraway reaches all over the English countryside—from Leeds and Hever Castles in Kent to Hidcote Manor Gardens in Oxfordshire and Wisley Royal Gardens outside London. Because he is an easy conversationalist, he is also charming company. While in the past we have taken driving excursions together, this time Llew would be joining us, of course. Bash also informed me that he would be bringing a friend with him—someone with whom he had just become acquainted. She turned out to be a woman named Chandrika and having awoken early, gulped down a cup of coffee, taken the Tube from Holborn in order to meet him in North London outside Northholt Tube station, it was here that we would meet both him and Chandrika.   

Driving to and Arriving in ‘Downton’:

            The drive to Highclere Castle took us approximately one and a half hours. It is clearly signposted after Newbury on the A34 and time flew swiftly as we discussed a number of topics. By the time we arrived at the Castle grounds, it was just before 10.00 am. Bash drove the car into the wide sweep of driveway leading to the main door from where we received our first glimpses of the lovely regal building comprising Highclere Castle designed by Charles Barry in the mid-1800s. If the spires that jut out of the turrets from the four corners of the main tower seem to you to resemble the Houses of Parliament in London, it is because Barry designed them too!

            While we were parking, the parking assistant assured us that there was no need to run—“there are loads of tickets”, he said. I was aghast. Why then had we been made to believe that they were near-impossible to get? Why are they not made available online? What’s the point of putting off a whole lot of visitors who might not be willing to take their chances? I was baffled.

            Anyway, we picked up tickets for 18 pounds each—they included access to the House, Gardens and the Special Exhibition on the Search For and the Finding Of the Tomb of Tutankhamun which had been accomplished by the Fifth Earl of Carnavron in 1922 through his patronage of the archaeologist Howard Carter. Having seen the entire collection of Tutankhamun treasures at the National Museum of Cairo in Egypt, a few years ago, we thought it would be terrific to revisit the hoard.

Visiting ‘Downtown Abbey’:

            As it turned out, our tickets were marked for a 10. 40 am entry. This meant that we were basically the second batch of visitors entering the Castle for the day. We queued up with a bunch of other guests at the main door (often featured in the series as the spot where visitors come in and leave to a reception or send-off from the entire Downstairs staff). Once inside the small foyer, we were ushered to the left and informed repeatedly that photography and videotaping is strictly prohibited in the House—outside one is free to take any number of pictures. This probably has to do with the fact that the current Earl and his family still continue to live at Highclere and the upstairs bedrooms are occupied by them and their guests year-round.

            The first room you enter is the “Double Library” that any fan of DA will instantly recognize. It is the spot at which Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) is often seen attending to his business affairs, meeting with Chief of Staff Carson or bending down to stroke his yellow lab Isis. There are guides in each room ready, willing and able to answer questions and we asked several. Laminated handouts, also available in each room, provide details about the most significant decorative elements in the rooms—such as paintings above fireplaces, or embroidered panels (as we saw in the smaller library). The Larger room that comprises the library is equally interesting: architecturally and from the point of view of Downton locations. As Llew and I walked through the rooms at our leisure, we commented frequently on our recognition of special corners of the house. And as if to remind us continually that this is not Downton Abbey but actually Highclere Castle where a real, non-fictional family live, there are countless family pictures of the current Lord and Lady of the Manor and their children, pets and relatives scattered all over the house. The tour wound its way to the Living Room also seen frequently in the series as the spot where the ladies assemble over tea or coffee. It has beautiful soft green furnishings and a few significant paintings.  

            The tour continued up the stairs to the bedrooms that are located around one of the most interesting architectural features I have ever seen in a country manor—the quadrangular central balcony that wraps around the house internally, provides bedrooms on all fours sides and creates corridors through which occupants and servants can access these rooms. Bending down over the balcony, one sees the main Hall called the Salon, also a frequent setting in the series. We peeped into many bedrooms including ones used by the Dowager Countess of Grantham (Maggie Smith) in the series and saw a number of bathrooms—some old, others modernized. Most of the rooms and their furnishing are in fabulous condition considering how much it must cost for the upkeep of such a home and its contents. We were allowed to move along at our leisure and at no point did we feel stressed or hurried. Crowds were great. Most are elderly viewers; most are English; most come to the spot on conducted tours that follow a course that goes through many of the neighboring sites of the series—not just Highclere Castle.

            When we finished viewing the upstairs bedrooms, we descended the beautiful stone staircase with its wooden balustrade.  The upstairs corridors, the bedrooms and the house in general seemed much smaller to me in real life than they do in the series. They also seemed much darker. It is clear that excellent professional lighting in the TV series makes them come alive in a way that is not possible in real life.

            Back on the ground floor, we paused at the Salon to take in the marble fireplaces, the furnishings, etc. and to view still more contemporary photos of the current owners. We then trooped into the last main room—the piece de resistance of the house, its Dining Room. This is where the Granthams are seen eating three times a day: buffet breakfasts, casual lunches, formal dinners. The dining table looked very small and we were informed that it comes with 12 leaves—that can be added depending on the number of diners and that a number of shield-back chairs can also be added at that stage. None of the chairs matched—which I thought was interesting. Of course, in this room, the single most arresting feature is the equestrian painting of King Charles I by Anthony Van Dyke which dominates one wall and is seen in most dining room shots in the series. Flanking it are other portraits by Van Dyke—of the two Stuart brothers, both Royalists who fought on the Cavalier side during the Civil War and ended up killed. There are many other important paintings in this room and we spent a great deal of time here.

 Viewing the Tutankhamun Exhibition at Highclere:

            Finally, because Bash and Chandrika chose not to buy tickets to the Egyptian exhibition, Llew and I made our way “Downstairs” to the labyrinth of corridors that contained the story of the discovery of the Treasures of Tutankhamun in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt—one of history’s most significant finds ever. We learned a lot about the interest in Egypt and in antiquities of the Fifth Earl of Carnavron who had almost given up looking for the Tomb when it was eventually found, quite by chance, just beneath the camp that historians and scholars had set up to find it! We also saw a reproduction of the famous gold and lapis mask of Tutankhamun (we had seen the stunning original in Cairo) as well as the key elements of the discovery: his golden throne, for instance. There were reproductions of the four alabaster Canopic jars containing organs of the young boy-king as well as information on the brass doors that once opened leading discoverers to the inner cavities until they eventually reached the sarcophagus of “King Tut” and found his Mummy concealed within three coffins made of wood, glass and gold respectively. It was truly a fabulous experience to see this all over again—and for anyone who does not have the chance to actually get to Cairo, I could not recommend this exhibition enough. Indeed if you do get to Highclere Castle, do not miss this exhibition—it is worth every cent.

            What this Exhibition taught us was about the mythology related to the Curse of Tutankhamun and its relation to Lord Carnavron. He died within two months (I believe) or soon after learning about the haul’s discovery—hence, although he knew about it before he died, he did not set eyes on its incredible treasures.  He did arrive in Egypt, reached the site in the Valley of the Kings and had a brief glimpse through a keyhole (literally! that is brilliantly reproduced at the Exhibition) of the treasures that lay within. However, shortly afterwards, he was bitten by a mosquito on his right cheek. The bite became aggravated by his morning shaving routine causing an infection that refused to heal. He died shortly after of septisemia—setting in motion the myth of the Mummy’s Curse. What I learned at the exhibition was that the bite on his cheek occurred at the exact spot where the gold plating covering the Mask of Tutankhamun is at its thinnest!  Also interesting is that all the lights suddenly went off in the city of Cairo at precisely the moment when Lord Carnavron died and that his dog in the UK dropped dead quite mysteriously at the same time that his Master died in Egypt. It had the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright!

Lunch at Highclere Castle Tea Rooms:

            By this time, we were famished and ready to eat a horse. It is interesting that there are no period kitchens in this home. They have been modernized a long time ago as the venue is often chosen for weddings, banquets, receptions, etc. Hence, all “Downstairs” scenes in the series are shot on studio sets at Ealing Studios in West London.

            There are, however, very functional kitchens at Highclere that serve the hungry traveler today. Adjoining it is a cozy tea room for traditional cream teas or light lunches. Bash and Chandrika had already eaten by the time we arrived to join them. Llew and I chose the Beef Pasty and the Chicken Breast respectively served with roast potatoes, boiled carrots and peas. It was good hearty English fare and quite tasty for that.

 A Saunter in Highclere’s Gardens:

            Then, because it was still not quite 1.00 pm by this stage we went for a long walkabout on the lawns of the property that comprise the gardens. Set in 1,000 acres of sweeping parkland, the grounds were landscaped by the famed English landscape designer Sir Lancelot “Capability” Brown who introduced the ‘natutral’ aesthetic to English outdoor design. He is responsible for creating the concept of sheep grazing on lawns visible from upstairs windows—and there were loads of sheep dotted all over Highclere’s grounds—in order to introduce the bucolic touch to the surroundings. To prevent sheep from straying too close to the main door, he built a moat called a ‘haha’ into which they would fall and be unable to dig themselves out if they ventured into it. Hence, the soft undulating park spread all around us was his concept.

Dotting this spreading estate are “follies”—and there are 12 on this estate—small architectural curiosities often built in the style of foreign lands to represent fanciful homes from exotic realms. Hence, these are often domed and minareted as in the Islamic vein or pillared and pedimented as in Greek Neo-Classical style. There is also a lovely large screen in the Drawing Room at Highclere comprising paintings of all 12 follies on the property—many of these follies are visible from the windows of the house as one take the tour—hence, it is as important while touring the house to keep peering through the windows outside to take them in as many are perched high on the hills surrounding the house.

            At one of the most accessible follies (nearest the house) built in Greek Neo-Classical style, we joined groups of people who posed for pictures with the house in the background. This is the extent of ‘gardens’ one will find here. There are no herbaceous borders or profuse beds or rose gardens or flower gardens at all. It is merely a walking or strolling garden—the kind in which aristocratic 18thcentury ladies preferred to stroll so as to avoid any interaction with the hoi polloi.

 Off to Bampton in Oxfordshire:

            With so much time on our hands and the day shaping up so beautifully as one of those stunning summer ones in England often do, it was only logical that we would use it to drive to Bampton, the tiny Oxfordshire village that is the real-life location for the fictional village of Downton in the series. Supposed to be in Yorkshire somewhere between the towns of Ripon and Thirsk (which are, in turn,  the real-life world of yet another famed British TV series—All Creatures Great and Small), this village is actually much lower south in Oxfordshire and is now firmly on the tourist map—thanks to the popularity of Downton Abbey.

            It took us about an hour to get there from Highclere for without a GPS (or SatNav as it is known in the UK), it is well-nigh impossible to find anything in the countryside unless you have superb directions. We were fortunate to find two people who knew exactly what they were talking about and who led us directly to the little village on the edge of the Cotswolds.

            It is easy to see why filming takes place in this village—first of all, it seems untouched by the hands of time. It is one of those timeless places that could have been built centuries ago—although, truth be told, I noticed that most of the structures were built of the honey-toned Cotswold stone at the turn of the 20th century and dated from about 1901 to 1910. Secondly, when the light hits these stone walls, the façade seems to acquire a gilded patina which makes for quite brilliant TV backdrops.

            Chandrika chose not to do the Walking Tour with us and Bash chose to keep her company in a pub. Llew and I found our way directly to the Bampton Community Center which is housed in the village Library Building. This building serves as Downton Hospital in the TV series and many of the outdoor scenes associated with Isobel Crawley and her relationship with the tall, handsome doctor, are shot here at the entrance under a very cute stone archway. Inside the building, there is Downtonmemorabilia—for as their sign clearly points out, there is no Downton Abbey Memorabilia at Highclere Castle—just Highclere trinkets. Here there are keychains, magnets, mugs, postcards and photos to be purchased, but, most useful of all, you can buy a Downton Abbey map for 50p that takes you to all the locations in the village that were used in the series.

            To see all the sites, you need to give it at least two hours: After photographing the Library (Downton’s Hospital), we strolled next door to the house that is used as Matthew and Isobel Crawley’s residence in the series. It has a high wall and a gate surrounding it that prevents anyone venturing into it, but the façade is clearly familiar to fans of the series. Again, we took many pictures at this venue.

            Just next door, in a small traffic island that comprises this area, is the current St. Mary’s Church (renamed as The Church of St. Michael and All Angels in Downton). We walked into the arched stone entrance and up to the church door and then made our way for a spiritual visit to the front. It is at this church altar that Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary are married in the show. Someone was hard at work changing the flower arrangements when we got there and apart from a group of three female visitors, also taking the tour, there was no one in sight.

            Outside in the church yard, where in the series Matthew Crawley is buried, there was a group of noisy American high school kids on a school trip. Their chatter broke the age-old silence of the space but it also contributed some tourist vitality to it. Following the map down Church View Road, we saw the little houses that double up as pubs—The Grantham Arms and The Dog and Duck—in the series. We also entered into conversation with a very friendly man who lives on the same street who shared interesting snippets with us about incidents associated with the shooting. “They’ve been at it for five years now,” he said, “and we have grown accustomed to them.” He told us that The Dog and Duck Pub is a house that belongs to his friend whose exteriors and interiors feature in the film—she gets paid a few hundred pounds for each shooting session, he said. He also told us that the village garbage stand outside her home is converted into a red pillar post box when shooting is on—“they merely place a red pillar box dummy directly over the bin,” he explained, “but people had no idea and actually started posting their mail in there! They had to put a notice informing people that it was not a real post box.”

            So up and down the village we walked—we were charmed not just by its Downtonconnections but also by the unhurried, calm pace of life in these villages that have always held a particular fascination for me—for at least thirty years when I had first been introduced to Oxfordshire’s Cotswold villages while at Oxford. Gardens spill over with flowers—there are hollyhocks higher than my height, roses cling to aged walls, cats sit in sunny windows watching passers-by, dogs bark indoors or prance in the front. There is not a car to be seen in some of the side streets—time literally does stand still.

            When we found Bash and Chandrika they were in the local pub on the main street. We badly needed a cup of tea at this time and went in search of a tea room, but the only one to be found had shut a half hour previously. I came up with the idea of driving to Oxford–not too far away. It was about 5.00 pm by this time and Bash was afraid we’d hit traffic big time. He was pleased to make the detour to avoid the highway rush hour. Again, winding roads that went past the sweetest little Cotswold villages led us within spitting distance of Oxford.

 Dinner at The Trout Inn in Wolvercote:

            But that was when Bash and Chandrika decided to make a detour to Wolvercote to skirt the university town and avoid traffic altogether. Bash had his heart set on dining at The Trout Inn—legendary gastropub in Wolvercote, a few miles outside of Oxford, where we had once dined together and where I have dined on several occasions with different friends. Using instinct, I was able to guide Bash to The Trout and on parking his car, we entered the place at a time when it was still almost empty—it was about 6.00 pm. This gave us pick of the spots at the waterside for the pub is located on the banks of the Isis (a branch of the Thames) at the spot where a weir tumbles water into the river creating a very picturesque backdrop for diners.

We were seated at a table for four and decided to order. Both Llew and I chose the King Prawn, Crab and Chorizo Linguine and it was just so darn good that I have resolved to try to reproduce it at home soon. Chandrika, a vegetarian, chose the deep-fried halloumi while Bash had the beef burger and we all pronounced our meal superb. For dessert, I got the Sticky Toffee Pudding with Warm Custard which I only ever eat when I am in the UK while Llew had the Belgian-Chocolate Brownie with Vanilla Ice-Cream. In the distance, I could see one of the dreaming spires of Oxford—the steeple of a former church now housing the Science Center. I had the terrible feeling of being so near and yet so far. But we had lingered over our meal and our drinks (local beer for me) far too long and Chandrika realized at 7. 30 pm that she had a long way to go to reach home in South London.

We hastily made our retreat from the restaurant but not before we paused on the bridge above the weir to take in the sights of the Oxford Tow Path curving towards the city at Godstow Lock where the ruins of Godstow Nunnery still stand—they formed the setting for one of the famed Inspector Morse Mysteries that I adore.

            We got back into our car and raced homewards—alas, without passing through one of my favorite cities in the world. So near and yet so far, I thought, as I had hoped we would at least drive down The High and take in the illuminated college buildings. Still, it was only a small disappointment in a very fulfilling day and we were absolutely delighted with the unexpected twists and turns (literally!) that it had taken to bring us into some of our fondest TV locations.

            Bash was kind enough to drive us all the way into the city and it was at King’s Cross that we alighted to hop into a bus that took us right opposite our building at the corner of Gray’s Inn Road within 10 minutes. Our hosts were already asleep when we crept in at about 10. 30 pm after an amazing day.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!  

           

           

Hovering Around Hampstead: Kenwood House, Serpentine Pavilion, Dinner with London Friend

Jul20

Wednesday, July 15, 2015:

Hovering Around Hampstead—and Back in London again!

            We awoke to the knowledge that it is July 15 and my brother Russel’s birthday. We started our day with a call to him—for I had also purchased a Lebara SIM card as the O2 Big Bundle plan that came with my new British cell phone did not permit international calling. Although it was almost mid-day in Bombay, India, where Russel is based, he was delighted to hear from us and the call gives us the opportunity also to speak to my Dad.

Breakfast with Another Friend in Hampstead:

But we have a very early start as it will take us about an hour on the Tube to get to Hampstead, a lovely little village on the outskirts of London, where we have plans to breakfast with our friend Marilyn Rixhon who suggested we meet her at White and Ginger, a snazzy coffee shop not far from the Tube station. We leave our flat at 8. 30 and hop into the Tube to Hampstead.

I am always charmed by this part of London which happens to be one of my favorites. Walking through its leafy streets is a simple treat—a little village right in the heart of the city. Taking in its grand mansions, its spruce gardens, walking on its Heath, climbing Parliament Hill for unrivalled views of the city are some of its selling points. Visiting its national properties open to the public such as Keats’ House, Fenton House, 2 Willow Road (home of architect Erno Goldfinger) have brought me to this part of London many times over and it is always with renewed delight that I discover something new and wonderful about it. It was on Church Lane in Hampstead, home of a weekly antiques market, that I found the lovely dropdown antique desk that I had shipped back to the States when my working stint in London had come to an end. I use the desk daily and always marvel at its acorn-shaped drawer pulls and the Tudor linen-fold panel decoration that I adore. This time, since Llew is with me, it is unlikely we will have the leisure to wander aimlessly in the area as I often do when I am alone. Furthermore, it is drizzling and chilly—not ideal walking weather. In fact, it might be a good day to lose oneself in a museum and my mind begins to explore other possibilities since we are in the Hampstead neck of the London woods.  

 It is just 9. 15 am when we walk into White and Ginger at precisely the same time that Marilyn arrives there too. We have an affectionate reunion. I had made friends with her when I had lived in London and it is an association I cherish and nurture by email and regular visits on my forays into the city. Marilyn is a Swiss woman married to a Belgian and has lived in London for a couple of decades. Getting together with her is an opportunity to chat about all sorts of things—our daughters (she has Emma-Louise, now an Art History major at the University of London), our work, our pursuits, our love of travel, etc. We order breakfast: it is Ham and Cheese Croissants with Hot Chocolate for Llew and me and Scrambled Eggs with Smoked Salmon on Toast for her. The coffee shop is full of wealthy and pretty North London housewives married to physicians and financial whizzes who have seen their kids off on the school bus and are now getting together for a gossip session before going home to their chores. Our hour or so passes quickly and Marilyn, who has just returned from her yoga class, is headed to a work appointment. She has treated us to breakfast and we are thrilled to have had the time with her on a busy travel schedule for us and a busy work day for her. We say goodbye regretfully but I know I will see her again for our paths cross frequently.


Exploring Recently-Renovated Kenwood House:

            It was my plan that I should introduce Llew to Kenwood House, a grand mansion designed by the 18thcentury architect Robert Adams, not too far from Hampstead High Street. The drizzle continues unabated and it is wet and grey—the perfect day to spend indoors inspecting a world-class manor and enjoying its world-class art collection. Llew is willing when I explain the plan of action. He has never been to Kenwood while I have been there often. It was closed for a long while as it underwent renovation—and now that it has reopened, I too am keen to see what changes have been wrought.

            We take the 268 Bus from the High Street and three stops later change to the 210 bus headed to Finsbury Park. It stops right outside Kenwood House which makes it very convenient for those attempting to get there by public transport (this is not the case with many country manors in the UK which are usually located in the middle of nowhere). Llew is repeatedly struck by the assurance with which I use public transport and find my way around this city and its outskirts.  

            We cross the street, enter Kenwood House, and are greeted by volunteers in the lovely Robert Adams’ foyer that is done in the style of Josiah Wedgwood’s Jasperware: think pale matt shades such as pink, blue and lavender with embossed white motifs all over. We have all seen ceramic bowls, plates and teacups in this design. Now imagine the same aesthetic transferred to the walls and ceiling of a country home and you can guess how stunning the effect can be. Robert Adams created and popularized this look by using Plaster of Paris to cast the various rondels and other decoration that would adorn the homes he designed. The Library is the piece de resistance in this home—it is the one room that was most affected by the renovation. The excessive gilding that had been added later in the Victorian Age was painted over as it was not part of Adams’ original conception. The room looks far more subdued today. Ceiling paintings by Antonio Zucci bring it the only bright spots of color. There are mirrors, chandeliers, a marble fireplace and mantelpiece and period furniture that are not original to the home. The home was built for Lord Mansfield and was later purchased by the Irish aristocrat, Lord Iveagh (pronounced Ivor), heir to the Guinness Brewery fortune.

            Our exploration of the art work then follows as we enter the huge Dining Room where many of the masterpieces in the collection are to be found: Jan Vermeer’s The Guitar Player, for instance, is a huge draw. One of Rembrandt’s last self-portraits stunningly occupies one wall. There are important portraits by Gainsborough, Franz Hals, Van Dyke, Thomas Lawrence’s charming portrayal of Miss Murray, loads of works by Sir Joshua Reynolds, even John Singer Sargent. We move from room to room admiring these works and chatting with the guides in each room who are exceedingly knowledgeable about the rooms and their decoration. Lord Iveagh amassed the small but exquisite art collection that he bequeathed to Great Britain in his will as he wanted the general public to be able to enjoy Art free of charge in a house he loved. Hence, entrance to Kenwood House does not cost the visitor anything. When we climb the stairs to the second floor, we find more portraits from the Tudor period to the 18thcentury. There is so much to see, so much to read, for the exhibits are well-curated. When we have spent over two hours in this lovely home, we get ready for our 1.30 meeting with my relative, Joel, at Shepherd’s Bush in the Westfield Mall.

            Thankfully, it has stopped raining and the skies are brightening up miraculously. The sun quickly dries up pools of water that have accumulated everywhere but the rain has left a residual freshness that adds to the purity of the air. We do not have the time to walk on the Heath, but head straight to the Bus stop to take a bus to Hampstead Tube Station.

 A Chat with a Former Professional Cricketer:

                It is while we are waiting for the bus that takes an unusually long time to arrive that I get into conversation with a fellow passenger. Before we know it, we are deep in discussion with him. A few stops later, he alights with us and then offers to accompany us as we walk downhill to the Tube station. Introductions are done and he turns out to be a Michael Huxley who once played professional cricket for Middlesex as a reservist and who toured the world with the team. His best friend even today is England’s former cricketing captain Mike Brearly who, he informs us, married an Indian woman and has settled down in Hyderabad, India. Instantly, he and Llew have a lot to discuss about cricket past and present and, on the walk to the station, our conversation scintillates. I am repeatedly struck by the way people I turn to randomly for a few minutes’ chatter end up being some of the most interesting folks I know. He tells us that he began playing cricket at the age of six while in school in neighboring Highgate. He continued at university and turned professional shortly afterwards. The Ashes matches have begun, between England and Australia, and England has been hammered on Day One which has made the nation feel down in the dumps. Michael shakes our hands, bids us goodbye when we arrive at the station and is gone. We are left with the distinct feeling that our meeting was fated.

 On the Tube to Shepherd’s Bush:

            My Dad’s cousin’s daughter Sybil (now an invalid in a hospice in Kent) was once married to a man called Joel with whom I have continued to keep in contact despite their divorce. Joel, who now lives in Guildford, Surrey, suggested we meet for lunch at the Westfield Shopping Mall in Shepherd’s Bush as this would be mutually convenient for us. He has never met Llew and was keen to make his acquaintance. Those of you who know me well also know that I am allergic to modern shopping malls and avoid them like the plague. However, this Westfield in Shepherd’s Bush, had opened to much fanfare when I had lived in London and I was pretty keen to see what the fuss was about. Hence, when Joel suggested it, I complied.

            Like any mall, the Westfield, an Australian chain, is huge, crowded, noisy, filled with designer showrooms (that do nothing for me) and food courts that I find equally bland and characterless. After meeting Joel, we had a long debate on the best place to eat and Joel suggested the “Set Lunches” offered by the restaurants outside the mall.  It was at Madmaloun, a Lebanese restaurant that we finally settled. I chose their Mezze Sampler which included some of my favorite spreads: hummus, babaganoush, lebnez, dolmas (Greek rice stuffed vine leaves), salad and taramasalata—all absolutely delicious eaten with pita bread. Llew and Joel chose to have the Lamb Shwarma Platter which seemed to have impressed neither of them. One of the other reasons I love being in London is the ability to indulge in all sorts of ethnic food offerings although, truth be told, I am partial to standard British classics myself such as Bangers and mash, Shepherd’s Pie, Steak and Ale Pie or Cornish Pasties. Still, the meal was secondary to the opportunity to catch up with Joel and his family news. He is always so eager and happy to meet me and to drive me around to places outside London. This time, he seemed less buoyant since he was recovering from recent surgery.

 Off to See the Serpentine Pavilion at Kensington Gardens:

            At 2. 30 pm, we bade Joel goodbye and got back on the Tube after spending some time shopping for our food goodies from Waitrose before we returned to the city laden with our grocery bags. The sun had come out fully by this time and walking outside was a sheer pleasure. I suggested to Llew that we should get off at Kensington Gardens and make our way to the Serpentine Gallery, one of London’s better-known art galleries with changing exhibits.

            Each summer, for the past 15 years, the Serpentine has invited artists to create what they call a “pavilion” right outside the main entrance of the gallery—an installation that reveals the innovative thinking of the Artist. Over the years, I have visited many of these pavilions that have taken the form of gardens, outdoor seating areas, etc. This year, the Serpentine Pavilion has been designed by Spanish architects SelgasCano who are showing off their nature-meets-synthetics genius. The duo has designed a stunning chrysalis-like structure made from brightly-colored transparent plastic. Once you cross the broad expanse of lawns that is Kensington Gardens, past the Italianate formal gardens at Lancaster Gate, the pond that teems with mallard life and the lovely sculpture of Peter Pan that is a tribute to author J.M. Barrie who frequented the park and was inspired by the family he met here to write his masterpiece, it is, to quote from the Gallery’s publicity material, “a space in the middle of London to get lost in, to marvel at the Modernist architecture and to realize that, yeah, London’s actually not too bad after all! There’s talk of a ‘secret corridor’ from which to marvel at the building’s awesome stained-glass effect. Other than inspiring daydreams of caterpillars mating with Fruit Pastilles, what else is going on here?” Well, whatever you make of it, really, for the installation is fully open to interpretation.

            Llew and I spent a lovely time here. We entered the pavilion which reminded me of a colored plastic igloo. Inside, Fortnum and Mason had set up snacks, beverage and ice-cream stands and people were enjoying the relaxed ambience. The long trek across the Park and the sudden heat had rendered me thirsty and looking for a water fountain and finding none, I was offered a cold glass from a staff water cooler—God knows how far away they walked to bring it to me. It is little gestures of kindness like this that continually strike me in London for its people are nothing if not kind and polite, considerate and compassionate.

Homeward-Bound on the Bus:

            We then walked briskly out of Kensington Gardens and found a bus on Kensington Gore Road to get us to Holborn. The day had been saved miraculously and the city was crawling again with visitors being tourists or shopping for that special something to take back home. We needed to offload our shopping, take showers and get dressed—for we had yet another dinner invitation from yet another London-based friend that I had made when I had lived there: Sushil Velu. And since he lived on Theobalds’s Road right behind High Holborn where we were based, his place was very easy to reach.   

      Sushil is a very good cook and he chose to cook us a meal himself. He lives alone in a flat in a wonderfully central location. He had also invited another mutual friend, Owen Berkeley-Hill who was supposed to arrive with his English wife, Barbara. She, however, was tied up with something and Owen arrived alone. Llew was meeting all these friends of mine for the very first time, so conversation was more of an introductory sort. Sushil served wine and brought out the most delicious sautéed chicken wings we’ve eaten. The marinade was truly finger-lickin’ good. He also served us steamed rice with his signature Beef Curry and a marvelous concoction of cauliflower with broad beans flavored with mustard, coconut and lime juice. Dessert was ice-cream, vanilla and chocolate, and a simpler, more scrumptious home-cooked meal would be hard to find. I was pleased to see Sushil looking so well. It has been a few years since I have seen him as his travels to India often caused us to cross one another on my visits to London. Llew was finally able to put faces to these names with which he has become familiar over the years.

            At about 9.00 pm, after Owen had left to return to Kent where he lives, Llew and I had some alone time with Sushil who filled us in on his future plans now that he has retired from the BBC. We resolved to continue to stay in touch and left his home about 10.00 pm for our short and very pleasant walk home to High Holborn where we called it a night.

            Another very pleasant day had come to an end for us in London—a day that started and ended with friends and which had been punctuated by world-class art offerings in grand country manors and en plein air. We were not disappointed with the way it had turned out despite its gloomy start.                

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!

A Day Out at Heavenly Henley-on-Thames

Jul20

Tuesday, July 14, 2015: London

A Day Out at Henley-on-Thames

            Awake again at daybreak (5.00am) sans alarm clock, I am fully convinced I run on adrenalin when I am in London. Otherwise how do you explain the fact that I get a mere 5 hours of sleep a night, take no afternoon nap and am still full of beans despite the awful cold that continues to plague me?

Brekkie was an all-time favorite: Sainsburys Fruit and Nut Muesli with yogurt and coffee. There is a quiet slow pace to our morning but we have decided to shower and get away from London for the day. The forecast is calling for a cloudy day—but what’s new? It is summer in London—on expects an overcast sky! As long as there is no rain, we are happy campers.

            It is about 9.30 am when we finally set out on our daytrip to Henley-on-Thames, the picturesque sailing village on the river that is associated with the annual Royal Regatta. After a lovely natter with Arben, the concierge at the building in which we are staying and who goes back a long time in his acquaintance with us to a time when I once lived in this building in High Holborn, we disappear down the Tube shaft. But the cold I am still carrying (also responsible for an awful night of sniffles and a mild headache) has made me wooly-minded and we head for Waterloo instead of Paddington. It is only at the ticket window that we discover our error. To rectify it, we race into a Tube going to Paddington and upon arrival there, make it into a super slow train that requires us to make a change at Twyford where we have a 15 minute connecting wait. It is almost noon by the time we reach Henley-on-Thames. I did not expect it to take this long but we are on holiday with no particular plans—so we take it in our stride.

 Heavenly Henley:

            It is love at first sight for Llew and  me as we get off the train, take directions from the ticket clerk at the window on the way to find the High Street and go out to meet the village of Henley. From the Get Go, we are charmed by the architecture and the quaintness of the buildings. The entire village is still in festive mood—still recovering from the post-Regatta high that hits it when it is inundated by thousands of visitors who arrive to watch the legendary sailing competition between Berkshire and Buckinghamshire once a year in the first week of July. This year it ran from July 1-5—so we missed it by a week. Red, white and blue buntings adorn the entire village, strung across streets from shop to shop. We find ourselves buoyed along by the energy.  

We are a couple without a plan. We have no map, no tourist literature, no signposts to guide us. Still, following instructions, we arrive on the High Street and I am immediately seduced by the quality of the merchandise in the charity shops. It is in one of them that I find something I have sought for ages: a pair of Jackie O sunglasses (I had lost the pair I possessed in a New York restaurant and never had them returned to me). I am thrilled. Each building is prettier than the next. We pass by a brick church with a Byzantine steeple. We finally arrive on what is called Market Place—an open-air market has been held at this site every Thursday since the 12th century. This is yet another astonishing aspect about English country life that never ceases to strike me—the fact that traditions such as these survive the test of time so effortlessly. In our age of refrigeration and supermarket chains there is still room for the organic farmer and the home baker.

            Market Street reminds me faintly of another nearby Oxfordshire town—Woodstock—by virtue of the fact that it’s Town Hall also sits in the midst of a small traffic island at the end of its main street. It is also similar in style and design with Woodstock’s Town Hall. We enter it to find a warm reception from the council workers who offer us maps, suggestions for things to do and places to visit and lots of leaflets associated with the international smash hit TV series, Midsomer Murders which has been on for over 15 years now. It uses scattered locations from all around the region for its exquisite settings and part of the great joy of watching the excellent plot lines of this series is feasting your eyes upon its locales. It is possible to do a Walking Tour to get to some of the series’ locations but if you want to truly explore the main villages that feature in the series, you need a set of wheels to take the Driving Tour—also available in a handy leaflet.

But, by this time, our tummies are rumbling and we inquire about the possibility of a good meal. Although The Argyll on Market Place, a very old pub in which several scenes in the series have been shot, is reputed to have “beautiful food”, according to the lady at the Information Center, we elect to find a waterside café—after all, we are at Henley-on-Thames!

Lunch at The Angel (Of the Bridge):

            The man at the Information Center suggested The Bridge, a landmark pub on the river—but he was not able to comment on the quality of the food or the prices. “We call it The Angel On The Bridge”, he said, as he directed us down Hart Street towards it. When we arrive there, past the beautiful church of St. Mary The Virgin, we find it is simply The Angel. It could not have a more scenic location: right at the foot of an old Portland stone bridge that dates from the later 1700s. A pontoon has been pushed out into the water with picnic style benches and tables to enable dining by the riverside. We glance at the menu and I opt for Bangers and Mash with Onion Gravy—standard pub grub that I adore. Plus my mouth has been watering since I passed by Gabriel Machin Butchers on Market Place whose wares were mouthwateringly arrayed for the viewing pleasure of every carnivore in creation. Llew decides to get the Cajun Chicken Breast with fries and salsa.

            We eat well as we watch rowers on the lake and cruise vessels that follow the Regatta course to show visitors pretty villages along the Thames. The region is rich in literary allusions—Kenneth Graeme wrote The Wind In The Willows in nearby Pangbourne and there is a small museum to this immortal classic close by. The Thames was responsible for his phrase that pertained to “Messin’ About on Boats” as Ratty, Mole, Badger and Toad shoot the breeze. Flocks of mallard life visit us as we munch and we see a spectacular swan hover over the water, its giant wings batting almost mechanically as it gets to the other bank. There are families of terns and some aquatic birds we cannot even recognize. It is an idyllic scene on a day that has cleared up well. There is no sun but brave glimmers of its rays make an occasional courageous appearance between clouds. We down our ale, we sip our wine, we feel buoyant. A group of noisy French rowers occupies a neighboring table—no doubt, they too are psyched about being in Henley.

A Walk Along the Thames Path:

            It is time for us to walk off the big meal we have just consumed and we decide to amble along the Thames Path to Hambledon Locks. Locks are one of the frequent features in the UK that require sailors to stop while cruising to open and close mechanical devices that regulate the flow of water in rivers and canals. To get down to the Thames Tow Path, we cross over the famed bridge and realize that the side we lunched on was in the county of Oxfordshire. On crossing, we have arrived in Berkshire. This area, known as the Thames Valley, is scenic beyond belief and driving or cycling tours are very popular here. It is while passing my camera, in my enthusiasm to Llew, with the request that he take my picture near the Henley-On-Thames sign, that it falls from our hands and literally bounces on the hard asphalt road. That’s it. It puts paid to our camera that no longer opens or shuts. The lens has been damaged and we no longer have a camera for the rest of our tip. Oh well, I have learned to take such travel casualties in my stride and to shrug philosophically about them. It can always be replaced and I shall buy one as soon as I return home.

            Meanwhile, we are walking on a glorious day along the Thames passing by some of the world’s most famous rowing clubs. Bleachers are in the process of being dismantled and removed as the end of the annual Royal Regatta brings the town back to normal and back to anonymity again. There is abundant bird life along the river and we enjoy the antics of swans, ducks and a variety of other feathered friends—not to mention scores of dogs as the Tow Path is popular with dog-lovers who emerge with balls and plastic ball-picks for an afternoon of exercise with their best four-legged friends. Gardens swoop down to the river in neat country homes that are well-maintained and very cozy. Some are palatial and constructed like Swiss chalets, others are tiny—typical English cottages with ramshackle front gardens. We troop on for about 45 minutes and when we see Hambledon Lock ahead of us, we decide to turn back. We have not yet finished exploring the town of Henley and we also wish to make a certain evening train. It has been a grand walk and I have realized yet another long-standing wish: to walk along the Thames Path from Henley onwards in the direction of Oxford. Because it is true: you can walk all the way to Oxford by following this Tow Path—and perhaps someday I shall do it!

 A Midsomer Murders Walking Tour in Henley:

We make an about-turn and retrace our steps back to Henley over the Bridge. Using the Midsomer Murders Walking Trail leaflet, we go out in search of places associated with the series: from the Town Hall and The Argyll Pub to Gabriel Machin Butcher. We stop at the Church of St. Mary The Virgin in whose church yard the famed pop singer Dusty Springfield lies buried. I have still to research her association with this town but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that she lived in it for a large period of her life and died there. Beatle George Harrison owned and lived in a home near the Town Hall. Several well-known British media and entertainment personalities have homes here and we could see why. It is a truly darling town and it did not have one ugly sight. The residents are used to its celebrity as various TV series have been shot here from Poirot to Inspector Morse to the Miss Marple Murders. The town provides the sort of idyllic facades that contrast with the grisly murders that affect small country estates and villages. In fact, I leave Llew behind on a bench in the Market Square and go out in search of the entrance to Henley Brewery that we had spied from the river on our walk—its tall chimneys and walls had sported its name rather proudly. I recalled vaguely that it was the setting of one of the Inspector Morse Murder mysteries in which a group of tourists take a guided tour of a brewery. And after walking down two narrow streets that form the maze of routes that make up the little town, I find it. It is no longer a brewery and has been converted into a boutique hotel—but the wrought-iron archway that joins two walls at the entrance to the brewery has been retained and I am fully certain that this was the façade that was used in the episode. I take pictures and resolve to go home to confirm this.

            Then, it is time for us to find our way back to the railway station for the 5. 10 pm train to Paddington, London. We make a change at Twyford once again and by 6. 30 pm, we are in the city ready for our next appointment. Our excursion to Henley (that had cost us 15. 70 pounds each round trip in train fare) had been extraordinarily successful and I am thrilled as I have wanted to visited this town for ages but somehow never got down to it. I am so glad I had Llew to share it with and that he responded so warmly to it as well.

Dinner at Polpo in Covent Garden with a Friend:

            We had 7.00 pm plans for dinner with our friend Murali Menon at Polpo in Covent Garden—so we hopped onto the Tube at Paddington and got there at about 7. 10pm We found Polpo, but Murali was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, as the restaurant does not take reservations, it is a free for all at the door and the post-work crowd was insane. We put our names on the waiting list and are told it would be a wait of at least 40 minutes to get a table. This place had better be good, I thought, as the area was crawling with eateries and I saw no reason to torture ourselves to find a table. As it turns out, we were waiting at the wrong Polpo—there is another in Soho and Murali was waiting for us there! A couple of phone calls ended the misunderstanding and he offered to make his way to where we were. Llew ordered a glass of Cabernet while we waited and before long, Murali turned up, looking dapper after a long work day as a financial analyst.

            A few minutes later, we were seated. Murali and I made contact when I had lived in London and he became a follower of my blog. He responded to something I had written, I wrote back—and that was it. An instant cyber friendship was struck that has become cemented over the years. I thoroughly enjoy his company as he is one of the few true Renaissance Men I know whose professional interests are completely different from the activities they pursue for pleasure. For example, having been raised in varied parts of the world through his father who was an Indian diplomat, Murali speaks fluent Russian and French in addition to English and a few Indian languages. He is devoted to art, music, theater, walking holidays, exploration and discovery plus he has an exquisite sense of humor as is evident in his own blog, “Just a Mon”. You can see why he and I hit it off and continue to take pleasure from each others’ company. His wife Nina was supposed to join us for dinner but they could not find a babysitter for their 10-year old son, Aangad. And so Nina was a no-show leaving us to enjoy Murali’s company for the rest of the evening.

            The concept of Polpo is that of small Venetian plates: tapas-like items that allow the diner to sample the chef’s  talents. Most servings were for two people but we cut up and shared the many offerings we chose: Aranchini (cheesey deep-fried, crispy balls that were delicious), serrano ham and artichoke crostini, pork and fennel meatballs in a spicy tomato sauce, crab, prawn and chilli linguine (absolutely yummy),”escaped bird” skewers—tidbits of chicken and pork belly on a skewer. I had a draft beer, Llew and Murali sipped wine. The ambience was very cozy and we were able to catch up on all sorts of aspects of our lives. About two hours later, we were ready to call it a night and walk to The Strand from where we caught buses that took us home to Holborn.

            It had been another memorable day—a day spent in the  country—that had allowed us to get away from London and explore beyond its confines to enable us to take in the pleasures of summer country life in this beautiful land plus re-connect with an old friend whose company is always stimulating and enjoyable to me.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!    

Messin’ About on Big Red Buses & Chelsea Football Club

Jul17

Monday, July 13, 2015: London

Messin’ About On Red Buses:

            I have had a restless night and I am awaking to a full-blown cold—with a streaming nose, a heavy head, awful lethargy. I know where it has come from but I cannot believe how quickly the germ has incubated in my body—in about 24 hours—and how horrible a strain of it I have caught. There is simply nothing else to do for it, but get medication—and fast!

             Furthermore, it is not just grey, dull and dreary today—it is actually raining. Any hopes we might have had of getting to Henley-On-Thames, the pretty riverside town that comes alive each year at the annual Royal Regatta, are dashed. I do not intend to explore it, for the first time, in such terrible weather. We decide instead to stay put in London and do the one thing we both love to do—ride the red buses up and down and from side to side: the cheapest, easiest, most interesting way to get reacquainted with the city. I am glad Llew shares my love of London’s red buses. That decided, I pick up my brand-new phone to make a call and guess what? We discover that it is not working. There is simply no connection. That lovely Josh who had seemed most helpful last evening had probably forgotten to connect my plan to the main network or whatever it is they have to do to get me on.

            I am grateful for the cup of coffee that Barbara made me at the crack of dawn—for I awoke before 5.00 am and have started blogging. When Llew awakes, at a far more civilized hour, we set out straight on the Tube for Oxford Street. By the time we get there, I am feeling faint with illness and must eat quickly. We are the first customers at BHS (British Home Stores) when the doors open to rush into their first floor cafeteria for their Full English brekkie. It is the cheapest breakfast deal in town. We get a choice of any four items for 1. 89 pounds! How can you go wrong with that: we request scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon and mushroom and huge lattes for the two of us and I am instantly re-energized. Granted it is not the Ritz but who’s asking?

Across the street is a Boots and now that I am no longer on an empty stomach, I buy a packet of Sudafed for I am determined not to let this monster cold take over my limited London time. Then well-drugged, we can face the salesmen at Carphone Warehouse in the basement of Selfridgesand get the phone deed done. It does not take too long. They potter about on their computer and hand me my phone back. This time, I am determined to try it out to my satisfaction—so I dial Barbara’s office number and voila! She picks up instantly; so I know all’s clear.

Sightseeing By London Red Bus:

            It is still raining by the time we are done with our chores and I am still feeling wholly lousy. All I can think of is curling up in bed and sleeping the sleep of the dead. But I soldier on. We hop into a No. 9 and ride it on to Aldwych.  Rain in streaming softly down the big picture window and the bus makes excruciatingly slow progress, but we are in a hurry to nowhere. At Aldwych, we switch to the 15 that takes us all the way to the Tower of London—by which time the sky has cleared itself of rain. It will remain grey for the rest of the day but at least there is no rain.

            At the Tower, we cross the street to take the 11 and begin the long, See London for Free bus journey all the way to Fulham Broadway. Llew sees the Shard for the first time and takes several pictures of it juxtaposed against the millennium-old Tower buildings. I feel sorry that I never got to see the moat filled with those gorgeous red ceramic poppies—they might have been an unforgettable sight!

We trundle through The City—Llew is intrigued by a pub named The Hung. Drawn And Quartered. We discuss the reference to gruesome Tudor death sentences. He is horrified! He cannot believe a pub would carry such a name. I tell him it is significant as such deaths occurred in the vicinity of the Tower. He does not buy it and wonders who would want to drink in such a place in this day and age. The bus moves sluggishly through building sites that are gaping holes as their foundations are being re-dug to make room for new spiffy glass and concrete towers such as The Gherkin and The Walkie Talkie and The Cheese Grater.

We enjoy the ambience at St. Paul’s Cathedral and I decide I will try to catch at least one morning Mass there at 8. 00 am—I love this building and I have many affectionate associations with it through my friends the Colcloughs who now live in Chelsea/Kensington. Down Ludgate Hill, we ride and through Fleet Street. At all times, I am pointing out to Llew things we should notice—he tends to miss a great deal of detail. We arrive at The Royal Courts of Justice, turn the corner and ride down the Strand. We pass Simpson’s and I point it out to Llew. I tell him to remind me to make a reservation there for Saturday when we will take our hosts for dinner to this London institution that is referred to as “Simpson’s On The Strand”.

At Trafalgar Square, I feel nostalgic. Should I drag Llew to the National Gallery? I have never left London without making a visit there. Could he stand it if I suggested we go there—yet Again??? I am not certain and will play it by ear, methinks. We sail down Whitehall. Renovation at Inigo Jones’ Banqueting Hall is not yet complete—the scaffolding is off but it is still encased in a mock setup of the building. The Horse Guards are wearing long black cloaks. I do not remember seeing them in this guise. I point out the Cenotaph, one of Lutyens’ great memorial landmarks that gets TV time each year at the 11thhour of the 11th day of the 11th month on Armistice Day!

We arrive at Parliament Square and we say Hello to Big Ben looking very snazzy. I point out St. Margaret’s Church in Westminster Abbey Yard where King Henry VIII married his first wife, Katherine of Aragon. Tourists are milling about everywhere for there is now a distinct glimmer of light in the sky—the sun is bravely attempting to peep through. I point out my friend Michelle’s office building on Victoria Road—she is a lawyer for the British government. We were college class mates in India. On to Victoria and Buckingham Palace Road. Llew remembers the many coach trips we have taken from Victoria Coach Station through the years. This bus ride is not just about re-visiting London’s Landmarks—it is evoking nostalgia and memory for both of us in ways we could not have expected.

We turn the corner at Chelsea Royal Gardens and find ourselves in London’s ritziest region amidst the Sloan Rangers in ultra-chic coffee shops sipping their lattes. We arrive at Sloan Square and ride down The King’s Road, once our stomping ground for Llew’s brother used to live in the area—many moons ago, when we had taken summer holidays in their gorgeous terraced house by the Embankment. I look with longing at the thrift stores (American for ‘charity shops’) from where I have picked up, through the years, vintage scarves, jewelry, knick knacks by Swarovski and Steuben. This is not something I will put Llew through on this visit—noooo siree!

At the end of the King’s Road, we edge towards Fulham. By this time, the rain is history and it is a full three hours since our brekkies. We pass all the industrial warehouses of Chelsea that are now upscale art galleries. We are sorry to find that one of our favorite Anglo-Indian restaurants called Chutney Mary has been replaced by a Masala Grill. (I will google it later to find out Chutney Mary has relocated to St. James’). Thankfully, it has not disappeared altogether for with it would have gone a bit of our past in London!

At Fulham Broadway, just before we alight, we pass the Fulham Town Hall. I dig up, from the back of my memory storage bin, the trivial fact that in one of my favorite TV series As Time Goes By, Lionel and Jean were married in the Registrar’s Office and that the Fulham Town Hall was used as the location site. I am thrilled as I have one more location from the series to tick off my list!

Lunch Time near Stamford Bridge:

It has been a bus journey to remember and we are both thoroughly thrilled we found a way to beat the weather. But lunch beckons—we look for something light and find scores of sports bars and pubs for we are in Footie Territory—just a few blocks from Stamford Bridge, home of the Chelsea Football Club: a place of Serious Pilgrimage for Llew who spends most of our Sunday mornings at home in the UK watching Premier League matches! I had even tried secretly to get him tickets to a game—but sadly the season had ended by the time we arrived in London.

      Llew suggests we pick up food from Whole Foods and eat it in their cafeteria upstairs. It is a good idea, we think. Armed with Creole Jambalaya and Goan Vegetarian Curry with Rice, we climb the stairs, get to the café and eat while overlooking the bustle below. In a little while, we are ready to leave—the food has been good, tasty and wholesome. We have done well.

 At Chelsea FootBall Club:

            It is time for Llew to get to the Highlight of his Day. We walk briskly to the Britannia Entrance to Stamford Bridge and take in the lovely navy blue and white décor of the outside—its souvenir shop, its wall that is decorated with life-size team pictures. There is a convenient seat left empty in the middle of a team picture—so that fans can take the seat and pretend they are coaches of the team. Llew and I clown around. It is a lot of fun. He is jubilant. I can see how much this visit means to him. I suggest we take a tour—they are given hourly. But he is not so enthusiastic. We spend a good while in this area. We take pictures on phone and camera.

 Back on the Bus Heading Home:

            It was good to stretch our legs—to walk a little—to feel Mother Earth beneath our feet. But we are now ready to get on the bus again and we take it down the Fulham Road. We enjoy its lovely shops and one-of-a-kind boutiques. This part of London is pricey but what a visual delight! How much pleasure I derive from life merely by looking–by opening, as Alexandra Stoddard put it, my eyes. You do not need to live above a waterhole in an African National Park (as we were fortunate to do) to derive pure pleasure from looking—you can simply Open Your Eyes no matter where you might be.

            We arrive at Albertopolis and I point out the various Victorian Museum buildings to Llew. He would like to see the Alexander McQueen exhibition called Savage Beauty at the V&A (I had caught it, three years ago in New York at the Met). We sail past the Brompton Oratory where we had once seen royalty—the Duchess of Gloucester, an Austrian Roman Catholic, was once at the same Mass that we had attended there on Easter Sunday.   

            We alight at Fortnum and Mason to look for bargains at their mid-summer sale. No dice. We take the Tube from Piccadilly Station and get back home for quick showers and a change and to prepare for the last part of our day.

 Dinner with a Former Student and Her Family:

            Back on the train, we head to Kensington High Street for our dinner date with my former NYU student Elise who married an English lawyer named James. They live right opposite Hyde Park in an apartment in a lovely old manor-like building whose living room overlooks the park– I have met her and her family before—son Thomas, daughter Elektra. This visit is a Meet Llew Affair because although they have heard a lot about him, they have never met him.

            It is always a delight to meet Elise whom I love dearly for she is not just the single, most brilliant student I have ever taught but because she has a heart of gold and a nature to match. She deserves every bit of happiness that has come her way and it is abundantly clear whenever I am in her home that she is happy. And that makes me hugely happy too.

            Introductions are done and the children are wildly excited. Little Thomas remembers me from a two-year ago visit. He and Elektra are eager to bring out bowls of nuts as their parents take requests for drinks. This a well-traveled couple and we have much to talk to them about: our recent safari (turns out they went on safari for their honeymoon and did another safari a few years ago). You name a part of the world, they have been there!

            The meal is both fun and delicious—there is monk fish tinged and flavored with saffron. There is zucchini in pesto (what an ingenious idea!), there is back rice. I have never eaten black rice before. In addition to everything else that she is, Elise is a great chef.  She and James love to do dinner parties and still manage them despite having two toddlers to look after. I have never had a bad meal at her place. Dessert arrives: meringues, chocolate peanut butter cookies, grapes. There were wines to go with our meal. There is laughter, there is stimulating conversation.

            Time flies and we need to get back home as tomorrow is a working day for our hosts. The children have long gone to bed and the parents long to follow. We say our thanks and our goodbyes and are out the door.

 Harper Lee Book Launch at Waterstone’s at Piccadilly:

But we have one more item on our agenda: Llew is keen to attend the midnight launch of Harper Lee’s new hyped-up novel, Go Set A Watchman which is a major event world-wide. Not since the launching of each new Harry Potter novel has such excitement been tangible in the publishing world. Waterstone’s at Piccadilly Circus has a whole program planned before the witching hour when the book will officially be available for the world to buy. Llew wants to be a part of the event.

When we get to Waterstone’s, we are directed o the third floor where a screening of the Gregory Peck film To Kill A Mockingbird is in full spate.  A sizeable crowd of bibliophiles is sipping hot drinks, munching store-provided popcorn and watching the courtroom manner of Atticus Finch. I am falling in love all over again with Scout. We stay for about half an hour but then fatigue gets the best of us and we reluctantly decide to move on. It is still only 11. 30 pm and we do not have the motivation to wait for another hour. My cold has played havoc on me all day and I cannot wait to curl up in bed.

We are on the Tube in a trice and at home before you can say Harper Lee. Another memorable day has come to an end for us in London and we have enjoyed it as only we can.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!    

Loving London All Over Again: Columbia Flower Market, The Geffrey Museum

Jul15

Sunday, July 12, 2015: London
Loving London All Over Again…

            Touchdown from Johannesberg, South Africa, occurs in London on a typical summer’s morning. It is dull, grey, dreary. But it is early in the day and we are optimistic things will change. On the plus side, it is neither raining nor is the city in the midst of the fiendish heat wave that gripped in a couple of weeks ago. We have a lot to be thankful for as we clear Immigration, pick up our baggage and make our way into the city—Tube to Holborn Station and taxi for just a couple of blocks down to Chancery Lane where we will be with my former Next-Door Neighbors, Tim and Barbara for the next week.

Sunday Mass at St. Etheldreda’s Church:

We have a lovely reunion with our hostess, Barbara, who is all dressed and ready to set out for Sunday morning Mass—part of her routine—to the Church of St. Etheldreda’s at Ely Place around the corner at Holborn Circus. My mind goes back to a few years ago when I had tried to find it for the first time and had ended up in every Anglican Christopher Wren church in the vicinity!

Fr. Tom is at the entrance (some things never change—he never remembers me!) greeting his faithful—and they are truly faithful. I see the same faces each time I come here for Sunday Mass: the lector who has remained a permanent fixture in the church for forever, her husband, Esther whose hat seems to date from Victoria times. But there are now a bunch of kids in this church—new blood, literally, has also moved in, and I am pleased to see families.     

            When Mass ends, we walk out with Barbara on to High Holborn. There is a new plaque and entrance to what looks like a tiny sports club called Bounce, where the game of Ping Pong (or Table Tennis) was invented in the early 20thcentury. It always amazes me how subtly London changes. Little touches, little historic markers—if there is a Paradise on earth for the history-buff, it is here, it is here, it is here!

            Barbara goes off to Holborn Station to pick up The Times—it is also part of her Sunday routine and I have accompanied her on many an occasion. This time, we return to their flat, meet our host, Tim who is in-charge of getting brekkie organized. We are surprisingly full of beans and reject the idea of naps or showers. We will wait until the evening to rest. Breakfast is Continental–croissants and pain au chocolat with preserves and butter and coffee—all delicious! All very welcome!

Exploring Columbia Flower Market:

            Without further ado, we decided to start our exploration of the city with a ride on the bus from Theobald’s Road to the Columbia Road Flower Market—a huge tourist attraction as well as a homing spot for ‘hoodies on weekend mornings. It has developed into the Portobello Road of Sunday Mornings. The last time I was in London (in January of this year), I had made a trip there—only to discover that the area is as dead as a Dodo on weekdays. I was determined to get a whiff of its attractions on a later trip.

That day was today—and we got many a whiff. Indeed long before we arrived at the market, we saw local folks carrying armfuls of paper-wrapped flowers and potted plants. When we did eventually get there, after a five minute walk from the bus-stop, we found make-shift stalls set up along the road. They were simply bursting with the freshest, most fragrant, flowers. It was like the Chelsea Flower Show—only less posh! At 11.00 am, sales were in full swing. Trading was brisk, prices were dropping. No vendor wished to take his fragile perishable treasures away with him. And people were buying. Had I not the constraints of US Customs plant life restrictions, I too might have been tempted to strike a deal.

As it was, I preferred to browse in and out of the lovely boutique-style shops lining both sides of the street that boasted one-of-a-king merchandise with a decidedly horticultural theme: garden shops, vintage clothing and jewelry stores, home goods with a delightful twist. All lovely. Meanwhile, buskers vied for our attention. A young woman who appeared to have belonged to Broadway, belted out a few jazz numbers to the accompaniment of a trio. There were eats and drinks: freshly-baked muffins & hot chocolate. Yes, Columbia Flower Market is a worthy place to spend a lazy Sunday morning. Buy an armful of flowers, watch the local English fall over them with passion and unbound pleasure, munch a few goodies, buy an antique set of cordial glasses or a vintage brooch with a flowery theme. This is very much a girlie place. This is very much a Rochelle Place. Llew coped as best he could, but when his long-suffering self seemed ready to depart, we left the place.

Revisiting the Geffrey Museum and Its Gardens:

            In keeping with the home and garden theme, it was perhaps fitting although completely coincidental, that in looking for the bus stop on Hackney Road, I should realize that we were a hop, skip and jump away from the Geffrey Museum. It is one of my favorites and not one I visit often enough—its location far in the East End probably has something to do with this. Anyhoo…Llew had never been and I sold him on the idea. The day was still dreary—losing oneself in a museum seemed like a good idea. When I had last visited the Museum, it had been at Christmastime when the gardens had been closed. I was keen on this visit to explore them and how great an idea it turned out to be!

            The Geffrey Museum used to be almshouses built for the destitute widows of the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers by Lord Geffrey whose sculpture adorns the extensive and rather lovely front lawns with their ancient spreading oaks. Dating from the early 1700s, the almshouses have been lovingly restored—a few are available for exploration on a ticketed guided tour…but to visit the 11 period rooms that comprise the museum and the period gardens behind them, entrance is free. I explained the concept to Llew and we began our exploration. He was fascinated as indeed is any visitor to this unique place. Starting from the 1500s, the Elizabethan Age to the Present (the 1990s), this Museum gives us insights into what the living rooms of the middle class have looked like through the ages. The plainness and simplicity of the Tudors is a stark contrast to Victoria excess. The reaction to it, seen in the Art Deco period, is just as interesting. In the 20thcentury home, we could recognize items we had grown up with: radiograms and Pyrex dishes. At Christmas, the Museum’s period rooms are decorated for the yuletide season with items appropriate to the epoch: cinnamon-pierced oranges for the Victorians, tinsel-trees for the plastics generation in the mid-20thcentury.

            Outside, we took dozens of photographs. Once again, the contrast in gardening styles was made known to us: the herb gardens of the 15th century, the knot gardens of the 16th, the arbors and sheltered benches of the 19th century and the Gertrude Jekyll-style profuse herbaceous border for the 20th. There were fountains, garden sculpture and ornaments, stone and gravel pathways, brickwork walkways—you name it, this garden had it. It was the Chelsea Flower Show once again, in lovely vignettes or garden rooms of which we could not get enough. Llew was both charmed and delighted and I was pleased that he enjoyed it so much.

 Off on a Mission to Buy a Replacement Cell..er Mobile..Phone:

            My British cell phone had been stolen from my baggage when my bags were in transit about 10 days ago—probably at Heathrow. But I have never been greeted by such a sorry sight as when I opened my bags and found that every single item I possessed for traveling had been riffled through—and I mean everything. Each zippered pouch and container had been scrutinized—and because I am an obsessively organized packer, I was angry on finding how haphazardly my things had been left after the rummage. Virgin Atlantic Airlines will be hearing about this when I get back home. But my priority had been to assess if anything had been stolen: and it was my British cell phone that was the only item missing—and with it, all my stored contacts were lost too.

            Long story short, I needed a new cell phone. It was time to take the Tube from Shoreditch (where the Geffrey is located) to Oxford Street where Sajjid, the Pakistani lad (now a fully-grown man ) who had helped me with the unlocking of my cell phone, so many years ago, was still around in his little souvenir shop. He directed me to the little places on Edgeware Road where he said I would find the best bargains. Long story short again, we finally bought a phone with the inevitable package from Carphone Warehouse—I will most likely waste most of the 1500 local calling minutes and 4000 texts I can use because I must do so within three months! Ha! Even if I call everyone I know in this country for three hours, I will not consume my calling time at all. Josh at Selfridges, where Carphone Warehouse has a branch in the basement, was very helpful, very courteous. He appears to be the only white chap in the electronics business in London. Almost all the salesmen we met were Muslims from the Indian sub-continent—and they are now wearing their religion on their sleeves: they uniformly sport a beard, some more trimmed than others. There has had to be instruction from a mullah in the last few months calling for this facial addition as I did not notice this—not even six months ago when I was last here. Either that or the beard is the newest accessory for young Indo-Pak males—I am seeing them all over the Tube and on the streets: crisp corporate attire (suits and ties) and the ubiquitous beard!

            Pleased with my new cell phone which Josh supposedly set up for me, we stopped to do some routine London shopping on Oxford Street and were glad to find bargains: Dove Silken Glow Body Wash on a special offer (we stocked up). At Sainsburys, we bought yogurt and favorite cereal (muesli) for morning breakfasts. And then we were back at 7 High Holborn.

            With showers and a change, we felt reenergized. A bit of unpacking followed as did catching up on email. We had been through an internet blackout for four days while on safari in Africa—there had been a build-up of email that needed attending to. While accomplishing all that, we could hear our host Tim cooking up one of his stunner meals in his kitchen. He is a chef par excellenceand partaking of a dinner chez lui is always a pleasure.

Dinner and A Natter With Our Hosts:

            Tim never disappoints and not long after, we were seated at the dining table with plates of pan-fried pork chops and chips placed before us. Mayonnaise made the rounds (if you fancied being Belgian) as did Sharwoods chutney (in lieu of ketchup). The pork was scrumptious—tender and perfectly cooked and seasoned. We ate well. Conversation, as always, was varied and fun.

            But all good days must come to an end and we made our way back to our rooms ready to hit the sack with aplomb.

            Our first day in London had been all we could have wanted and more. Tomorrow, it is our intention to spend the day at Henley-on-Thames: but much will be riding on the weather. We shall have to play it by ear.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!           

Our Last Day at Kruger National Park–Sixth and Seventh Safari Drives

Jul14

Saturday, July 11, 2015:
Skukuza-Johannesburg-London

Our Sixth Safari Drive:

            Waking up at 5. 30 am has become routine by now and we know the drill.  Wake up Call, hasty washing and dressing and racing off to Lodge Lobby for milky coffee and rusks, a quick clamber into the cruiser—and off we go!

            This morning, our tracker Dee is a Man On A Mission—he is determined to show us rhinos (live ones—not the dead poached variety that we have seen on two occasions being scavenged on). We are ebullient in spirits. We are keen to tick off all five of the Big Five from our To See List!

            The morning is glorious as all mornings in the Bush are. We set out in darkness, but within a half hour, color tinges the eastern horizon and we stop to take pictures of the lovely Bush sunrises—each slightly different from the one that went before. Fierce debate follows: are sunrises or sunsets prettier in the Bush? We agree that sunrises are better in the morning, sunsets better in the evening! You see—we are a wisecracking group!

            But while we joke and quip, Dee is hard at work. Ever the vigilant tracker, he stops frequently to examine poop on the side of the road. And footprints. Where our eyes see the merging of many, he is able to distinguish one set from the next. He informs us that a leopard went past a few hours ago. Or that hippos ambled along in a certain patch before disappearing into the undergrowth. By this stage in the game (pun unintended!), we have become familiar with and freely use terms like “fresh catch”, “fresh kill”, “fresh prints”, “fresh dung”.  Dee explains that hippos tend to use man-made asphalt and mud roads in the Bush but that they skitter off at the slightest sign of humans approaching as they now associate vehicles with poachers who carry AK 47s—dangerous Kalishnikovs that aim to kill. Rhino horn now fetches $60,000 per kilo in the international market—and each horn on an average weighs 4-5 kgs. Which is why rhinos’ heads are always weighed down! Attempting to end poaching, South Africa and Kruger National Park have banned the use of walkie-talkies and other forms of GPS signaling to alert trackers to rhino sightings—as these messages are intercepted by poachers who then arrive at the scene, do the dirty deed and make off with the booty. It is simply disgusting. Whereas the rhino population in Kruger used to be several thousands, it is estimated that today there are no more than 6,000 in the wild. We are horrified. These statistics make the sighting of rhinos a very rare occurrence today and although Dee is optimistic that he will not send us home disappointed (today is our last day in the Bush!), we are beginning to lose hope.

            And then there they are! We come upon them so suddenly that they seem like a mirage—a mother rhino with her young one. In other words, we see not just that rarity—one rhino—but two! Our excitement knows no bounds. They are a shy couple and they hide for cover behind a bush. Fortunately, the bush is stripped of its usual summer foliage and this winter sighting makes it easy for us to zoom in with our cameras and take pictures. The mother is clearly protective of her baby—she keeps him determinedly behind her and her girth provides very effective cover. Still, we are thrilled. Dee is exulting in his seat, his hand thrown high in the air as he says, “Rhinos, Guys. I give you rhinos!” We showered him with praise. He has come through splendidly and his sense of fulfillment at tracking rhinos (through footprints and dung) and finding them knows no bounds. We are now ready to return to our banal lives back in the States for we have ticked off the Big Five from our List. The sense of triumph in the car is palpable. Five minutes later, the mother rhino has bundled off her young and gone far away from the road leaving us to admire the pictures we took and the video footage we shot.

            The rest of our drive is pretty uneventful by comparison. We see them all: elephants, hippos, giraffes, zebras and, of course, the lesser desirable ones such as kudu, bush buck, water buck and countless impala. We stop for morning coffee as the picnic table is deftly set up. We nibble on rusks and sip our warming coffee as we photograph the sunrise.

            And then just when it seems as if nothing can get better for us, Dee receives word about the sighting of a leopard really close to our Lodge. He bundles us all back in the cruiser and the chase begins, in earnest. Messages fly fast and furious on the radio systems and within fifteen minutes, Dee is at the scene. Imagine if you can what sort of mood and sentiment existed in our vehicle as we slowly went “off road” (permissible within Hamiltons’ concession) and skirted slowly around  the most gorgeous leopard—a young chap nicknamed Wabaeeza or The Naughty One by the local population of Kruger. Dee stops merely three feet away from the animal who crouches in the shrubbery. He is hungry. He has reportedly been stalking impala in the area and has been unsuccessful. We are afraid he will mistake us for his next meal. Dee is confident he will behave. He informs us that trackers at Kruger have worked for months to get Wabaeeza accustomed to the sound of vehicles and their revving and their close approach and stopping. He is now conditioned enough not to get agitated, to attack or to slink off into the undergrowth when cruisers approach. Ralph, Hamiltons’ other tracker, is also on the scene in a vehicle with his charges. Dee warns us not to make a sound—there is pin-drop silence in our cruiser. He warns us not to move—we are petrified statues! The leopard is still only three feet away from us on the ground. One more vehicle approaches—driven by Sean, another Hamiltons’ tracker, who has a couple of visitors in his vehicle. Wabaeeza is not too perturbed, but he chooses to show off his moves—he gets up and stretches lazily. Then he takes a stroll right behind our vehicle, much to our combined fear and delight. A few feet later, he stops again, finds himself a more comfortable spot and squats down. Dee loses no time. He revs up the engine of our cruiser and makes a quick half circle around a bush before bringing us face to face with the leopard, about three feet away from us. Once again, we cannot believe our luck. We have seen a total of three leopards—that most elusive of creatures—on this safari and it seems as if our cup runneth over.

 Back to Camp for Breakfast:

            There is heightened elation as we return to Camp for breakfast—beautifully laid out and enticing. We start with freshly squeezed orange juice. I have fallen hard for the muesli concocted by Abel. I eat it with mango yoghurt. I cannot get enough of it. When I praise Abel for his handiwork, he offers to give me the recipe and then sends me home with a small package of the mixture. I intend to try it out when I get back to the States.

            We are informed that the cooked Breakfast Special is Scrambled Eggs with Bacon and Roasted Cherry Tomatoes served on Toast. I opt for it and everyone else does too. It is delicious. There are cold cuts and croissants, freshly-baked muffins and preserves, fruit and cheese on the buffet table. We have eaten well and enormously for the past three days and have been pampered hand and foot by the attentive staff at this five-star resort. We are loath to return to our packing and the rest of our lives.

            But go we must. We return to our rooms to do last-minute packing because most of us were clever enough to pack the previous evening.  We take last-minute pictures of the place and its people. We want to etch in our memories this glorious vacation which we all agree ranks at the very top of the amazing travels we have done in our lifetime. The staff is present all around to sing us off—they dance, they clap, they encircle us. Harold, the manager, is the ring leader. He is a large man with a lovely happy smile. He takes pictures of us in front of the spreading baobab tree and later presents it in a souvenir folder to each of us. How marvelous!

            Finally, after tipping our staff and saying goodbye to Dee, who has been a tracker and guide par excellence, our luggage is loaded in the trailer that follows our cruiser. Kruger and the Lodges have it all done to an art form—five-star living while retaining the unspoiled natural feeling of being in the wild. With a last regretful look behind and a final wave at the staff that have assembled on the porch—in the style of Downtown Abbey but with an African Bush twist–we are sent off in right royal style. It has been lovely and while some of us say that it is unlikely we will return as the world is too large and we have much of it left to explore and discover, others say they will return for they have had the time of their lives.        

Our Seventh and Last Safari Drive:                

            By this stage in the game, we had expected to have a few animal sightings on our long drive through the Bush to Skukuza airport. And indeed we did see plenty—but most were of the pedestrian variety—impala and kudu and bush buck. Some excitement was generated when we came across zebras and giraffes. And then in the distance, we paused because we ran into a long line of Cape Buffalo heading off somewhere to the left of us. Photo ops galore were presented to us and we clicked quickly or watched their progress through our binoculars. A little later, our driver pointed out a herd of hippos to us—at least a dozen of them, lying prostrate in a dry river bed. And then, again quite suddenly, our driver stopped to point out two more rhinos to us—again, a mother and baby. Perhaps the same ones we had seen that morning? Possible but also unlikely as we were a long way away from the site of our morning’s sighting. How ironic that Dee had to do so much careful and skillful tracking to find us two rhinos and then, without any such training to credit him, our driver calmly pointed out two more! One cannot control nature and one cannot predict what the quality of sightings will be like in the wild. We had met many visitors who had wonderful stories to tell of animals they had encountered—but almost invariably, there was something missing. One mother and daughter traveling together had never managed to find a leopard. Samantha and Becca had seen everything except a male lion. We had seen it all! How lucky were we!        

Departure from Skukuza to Johannesburg and from Johannesburg to London:

            We arrived eventually at Skukuza airport that serves Kruger National Park. We went through formalities with no hassles at all and boarded the cutest little toy plane in a toy airport. We picked up souvenirs from the airport stall and charged our phones at the ultra-modern, ultra- convenient airport and then we were off. It was a very short flight to Johannesburg and before we quite knew it, we were in Johannesburg airport looking for our respective connecting flights. Our friends said goodbye to us after we’d each purchased Amarula crème liqueurs from the duty free shops and then Llew and I were off to a pizzeria to enjoy pizzas and lattes before boarding our 8. 10 pm flight to London.

            This time round, we did not get seats in a row to enable us to stretch out, but we each managed about four hours’ sleep on a red eye flight and looked forward to touching down on the morrow at Heathrow.

            Our African safari had come to an end. It had been the trip of a lifetime and we had not been disappointed.

            Until tomorrow, when we hope to awake in London, cheerio!

Seeking and Finding Big Cats and a Spectacular Show of Elephants

Jul13

Friday, July 10, 2015:

Hamiltons Tented Camp, Skukuza:

Our Fourth Safari Drive:

            Our day began at 5. 30 am with a Wake-Up Call from the Camp lobby. It had been a fairly restful night punctuated only by a noisy quarrel among the baboons outside our tent. We

washed and dressed swiftly and joined our friends in the lobby for coffee/tea and rusks before pushing off  with Dee, our guide, on our third safari drive. This involved a long drive “north” to look for big cats. Dee was confident that we would find them. We were also keen to get to a dam up north where it was likely we would see Cape Buffalo who love to wallow in water. The southern part of Kruger, where we were based, had turned dry and many animals had migrated up north in search of water. If we wished to spot them, that was where we ought to head, we were told.

            Within a half hour, the sun came up in the eastern sky–a lovely translucent pink sphere that tinted the clouds around it in pearly shades of peach, pink and blue. When we did not come upon any animals immediately, Dee pointed out birds to us. His knowledge was prodigious and he rattled off the names of these creatures and told us about their habitat, their habits, etc. We often stopped to take pictures. Apart from vultures that were everywhere, we saw lots of Ground Hornbills—great big black birds with vivid red bills that strutted right in front of our cruiser. Dee informed us that they are one of the largest ground birds in the world that are also capable of flying. One of them was in the process of eating a land snail and was using its beak to smash its shell against the ground. Another bird that we grew familiar with is the Lilac Breasted Roller, the most-photographed bird in the world. To say that this bird is stunning would be an understatement. Its plumage is made up of a kaleidoscope of colors—startling pink and purple and turquoise blue. And when it flies off, its wing span with its turquoise-black coloring is truly breathtaking. It was easy to see why every photographer loves it. 

 There were impala galore and lots of kudu and water buck and bush buck. We became so familiar with these creatures that it was not long before we began to ignore them altogether! We adored the giraffes, however, with their graceful movements, their carefree lopping off into the distance or their inquisitive snuffling about our vehicle really close to the road. We usually saw them solo but occasionally they were seen in pairs or in trios. One of the highlights of our drives was finding a group of almost seven of them together—and when that happened, we were simply elated. We discovered that although the basic coat of a giraffe may be dappled in shades of yellow and brown/maroon, some of them are lighter than others. The darker ones are particularly attractive. We used the few pairs of binoculars that we shared among us to look at the detail of these animals—their long tongues as they fed on young leaves high up in the trees. Similarly, we adored the “dazzles” of zebras we saw—rarely alone, mostly in groups of no less than six. We were particularly fascinated by their gentle movements, their frequent crossing of the road right in front of our vehicle and the manner in which they seemed oblivious to our presence. Most of the animals have become habituated to human vehicular traffic in the parks and they seem not to flinch in the slightest in our presence.    

            About a half hour into our drive, sudden interest was generated when Dee received news on his walkie-talkie from another ranger, that there was a cheetah in the vicinity. Then began the thrill of the chase. He raced his vehicle around the sand roads and, after a good twenty minutes, reached the thicket where the cheetah had been found lurking. A few of us caught a faint glimpse of the big cat on the far horizon. I clearly saw it stride sideways in profile—but only for a few seconds. It was much too far away and in almost no time at all, the cheetah disappeared below the ridge leaving us deeply disappointed at having barely caught a glimpse of him. 

            We also ran into elephants on this drive—some of them solitary, others in couples, some distant, others not too far from us at all. And then Dee received word that there was a lion sighting. We became deeply animated once again—none of us had seen a lion and we were keen to tick another one of the Big Five off our list! Using tracking techniques and the radio signals he received, Dee drove us to the spot where lions had reportedly been seen feasting on fresh kill. So you can imagine our shock and our fear and our fascination when we found a young male lion sitting a foot away from the main road to the left of our cruiser, utterly unperturbed by the number of vehicles that had lined up alongside him to take in the view. He had clearly fed recently and well—his muzzle was dark: an indication of remnant blood stains from his hearty meal. We had the opportunity to take pictures to our heart’s content from such close quarters. Warned by Dee to stay quiet and not to make any sudden movements, we complied meticulously as none of the viewers at the spot wanted to see the lion move away. In the thicket, not fifteen feet away from us, was the carcass of a freshly-poached rhino. The lion had eaten well and since he felt satiated and had sauntered away from the carcass to lie close to the road, the lionesses felt entitled to feed off the same carcass. We saw at least three lionesses on the carcass. Just when we felt as if we could not have been more fortunate, one of the drivers of another cruiser guided his vehicle off the road merely a couple of feet from the young male seated almost on the side of the road less than a foot from his vehicle. We were aghast and expected a full-blown attack from the animal! The lion did not seem annoyed—just unwilling to be scrutinized from such close quarters. He got up slowly and majestically and haughtily walked off from his position—not even bothering to express his displeasure at the intrusion on his space–and joined the pride that was still engaged in the act of feeding. Needless to say, we were all so angry that the driver had disturbed the animal and has been so inconsiderate of other viewers. In taking his car so close, he spoiled the view for all of us. However, that said, we had already had our fill of the scene and felt as if we had completely received our money’s worth. Our hearts stopped hammering in our chests and we attained a sense of equilibrium again.

            Another ten minutes after this sighting occurred, we saw two large Cape Buffalo ambling across the thicket. They too were one of the Big Five! Our safari was getting better by the minute. With cameras already taking still pictures and video recordings and with our binoculars poised to take in their size and movements, we remained transfixed. Then, imagine how awed we were when they decided to cross the road right in front of our van. Now these buffalo are among the most dangerous of creatures in the Bush and they are known to charge a vehicle with very little warning. Yet here they were—a pair of them, not a few feet away from our cruiser. They walked slowly and langorously and even cast a glimpse at us as we watched in stunned silence. This was another highlight in a morning that was getting more amazing by the minute.

            Then, just when we thought things could not possibly get better, Dee got word from fellow-trackers about a leopard sighting. That was it! The excitement in our car was palpable! It was as if we had hit the jackpot—Four of the Big Five about to be sighted on a single drive! It was simply awesome!

            Some more frantic driving followed—the true thrill of the chase. This is exactly what is meant by the phrase that we use so loosely sometimes. Dee found the spot where a leopard had been sighted—and then there he was! Up in a tree, draped sensually on a branch, one of its legs dangling down as did its thick and gorgeous tail, the lovely spotted cat was taking a nap. Its eyes were tightly shut and it was in such a relaxed position that it was hard for us to believe that we were looking at one of the rarest creatures in the wild. And here again, he was a mere ten to twelve feet on a tree branch above us. I mean how lucky could we possibly get? We took loads of pictures because we simply could not get enough of the scene.

            About twenty minutes later, we drove off and then, five minutes down the road, we met a fellow tracker in his vehicle with some more visitors to the park. The two vehicles stopped and Dee was asked where the leopard was to be found. He volunteered to lead the driver to the spot as it would have been impossible for the other driver to find the exact tree. By the time we got back to the spot, the leopard had awoken, much to our excitement, and we were able to get a fresh batch of pictures with him holding his head regally up for our viewing pleasure. He continued to remain on the branch seemingly in no hurry to get anywhere. After we’d had our fill of photo opportunities, we drive off for snacks.

            With the practiced ease of a pro, Dee set up our folding table for hot coffee that he made on a primus stove in a moka, tea with hot milk in a thermos flask and a variety of muffins—corn and blueberry. We also had a bathroom break at this point as our excursion was a particularly lengthy one.

            We continued to scour the Bush and that was when we found another sighting based on the number of vehicles that had stopped by the side of the road to enjoy the sight. About five hundred meters from us were two young lionesses and a male lion seated in a sideways pose staring out into the thicket. We were not sure exactly what they were up to but suddenly they began to play with each other as they rolled on their backs, their bellies in the air as if begging for a tummy rub! It was a very cool sight. Imagine having seen a total of eight lions in a single day! It was simply unfathomable. 

            Later that morning, we made our way up to the dam where the water levels had fallen considerably. There was a hippo, far in the distance, that was actually asleep on the dry river

bed—a rather rare sight as hippos spend most of the day wallowing in water. It was at this dam that we saw at least six huge crocodiles almost stationary as they lounged in the sun. There were no Cape Buffalo there but having seen them earlier that day, we were not in the slightest bit disheartened.

            In the final analysis, it had been wise to make the long drive up north. It had been wise to prolong our drive until we were contented about the quality and number of animals we spotted. It was one of the most fulfilling drives we had undertaken so far and we could not have been happier—or hungrier as we marched back into our Lodge quite faint with delight at the lovely brunch set up for us by the exemplary staff. 

Brunch at the Camp:

            None of us even wanted to get to our rooms to freshen up. Scouring the horizon and taking in the sightings had been exciting but we were ready to chow down. We found a number of scrumptious offerings on the buffet table: a chicken and mushroom quiche, feta cheese pancakes that were as soft as pillows, bobotie—ground beef in African style topped with grated Cheddar cheese–smoked salmon, croissants, fresh fruit, muesli with mango and plain yoghurt, sliced ham and a variety of cheeses. There were also fresh fruit juices (all of us were particularly keen on the freshly-squeezed orange juice). The tea and coffee were also excellent and we could not have been happier by our meal. Just when it seemed as if we could not eat another morsel, along came a waiter named ‘Silence’, to take our order for eggs. We were most amused! Needless to say, we declined his very kind offer and adjourned to our respective rooms to chill.

The Changing Panorama from the Terrace of our Tent:

            Cheri-Anne chose to get a head massage. The teenagers in our company went off to their tents to switch off the intercom so that they could take a nap. Llew went in for a shower. I sat on the balcony of our tent overlooking the waterhole with my laptop on my knee to do a bit of journaling and to take in the ever-changing drama of animal life beneath me. In short, every few minutes, groups of animals came to the water-hole—either for a drink or water or a bath. Some came singly—a lone kudu, for instance—others came in pairs, as did the Water buck. Zebras came in dazzles—whole groups of a dozen at a time. There were regular pairs of wart hogs who snuffled about in the mud. Rarely was the waterhole devoid of action: when no desirable animals were around, there were always the impala. Loads of them came in regular droves. The best sightings were of a number of different animals drinking together in various parts of the waterhole. Impala jumped deftly and gracefully over the banks, kudu would rush through the water to get to the other side. Two lovely silver eagles—the kind that mate for life—were perched high above the branches watching the changing panorama below—looking as if they were clad in brown trousers with spotless white shirts.

Viewing Elephant Bathing Rituals from Our Terrace:

            All the while I typed as Llew showered in the shower cubicle that was open to the sky. And then just at the point when he finished his shower, I spied them—a huge bull elephant and two smaller ones came in a group. The bull walked the entire length of the river beneath us and parked himself just under our window. He was massive. Once in his spot, he used his great big front paws to dig into the soft sand of the river bed to divine water and a few minutes later, he hit the cleanest water.

            Meanwhile, the other two elephants made their way directly to the water hole. Llew got on the intercom and alerted every member of our party that elephants had arrived at the water hole. One by one, all our friends found their way to our terrace. In amazed silence, we watched as the elephants went through their bathing ritual, one at a time. Each of them first had a mud bath—they scooped up shovels full of sand and mud in their trunks and threw it over their backs. This went on for at least fifteen minutes. Then, while the smaller one continued with the mud bath, the bigger one approached the water. Before our stunned eyes, it waded for about three feet and then realizing that the water was not very deep, it actually sank gradually into the river to remain seated in the water. The idea was to wash off all the mud and sand from its body. In order to achieve this, it sank further and further down until only its trunk was above water. It then turned over on one side in order to get that side of its body completely submerged. Then, it turned over on its other side and submerged that side as well. It was simply astonishing. When it had finished its bathing rituals—which took another few minutes—it waded out of the water, its entire body gleaming grey and shiny as it emerged.

            It was at this moment that we heard a loud and thundering noise. It was the trumpeting of a large number of bull elephants combined with their gigantic heavy legs as they blundered down the hill in a long single file. We were simply speechless. Just when we hoped the entire herd would head towards the water hole, they turned in the opposite direction and seemed to disappear in the distance. We were a trifle disappointed. However, the smaller elephant continued with the mud bath. But then, quite suddenly, about five minutes later, the herd turned direction and the whole lot of them very slowly and gingerly made their way to the water. By this time, we were all recording the rituals or clicking still pictures with our cameras. This was simply the jackpot and we had hit it! One by one, the elephants slid down the slope towards the water, bringing the cutest little calves with them. These little ones were sandwiches between the taller, bigger ones, who seemed to be offering them protection. At one point, we counted 21 elephants in that herd—of every possible size and height. This was simply too much to take in. The two original elephants left the hole and walked away as if to make way for the troupe that had arrived after them. Then, after ten minutes, quite as suddenly as they had appeared, the whole herd seemed to have been alerted to something and in unison, they made a right about turn and with loud trumpeting, they ran up the hill leaving their little ones who had been burrowing in the shallow sand pools to catch up with them. Within a few seconds, they disappeared behind the thickets and it was as if they had never been there. A good ten minutes later, the bull elephant who had stood beneath our balcony all the time, finished his own bathing rituals which had involved spouting water from the sand hole around his head and back and, as unhurriedly as he had arrived, he left the scene and make his way along the river bed to disappear into the thicket with the rest of the herd. When we asked Dee later what might have caused them to disappear in that fashion, he said they had probably been alerted to the presence or the arrival of another elephant herd, felt threatened and decided it was best to leave.

            Having viewed this entire spectacle, you can imagine that we were loath to leave the scene for a cup of tea. How astonished we were, after having just finished brunch, to find a royal repast awaiting us for Afternoon Tea: Greek spanakopita in phyllo pastry cups, spring rolls with a tangy sauce, ground beef filled croissants, cinnamon apple cupcakes. But, sadly, there was simply no time to do justice to Abel’s offerings. I grabbed a phyllo cup and an apple cupcake and raced off to the cruiser for, exactly at 3. 30 pm, Dee was waiting to take us on our next drive—our fifth!             

Our Fifth Safari Drive:

            After all the action and excitement of our morning and afternoon, it was simply too much to expect that the next drive would be just as fulfilling. And indeed, for the most part, it was rather humdrum. We had no major sightings and so were quite pleased when Dee stopped under the most splendid baobab tree in the Park to enable us to admire it and learn a bit about it. Just a little later, at another spot, we stopped for sundowners. In a trice, Dee set out our white and red wines and Cokes. He offered a different selection of nibbles and as we shot the breeze while the sun sank into the west, he taught us a new game. He brought us shiny black pellets that looked like little beans and introduced us to what he called a “popular Bush game”. He drew a line in the sand and showed us to how to hold the pellets between our lips and blow hard towards the line. The aim was to get the pellet as far as possible down the road. Of course, it was only after we’d have a good time trying to outdo each other that he revealed that the black pellets were hardened impala poop! You can imagine how some of us cringed! 

            After we had finished sipping our tipples and nibbling on our snacks, Dee put away the portable picnic table and its accoutrements and got us all back in the cruiser again. On the way back, we did not see much except for a Bush Baby—the smallest primate in the Bush and a steenbok—a very small brown deer-like creature.

Revisiting the Rhino Carcass:

            It was Dee’s idea that we should stop briefly by the original rhino carcass that we had seen on our first drive surrounded by Hyenas and vultures. He thought it would be good to see what had happened to the carcass after three days. And what a sight greeted us! The hyenas and vultures had fed to their heart’s content. The fallen rhino had been reduced to a skeleton and we could so clearly discern its entire rib cage. We alighted from the vehicle and walked to the back of the creature only to find that all of his insides had been consumed. Not a single organ was left. Indeed the bones had been picked clean and this sad skeleton would remain in this state until the maggots had finished their work on it as well.  

Bursting Into Song:

            Despite our waning luck on the last drive, we were all so elated by the successes of the day and our many phenomenal sightings. It was little wonder that Cheri-Anne suggested that we sing along the way home and we belted out a bunch of numbers in the darkness, in the Bush, much to the amusement of Dee who began to think of us as a truly sporting lot. By this time, we had gotten really comfortable with each other and were pulling each others’ legs with abandon.  

We started off with some Beatles’ numbers, then moved on to classics of community singing and finally finished with some typical Bombay songs. Dee requested us to sing “Bombay Meri Hai” on our entry into the camp and we were pleased to oblige. The staff that usually awaited our arrival and greeted us at the entrance with cold towels and glasses of sherry, were most amused by our singing and were all smiles as we entered the place. They too had grown fond of us. This was the beauty of having chosen a tiny boutique lodge to camp in. It was small, intimate and very personalized. With just 6 tents, we had the place almost entirely to ourselves and we loved the privacy of it. 

Dinner at Camp:

            All that was left was for us to sit down directly at the beautifully laid out table and enjoy dinner. Most of us had the excellent Broccoli Soup while others had the Grilled Eggplant Salad. For Mains, I chose the Duck Breast and Llew had the Beef Steak. The sauces in both were outstanding. Mashed Potatoes for me and Rice Pilaf for Llew were our accompaniments as were the superbly roasted vegetables that we also enjoyed. Dessert was either a Chocolate Pudding or a Crème Brulee and since we had each chosen one, we had a chance to taste both of them.

            The next day would also be the day of our departure and since we had one more game drive at 6.00 pm, we adjourned to our respective tents to pack up and get organized. Llew and Raghu enjoyed a glass of wine on our terrace while I continued packing. They heard a very loud and strange noise after a while which they were told were baboons again. But, by 10.00 pm, Raghu returned to his tent with an escort (as no one is allowed to walk in the lodge grounds without a staff member).

            It had been an incredible day. Nothing would disappoint us anymore, we thought, as he secretly hoped that the morrow would bring the sighting of a rhinoceros—the last of the Big Five—and one we all hoped not to leave without seeing.

            Little did we know what the morrow would bring…

            Until tomorrow, cheerio! 

Getting Accustomed to Camp Life on Safari–Our First Day

Jul13

Thursday, July 9. 2015:
Hamiltons Tented Camp, Skukuza:

Our Second Safari Drive:

            The day began for Llew and me at the crack of dawn–at 5. 30 am to be precise, when we set our alarms and received a wake-up call from the Camp staff. In 15 minutes, we were striding down the walkway from our Tent No. 1 to the Camp lobby in the darkness. We joined our friends for morning coffee/tea and rusks—a little something to keep us going until breakfast, later in the morning.

             Because we had been invited to do so the previous evening, Llew and I joined the new friends we made at our Camp, Samantha and Becca Jones from Washington DC and Stamford, Connecticut, respectively, in their cruiser with their tracker/guide Ralph. They were doing their last safari drive having already cracked sightings of the Big Five which is every visitor’s dream. The Term ‘Big Five’ refers not to the largest, but to the most dangerous animals in the Bush: Elephant, Lion, Leopard, Rhinoceros and Cape Buffalo. All they hoped to find was a male lion having already spotted four lionesses and two cubs on a previous drive.

            Ralph was truly a dream tracker. He kept up a steady commentary as he pointed out vegetation, flowers, small animals and birds, even animal dung, to us. He had an IPad with him and each time he came upon an interesting bird, he pulled it up on his I-Pad and played the bird’s call to us so that we got to know what it sounded like. In his company, we spotted our big catch of the day—a leopard seated in the distance on a rock. We were stunned and completely fascinated. The magnificently-spotted animal lay in profile stretched out with its head on its forepaws. It was such a brilliant find that we simply could not believe our luck. Leopards are extremely hard to find and to come up on one on our second drive was just so thrilling. And what’s more, he lay there for the longest time—at least a full 20 minutes–which allowed us to take pictures of him without any stress. About twenty minutes later, he got off the rock and stretched slowly as he began to spray the ground to mark his territory. We got even more glimpses of him as he sat down and then slowly began to slink away deeper behind the little heightened ridge in the distance. So there we had it—the highlight of this drive and the third animal on the Big Five List to be ticked off (after elephant and rhino).More animals on our drive included more impala. Water buck, kudu, duiker and elephants, giraffe and zebra were also plentiful and we saw virtually herds of them—many even crossing right in front of our vehicle.    

            It was wonderful of Ralph to have stopped half-way through our drive to set up morning coffee/tea for us with really delicious corn muffins and rusks. It was fascinating just to watch the the way he masterminded the entire operation: a folding table and table cloth, a very neat but very sophisticated camp stove over which he placed an Italian moka to make coffee.  There was milk in a thermos and sugar and in a typical Indian stainless steel tiffin carrier with four stacked containers were our muffins and rusks. It is clear that these guys have the science and art of Camp life down to the last detail and that they attend to their duties with joy and willingness. Ralph was also very humorous and at every turn he cracked a joke or a quip or a wise crack that make us laugh. We thoroughly enjoyed his company.  

 

First Breakfast at Camp:   

            Back at Camp at exactly 9. 30am, we sat down for breakfast—there were muffins, rolls, delicious muesli and other cereals to be eaten with mango yogurt or plain yoghurt, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit. There was also freshly-squeezed orange juice and a tropical juice (a mixture of guava and mango juice). And just in case one felt there was not enough food to go around, a waiter came forward to take our orders for a cooked breakfast: eggs any style with a number of fixin’s that included sausages, bacon, grilled tomatoes, grilled mushrooms, hash browns. I chose scrambled eggs with a number of delicious meats. Washed down with decaff coffee, this was simply a stupendous meal and we had the best time.

 A Bush Walk with Dee:

            At 10. 15 am, we left for an hour-long Bush Walk with Dee for he could take a group of no more than four people with him on foot—so Ian, Jenny-Lou, Llew and I set out with him. For the next hour, he made us walk behind him in single file. It was a bit weird to see him striding ahead of us with a loaded rifle in his hand, but he carried it as a security precaution to ensure a line of defense in case we were attacked.

            Dee pointed out all sorts of interesting things to us. He showed us a pile of rhino ‘midden’—a hole used for defecation by rhinos. He showed us a whole lot of crap—if you get my meaning. Impala crap—tiny black pellets that differ in color depending on what the animal has eaten. Rhino crap which indicates that they are entirely herbivorous; freshly dropped elephant dung, etc. He showed us what happened to tree trunks when animals use the sides to sharpen their horns or to rid themselves of ticks and mites that are often found in the mud and accumulated after they take mud baths to clean themselves. He showed us several different animal skulls. We were able to touch a giraffe skull. I did not realize that the horns were pure calcium—consisting entirely of bone. He showed us what a leopard-shelled tortoise looks like based on the broken-up shell left behind by a predator.  As we walked through the Bush, we ran into herd of water buck and impala, but they just parted and let us go through. It was a hugely interesting experience because you have encounters with Bush phenomena that you would never have from the comfort and safety of the back seat of a cruiser.          
 
            An hour later, we were back in our rooms only to find that our balcony was mobbed ny the teenaged members of our group—and quite naturally too. For it offered the most prized location in the Camp: our balcony overlooked the water hole which had seen non-stop action all day. The kids in our group, Neil, Carl and Kristen, had spent the entire hour watching as hundreds of animals came in turn to drink and then slowly leave. When we joined them, we saw wart hogs, kudu, zebra (a whole marvelous herd of them), countless impala, loads of water buck and Bush buck make their way to the hole. They drank and they left and then more arrived. It was a joy to pass time merely seated on the comfortable striped easy chairs on our balcony watching the changing natural phenomenon right beneath us. How fortunate were we in the allocation of our room!

            Llew and I both took showers—another truly interesting experience for the showers were wooden cabins in the open air attached to our tent just outside our very fancy old-world 1930s style-British bathrooms with a claw-footed tub and a high back rest—but the shower had no ceiling and was open on the third side. Llew reports that he showered as the kudus watched him! A little later, I had a similar shower–it was hot and very refreshing but a little bizarre! This Camp is the last word in luxury and there are a variety of fragrant toiletries available for our use as well as springs of a natural bush called magic zuari with which the staff decorated our beds and our bedside tables.

            The entire party was on our balcony for the entire morning and it was simply superb to watch the swiftly changing scene. There was rarely a point when there was no action at all—animals came and went and jumped skillfully over the banks or tried to ford them. They had the grace of gazelles and it was simply an indescribable joy to sit back and watch the changing natural scene.
 

Lunch on the Terrace:

            At  2. 30 pm, we assembled on the terrace to enjoy luncheon ably prepared by the South African Camp chef, Abel. There was grilled impala sheesh kebabs with pieces of red, green and yellow peppers strung through the skewer. There was a lovely green salad, corn fritters, bread rolls with butter and preserves, mushroom and spinach pin wheels made with puff pastry, onion and olive crostini that was crisp and really scrumptious. All this was consumed with tea or coffee or juices and we had a fabulous meal. 

 Our Third Safari Drive:

At 3. 30 pm, it was time for us to leave on our third safari with Dee. This was perhaps the least successful of our drives. Apart from the animals we had seen already, there was nothing of interest to note. Occasionally we drove for long spells and did not come across any animals at all. This was deeply disappointing. Meanwhile, not to let us feel completely disheartened, Dee stopped for sundowners to allow us to enjoy the sight over the Bush as the sun sank in the form of a salmon pink orb. We were treated to a bottle of excellent red Pinotage with white wine or beer for those who preferred it and Cokes for the kids. The selection of snacks was also different: roasted peanuts, biltong (pieces of dried beef), dried mango slices and dried, sweetened, sliced bananas. Again, we were struck by how much eating and drinking we seemed to be doing.

Just as it seemed as if we would be returning home in low spirits, we started the drive back in utter darkness. Dee shone a very powerful spotlight in the road and in no time at all we came upon one of the smallest carnivorous owls in the Bush—the Fiery-Necked Night Jar (a very small owl, no bigger than a blackbird). Dee offered to pick it up for us so that we could inspect it closer and I offered to shine the spotlight upon him as he did so. We were told to keep very still as he approached the bird and then swooped down to pick it up in his palm. He brought the owl over to us so that we could take a good look at it and take pictures. It had a really huge mouth which, Dee explained, is useful for tearing apart and devouring its prey.

So there it was: The Highlight of our third drive was catching the Owl, studying it and then allowing it to flap off eagerly into the wild without feeling too distressed.  

Dinner at Camp:

            We ate well as we sat down for dinner. We had been offered two choices at each of three courses: For starters, Llew and I chose the Sweet Corn Soup which was simply divine. For our Mains, we both chose the Kudu Steak which was served with Potatoes Au Gratin and Roasted Vegetables. Our other choice was a Roasted Chicken Breast with Rice Pilaf and Roasted Veg and Ian, who ordered it, proclaimed it one of the best chicken dishes he had ever had. Dessert was a toss between an Orange Panna Cotta which I had and which was delicious or Sticky Toffee Pudding which Llew had and which was also nice. While we were eating, we were regaled with a series of jokes from one of the wait staff called Ronnie who had a really delightful manner and a very child-like intonation. It made for a wonderful meal. It is grand to be able to sit in the soft light of Petromax lanterns admiring the leaf and pod designs worked on the table by the staff whose attention to detail is simply staggering.

            Then, because all good things must come to an end, we said goodnight to each other and made our way back to our room. We had hoped to see some nocturnal animals such as big cats at our water hole but though we took a big spotlight with us to our room and shone it on the water hole from our balcony, there was no action at all.

It was time to turn off the light and go to sleep.

Until tomorrow, when we hope we will have better luck at spotting cats, I say Cheerio!