Good Friday, April 10, 2009
London
Good Friday dawned cloudy in London as we decided to start our day of fast and abstinence from meat with hot cross buns for breakfast–a tradition that both Llew and I had observed when growing up in Bombay and Karachi respectively. While I showered, I sent Llew on a mission to “our larder” (which is how my next-door neighbors Barbara and Tim describe the Marks and Spencer Simply Foods shop that’s right opposite our building). He returned, disappointed that the store opened only at 10 am on Good Friday. With Jordan’s Crunchy Muesli to egg us on as a substitute, our rather hectic day began.
As Llew turned to the sorting out of his baggage in preparation for his return to the States on Easter Monday, I made a quick pasta with all the bits and bobs that were in my fridge. I froze a whole load of it in small Tupperware containers (Thanks, Sylvia, they’re coming in soooo handy here), then cleaned my kitchen and decided to take Llew off on one of my self-guided Frommer walks in London entitled “Ghosts in Covent Garden”. Only Holborn was like a ghost-town itself what with the closure of all shops along the street and the absence of people–it felt like a Saturday or Sunday usually does in these parts. Being accustomed to the concept of ‘separation of Church and State’ in the United States, Llew and I are astonished at the fact that both Good Friday and Easter Monday are Bank Holidays (what we call Federal holidays) out here in Anglican England. We realize how many wonderful religious holidays we miss out on in the USA where not only do we get, on an average, just two weeks of paid privilege leave but a total of no more than six holidays during the year–no wonder the country is plagued by coronary thrombosis and other stress-related illnesses!
Our walk began at Holborn Tube station, so across Kingsway we went to Great Queen Street and into Drury Lane where we visited two old theaters–the Royal Theater (London’s oldest and one I have visited at least thrice, most recently to see Rowan Atkinson as Fagin in Oliver which is currently on) and the Lyceum Theater (currently staging The Lion King and which I have never seen except in passing). Both have their fair share of resident ghosts. In the former, I posed by a sculpture of a very dapper Noel Coward in the lobby. The streets all around Covent Garden were empty and it was a rare pleasure to feel as if we had the city entirely to ourselves. We also paused in a children’s playground that was once the burial ground of the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Field.
On to Somerset House in Aldwych we went, across the spurting fountains in the courtyard to the Stamp Office and down the spiral staircase into the basement that took us to the Victoria Embankment and into Temple Place and Strand Lane where we saw the remains of what were once Roman Baths, now maintained by the National Trust. A great sunken bath is all that is left of what was once a spring-fed bath that passed into the possession of the Earls of Arundel who once owned a house where a network of streets now stands.
Along the Embankment, we posed in the paws of the Sphinx at Cleopatra’s Needle, the hieroglyphic-clad obelisk, which allowed us to learn a bit of its rather checkered history. Then the drizzles began and we were grateful for our Umbrella for Two (a Nautica gift from our English friends in Connecticut, Jonathan and Diana Thomson) as we crossed the street and entered the Embankment Gardens. We marveled anew at the genius of Victorian engineering that pushed the Thames so far back from its original course–its waters once lapped the York Gateway in the garden –by creating the Embankment. In the Gardens a treat awaited us as thousands of tulips are on the verge of bursting into glorious bloom and my camera worked overtime as it tried to capture some of the awesome color on the parrot tulips whose petals have already unfurled themselves. Give it another few days and this little gem will be a riot of color as spring flings itself victorious over the city. I cannot wait to return from Belgium next week and throw myself into the joys of Spring madness.
Our walk ended at this point–so Llew and I crossed the Strand and walked towards the National Gallery where I wanted to introduce him to a Renaissance painter whose acquaintance I have only recently made–Carlo Crivelli, who has a whole room devoted to his work at the National. Yet, I had never heard of or seen any of his work in all my travels in Italy and all of my reading into Renaissance Art History. Where had this totally brilliant artist been hiding? He has become one of my favorites and I simply had to share his astounding work with Llew.
The National was mobbed on this holiday weekend as so many Easter travelers have descended upon the city. I realized afresh how fortunate I was to have had the galleries almost entirely to myself during those cold winter weeks when I did the bulk of my study of its peerless collection. As we jostled our way inside, we realized that in keeping with the solemnity of the day, the Gallery had organized a special talk on Eugene Delacroix’s painting Christ on the Cross and we headed towards Gallery 41 for this lecture. A group of about sixty people had already set up their chairs at the painting and in a few minutes, the rather small but deeply stirring canvas was introduced to us by one of the curators. This was followed by a talk by one of the members of the Education Department. He, unfortunately, was so soft that though we were seated only in the third row, we barely heard a word he said and, in disappointment, we left and headed towards the Sainsbury Wing to see the Crivelli Gallery.
As I expected, Llew was as blown away as I was by Crivelli’s work, most of which are altar pieces that he was commissioned to create for churches in Italy. The detail, the compositions, the expressions on the faces of his saints are all so exquisite that it is impossible to hurry away from any of his works. It was Llew, who on reading the curatorial notes in the gallery, pointed out to me that the reason this Venetian is so little-known is probably because he was banished from Venice by the Church “for adultery”. This probably finished his painting career and prevented his altar pieces from actually being placed in the churches that commissioned them. It was baffling to us how powerful the Church was during the Renaissance and how much of an artist’s career rode upon the patronage of the Popes. This had certainly come home to us during our recent travels in Rome and we were struck anew by this phenomenon while studying Crivelli’s work.
Then, we were out on the streets left slick by all the rain and walking along Charing Cross Road to Foyle’s, London’s most famous bookshop, where Llew wanted to browse through some of the recent fiction titles. I left him to his perusal while I went in search of a rest room as the one at the National had a queue a mile long! After we had spent a while looking through books–a pass time we mutually enjoy–we picked our steps towards New Oxford Street from where we took the bus home.
Simply Food had opened and we were able to get our hands on some hot cross buns (one a penny, two a penny..if you have no daughters, give them to your sons!) and had ourselves a light lunch with a bun each and some asparagus soup. Then, it was time to inform Cynthia and Michael that we would be at the 5 pm service at St. Paul’s Cathedral and off we went for a short and well-deserved siesta.
Awaking in an hour, we readied ourselves for Church, taking the bus to the Cathedral where Cynthia had reserved seats for us right in the very front. As usual, the choir and the clergy made it memorable indeed and I heard, for the very first time, a sung account of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was rather wonderful indeed. The Veneration of the Cross was done in a rather novel way with a large cross set up in the center of the church and a circle of kneelers placed around it. The congregation was invited to go up to the kneelers and worship individually at the cross for a few minutes. This was possible, I suppose, since the congregation was rather thin. I don’t think it would be possible in the Catholic churches we have attended over the years on Good Friday where the churches are filled to capacity and such individual worship would be impossible.
Within an hour, we were out on the pavement saying Hullo to Bishop Michael Colclough, Canon-Pastor of St.Paul’s, who was pleased to see Llew again, even if briefly. After bidding the Colcloughs goodbye, we got on to the Tube for the next part of our agenda–a ride to Harrow to the home of our friends Bina and Navin Ullal who had invited us to dinner. I had called Bina and left a message with her daughter Alisha to let her know that we would not be eating meat. Llew and I carried Easter eggs from Thornton’s for Alisha and Dhiren (their kids) and after about an hour and a half, we were seated in their living room enjoying Bina’s appetisers–hot potato croquettes with mint chutney and a variety of nibbles–olives, cheddar cheese, cashew nuts, potato crisps (all well chosen for our day of vegetarianism). Bina is a very good cook indeed as I know from all the times I have stayed with them while traveling up and down from the States to India. We were high school friends and neighbors in the Reserve Bank Colony in Byculla in Bombay where our fathers were once bankers, and our growing years are filled with the most marvelous memories that we still recall and giggle over.
Over Bina’s generous spread of hot chapatis (which I was eating after ages) and mushroom curry, potato bhaji, pea curry and a huge salad with hot gulab jamuns for dessert, we spent a truly fun evening. The Ullals other guests included Amulya Barooah and his family–wife Lily and son Jasper and their adorable golden cocker spaniel named Daisy. The evening was spent in peals of laughter as we recalled, as we often do, the wonderful food we grew up with in Bombay’s long-gone Irani restaurants. It is a pity that the dhansak and vindaloo that passes as authentic Indian food in Indian restaurants today all over the world is not a patch on the true specimens produced in Parsi and Goan kitchens in India and, being foodies all, we lamented this fact in unison! Amulya is off to Madras but had suggested we get back together again at their place in Crickelwood upon his return.
The Barooahs dropped us off to Baker Street Tube station at the end of a really great evening and Llew and I were home after midnight, when quite exhausted by the events of Good Friday, we tumbled into bed.