A Lonely Wedding Anniversary–Saved by Roses, Friend and Trans-Atlantic Communication

Aug28

Saturday, August 27, 2016

London

As I have already expressed, I am feeling far more lonely this time round in London than I ever did before on the many occasions I have lived alone here. It must have to do with the fact that I live in a house (not a flat) with no known neighbors in a vicinity to which I have never really warmed. This is adding to my sense of isolation. So preoccupied have I been with my general sense of unease about the neighborhood that I completely forgot it was my wedding anniversary today. Not even the fact that my Dad asked for my address and phone number two days ago, in order to call to wish me,  helped jog my memory.

So I awoke at 6.00 am after a restless night as I am really really hot without a fan. I cannot open the windows as the street sounds keep me awake. So my bedroom is like a mini oven. The heat is making me wake up too early—but with little to do, I began blogging, followed by a bit of reading. I felt the urgent need to get away from London on a day trip–then remembered that I also want to curtail my walking. I thought about the Barnes Wetlands Center which I have never visited, but it would involve walking over vast acreage on a day when the mercury was expected to climb high. (I cannot wait for this heat wave to break.) There was perhaps Bletchley Park to which I could go–I loved the movie The Imitation Game about Alan Turing who broke the Enigma Code there plus I had watched a TV series entitled Bletchley Park about the role played by the women who were hired to write/decipher Code. But that too would involve a vast amount of trekking. It is better for me to give my feet as much rest as possible during the next few days to avoid the onset of plantar fasciitis again.

Rustling Up a Full English Brekkie At Home:

The BnB at Dorset has given me a taste for full English brekkies and the prices at Morrisons’ for sausages and bacon clinched the deal for me. I had bought eggs and the fixin’s and decided to rustle one up. So into the kitchen I went and for the next half hour, I fried bacon and sausages and scrambled eggs and with the baked beans I had bought earlier, I had  myself one of them heart attacks on a plate! No tomatoes or mushrooms to soften the impact of all that protein. I debated for a second: should I/shouldn’t I have some toast with it? Might as well cut the carbs, I thought. So that was it–with my decaff coffee, of course. I watched Saturday Kitchen on my laptop computer while I ate (as there is no TV here).

Back upstairs in my room, I began working in earnest on the Powerpoint presentation that I would like to accompany my paper in Scotland. I transferred all the pictures I had taken on my I-phone at the British Library on to my email and then tried to save them on my desktop so that I could download them on to the presentation. No dice! I would need some advice on how to achieve that and my brother Roger would be the best person to help me. I was about to send him an SOS message. So you can imagine how shocked I was to get a whatsapp from my brother (at exactly that moment–mental telepathy?) wishing me for my anniversary. OMG, I thought! It is my wedding anniversary today! I completely forgot. That’s what happens when you are so far away from a beloved spouse! By then clearly the US was awaking up. Within minutes, I found a response from Llew to Roger and then from Llew to me. I was, at that very minute, planning to call my Dad when Llew app-ed me to inform me that my Dad had been trying to call me but was not succeeding. He asked me to call Dad first and then we would talk.

International Anniversary Calls and VideoChats:

So, of course, I called Dad. There was a lump in my throat at the end of our conversation for Dad, being my Dad, says things that always make me emotional. He said he had been trying to phone me by 6.30 am my time so that his call would be the first I would receive because he realized how low I would feel about being so far away from Llew on my anniversary!  And that did it! The general loneliness I have been feeling for  at least the past two weeks increased and I felt a terrible dread about being alone today. I needed to make plans with a friend for I had to do something with someone.

A swift call to my friend Sushil clinched it. He invited me to his place for a cuppa followed by a saunter down to the National Portrait Gallery to see the winners of the BP Portrait Contest–as he had made plans to see them anyway. I had begun my own survey of the NPG the previous day–so his suggestion could not have been more apropos. There! That would do it. I would have a quick light lunch and leave in about an hour for Holborn where he lives.

A few minutes later, Llew and I were on videochat together and he informed me that there was a delivery for me. Awww! He asked what time I would be leaving the house and when I said in  one hour, he said, OK, I must get off the call now. He had to call the place in London to ensure I was present to take delivery. I did not want him to leave the box on the porch. They had a very busy day ahead in Connecticut as Fr. Austin, the priest who married us in India, was expected at our place to spend the day as he was on a year-long Sabbatical himself in the US and Canada from Bombay. Llew needed to drive to Westchester in New York to pick him up and needed to make headway with the day–not to mention putting together a meal for our beloved guest.

 A Delivery and a Friend Save The Day:

I descended into the kitchen again to eat lunch, then went up to get dressed and was just closing the window of my bedroom when the delivery man appeared at my gate below and said ‘Hello’!  The box had arrived from Llew. Inside were two dozen red roses and a beautiful card! He had remembered and I had forgotten! Ssshhh. Don’t tell him! Anyway, never have I been happier to see red roses delivered to my door. The last time this had happened was when I lived in London and received a similar delivery on Valentine’s Day–my neighbor Barbara had commented on Twitter about how loved her next-door neighbor was! Or something like that! Anyway, I filled a tall beer glass with water to create a make-shift vase and took my roses and card up to my room so I would see them first thing when I awoke for the next few days.

Five minutes later, I took the 25 bus to Holborn and arrived at Sushil’s flat. There, after a fun reunion and a lovely natter, we sipped our tea (I am now carrying my own decaff tea bags and my own sweetener in my bag for no one in London has decaff tea except me) and assuaged any fear of being up at all hours of the night from the unnecessary shot of caffeine. About an hour later, Sushil and I left and took the 38 bus to Leicester Square from where we walked it out for a few minutes to the NPG.

Visiting the National Portrait Gallery with Sushil:

Probably because it is still too hot outside, most London tourists are seeking refuge in museums and galleries. Or maybe friends and relatives of those contestants shortlisted for the prize had all descended on London to view their entries. At any rate, the gallery was packed. We were both most impressed by several of the entries although neither one of us thought the First Prize winner was any great shakes–but then what do we know? After spending about 45 minutes surveying the high quality of work by amateur painters around the world, Sushil said goodbye and moved on, He had much of his plate and could not stay longer.

I left the gallery and then got side tracked by some of the most recent work on the ground floor–portraits of Charles and Camilla and of Maggie Smith, Zaha Hadid and J.K. Rowling (an interesting three-dimensional cut-out creation) and when I had finished the entire ground floor, I went back up to the second floor to Room 11 and continued my chronological survey of the permanent collection. I went through the Stuarts and the Hanoverians and had completed Room 17 when the PA system announced the closure of the gallery at 5. 50 pm. Using a stool helped enormously in ensuring that I was not on my feet throughout.

Enjoying Trafalgar Square and a Visit to St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church:

The sun had cooled down considerably by the time I re-emerged from the Gallery. There was a pleasant cool breeze playing and I was attracted to a busker right opposite the Gallery–a very beautiful young diminutive blonde with a lovely soulful voice who was singing with an accompanying guitar and a drummer (on a plain box). I found a seat and listened to two of her songs (both really lovely). Her mother who is quite obviously her manager was distributing her picture, collecting money, etc. After the performance, many folks walked up to ask her questions–I have never seen this sort of thing happen before. Clearly, she had an impact on many.

As her performance ended and the crowd walked away, I headed into the Church of St. Martin-in-The-Fields next door. Had I remembered my anniversary, I would have gone to Mass in the morning. But since it slipped my mind, I would have to do with a visit to a church. And it was in the cool interior of a very quiet and peaceful place that I gave thanks.

Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the church and sat on the steps for a while taking in the sights of milling crowds all around the Square. It was cool by this time and since it was still so bright, I decided to take a bus and to enjoy sights of the city as I headed home instead of disappearing underground in a Tube. When a 23 arrived to take me to Liverpool Street Station from opposite Charing Cross,  I hopped in and in my favorite seat (upper deck, front and center), I was mistress of all I surveyed. At Bank, I changed into a No. 8, got off at Bethnal Green, jumped into a 309 and was home by 7. 30 pm.

Celebrating an Anniversary from Afar:

I had  a shower and had just made myself a dinner plate and was getting ready to watch Making a Murderer on Netflix when a Facetime call came from Roger. It was about tea-time in Connecticut and Fr. Austin had arrived at our place and Roger had returned from work and they were just about to get Llew to cut a cake for our wedding anniversary and wanted me to be a part of the ritual as well. So with Lalita sitting down at our piano and playing ‘Congratulations’ and the rest of the crowd including Fr. Austin and the children singing, and a lovely view of the cake and Llew grinning madly and me waving away from here in London, we had a trans-Atlantic  wedding anniversary celebration that warmed the cockles of my forlorn heart and made me feel so highly lifted. It was fantastic! What a lovely way to end the day of my wedding anniversary! Although so far away from Llew, we felt so connected.

All that was left was for me to watch another episode of Making A Murderer (which is really compelling) and to go to bed at about 10. 30 pm. after checking out the Mass timings in a Catholic Church as I would like to offer up an anniversary Mass when tomorrow dawns.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

 

An Errand at Ealing and Late Evening at National Portrait Gallery

Aug27

Friday, August 26, 2016

London

Today is the Friday of a long ‘Bank Holiday’ Weekend in the UK–not sure what the Bank Holiday is for…but everyone is in a jolly mood with three days ahead to veg out.

As for me, I have to admit that loneliness is beginning to hit me gradually coupled with the fact that my feet are issuing serious warning signals. I know the signs of plantar fasciitis and I dread them with all my heart. It is time to slow down and give my feet a rest. But that means, basically, staying put and at home. Not a very exciting prospect for me, to be honest, as finding things to keep me busy when I am home-bound is tough!

Still, I awoke at 5.30 am today (for some unearthly reason) and could not get back to sleep. I decided to work on my paper and edit it as it is much too lengthy. After more than a hour, I stopped to have breakfast (muesli with yogurt and coffee) and continued working some more. I also wrote a blog post and started to think of a query letter I need to write for a potential publisher that a friend in New York has recommended to me.

Getting to Ealing:

At 9.40 am, I stopped to get dressed as I had an errand to run in Ealing and some friends to meet. I left the house, on schedule, at 10.00 am for my 11.00 am appointment but as I was locking the door, a bus to Bethnal Green sailed past. Grrr! Since I am avoiding walking now, there was no choice but to wait for the next one which came in about 12 minutes. I took the Central Line train to Ealing and was there almost on time. I had a bit of a challenge trying to find their place but soon I was reunited with them–Greg and Cecil. I was meeting my friend Cecil after a few years, so it was great to see him again and to meet his son, Greg. They were lovely and we had a wonderful time before I left to explore Ealing Broadway.

Exploring Ealing Broadway:

Yes, just half a block (in New York terms) from their place is Ealing ‘High Street’ called Broadway here–filled with every conceivable kind of restaurant, shop, fast food place, bar, etc. Around the corner, there is Marks and Sparks plus the famed Westfield Mall and hundreds of people to-in and fro-ing, making it vibrant and truly ‘happening’. I entered Morrisons for the first time to see what the prices were like and got the shock of my life. Six butter croissants for 1. 20 pounds! That is 20p a croissant–how is that even possible? Soon I found that everything, simply everything is less than half of what I have been paying in Sainsburys or the Co-op–which, by the way, is the biggest rip-off. Everything is more pricey there! See? After a month, I am becoming proficient in comparison-shopping in the UK!

As I left the store, a vendor placed a coupon for McD’s in my hand–because the place is also fully surrounded by every American fast food outlet you can imagine (McDonalds, Subway, Burger King, even Five Guys!) I felt fully at home! By the way, there is also Tinseltown–my favorite burger and shake place in the UK on The Mall. I usually get a Ferroro Rocher Shake at the Tinseltown in Hampstead–so it was great to spot one here too. Naturally, I could not resist getting a Big Mac for 1.99 pounds with fries! So in I went! Yes, Into McDs!!! A place I never enter unless Llew and I are on the road, travelling by car in the US! I guess after about a month in the UK, I needed my American Fix! So I also ordered a mocha frappe to go with it–perfect on another sweltering day–and discovered that McD’s in the UK does not accept credit cards that require a signature!!! Good Job I had some cash on me (I usually do not!) Anyway, I sat and wolfed down my caloric American meal and called my Dad for a chat. By the time I finished my meal and walked about with my food shopping from Morrison’s, I decided to scrap the thought of wandering about M&S (anywhere where I could find air-conditioning would have been fine!) and go home instead.

An Afternoon Chez Moi:

I was in the train in 10 minutes and home about 40 minutes later. After I put away my shopping, I went up to my boiler of a bedroom, threw the window open because I though I would suffocate–it was so hot and airless–and left it open as I thought I would continue to work. But I simply cannot manage without a fan. The heat is getting to me so vilely that I cannot sit upstairs in this house during the day. Instead, after trying to work on my paper for about an hour, I had a video chat with Chriselle in California and then I made myself a pot of tea and had it with Coffee Walnut Cake. I then went for in a badly needed shower.

An Evening at the National Portrait Gallery:

I had to think of some place to which I could go that was air-conditioned and did not involve too much walking. And I came up with the National Portrait Gallery at Trafalgar Square–one of my favorite places in London and one that I had yet to re-visit. Fridays is also late-evening closure at the museum whose doors are kept open till 9.00 pm. Not that I wanted to stay out late or after dark as I am still hesitant to come back to this neighborhood after nightfall.

An Unexpected Recital in the Elizabethan Gallery:

As soon as I entered the Gallery, I looked for their ‘Events for Today’ and found that a duo were performing upstairs in the Elizabethan Portrait Gallery. Without wasting any time, I took the escalator to the second floor to find that a recital between a lutanist and a tenor had just begun. I had to wait for a few minutes for the first set to end before I was able to take a seat right in front and give myself up to the music.

It was just lovely! I realized that this sort of music would have been the ‘radio’ of the Tudor and Elizabethan periods–the sort of background music that would have been a constant feature at court. In so many movies and TV series, I have seen a pair of musicians seated in a corner in the antechamber of the queen and her ladies or in Banquet Halls where the king supped. The music is quiet, lilting and softly pleasing. The composers were Thomas Morley, John Dowland, Francis Pilkington and Thomas Campion mainly and they wrote music for lute and harp–again, the kind of instruments that provide a pleasing sound without being intrusive. The concert, entitled ‘From Dawn to Dusk: Musicke in the Ayre’ featured the Australian singer Daniel Thomson who has made London his home and lutanist Din Ghani who is not only a musician but a musicologist and a maker of lutes! Seated in the Gallery, just below the Coronation Portrait of Elizabeth I, I kept wishing they had dressed in period costume–for that would have enhanced the entire experience a thousand-fold. Still, it was simply enchanting and after an hour, when they were done, I began my exploration of the gallery.

Viewing Works at the National Portrait Gallery:

I love the National portrait Gallery for many reasons: the portraits themselves, of course, first of all, are among the best in the world. Secondly, for the significance of the portraits: The Portrait of Shakespeare, for instance, is the first one that the Gallery ever acquired for its permanent collection and the curatorial notes state that it is probably the only one painted from life–now this dispels the belief that the recently-unearthed Cobbe Portrait is the only one painted from life! Go figure! Thirdly, for the amount that I learn about the sitters with every visit I make. Fourthly, because viewing these works always provides a crash refresher course for me on British history and politics. The chronological arrangement of the rooms allows me to traverse centuries of British notables and to learn about them and the artists who painted them. Finally, I love the mood lighting in the Tudor and Elizabethan Galleries–it is kept soft in order to preserve the integrity of the pigments, but it adds to the atmosphere of the era. This was a very dark time in British History and as I gaze upon the faces of women like Anne Boleyn and Mary Tudor and contrast their portraits with those of bigger worthies such as Henry VIII or Sir Thomas More or Archbishop Cranmer and even lesser ones such as Salisbury and Cecil, I keep thinking how dangerous those times were for women, how they were ‘played’ politically by the men, how powerless they were in battling court intrigues that dispensed with them at the drop of a hat. These portraits truly transport me into another era and fill me with a deep sense of dread.

Even as one leaves the 1500s behind and enters more recent epochs, there is hardly a portrait of a woman. But for an occasional queen, the dominant faces are masculine: writers, musicians, politicians, architects, you name it…they were men. I got all the way to Room 10 and reached the 18th century–all those portraits of male members of the Kit Kat Club with curled wigs tumbling about their shoulders as was the fashion of the time. I looked aghast at the kings (Charles II, for instance) who fathered 14 children with different mistresses, brought his wife Catherine of Braganza untold misery and then claimed he truly cared for her!!! For far less transgressions, thankfully, today, royal marriages have broken up.

The Gallery is also experimenting with the concept of mixing a contemporary painting of current notables with those from the past–for some contrast and to allow the viewer to compare fashion, poses, etc. For instance, in the Elizabethan Gallery, there is a huge portrait of the two current princes–William and Harry–in casual conversation with each other. It is a lovely piece of work by Nicky Phillips. Although set in Clarence House (which I visited a couple of weeks ago), their home during their growing years and dressed in formal military garb (William wears the Order of the Garter), they are laughing as they converse and both look away from the artist–so casual, so unposed, so different from the stiff portraits of their own ancestors in the same room. Overall, I had a lovely time and so absorbed was I in my own contemplation of past history and past society, that I completely lost track of the time and was startled by the announcement that the Gallery would be closing in 15 minutes!

Trafalgar Square by Night:

Yikes! It was already 8.45–already dark! I finished Room 10 and then hurried out into the evening splendor of Trafalgar Square. I realized how beautiful it was as I was seeing the city at night for the first time since my arrival here. With the blue lights in the fountains of Trafalgar Square and the dome of the Colisseum where the English National Opera performs, the city was transformed into a magical place. There were crowds, simply milling crowds, all over as the warm night and the darkness contributed to keeping people where they were: tumbling down the stairs leading from the National Gallery to the Square, seated all around Edward Landseer’s lions, perched on the parapets that surround the periphery of the Square, etc. This is what I love about London–the sheer love that I have for this city is reflected in the eyes and movements of all the people who have come here because they so love it too. I also love the fact that I can wander into a museum and stumble upon a truly atmospheric concert that I can enjoy for free! Where else on earth could such things happen?

But I had no time to lose. I hurried off to Charing Cross station to take the Northern line south for one station and when I arrived at the Embankment, I hopped off, made my connection into a waiting train and got completely lost in The Evening Standard–the free paper distributed to commuters each evening (the free paper concept has never caught on in New York–probably because people there prefer to gaze at their phones!)

It was only when I reached the Barbican that I realized I was on the wrong train! Crumbs! I jumped off, raced to the platform on the opposite side, rode it one stop further to Liverpool Street and then took the Central Line from there for one stop to Bethnal Green. In a way, it was good I had made a mistake as this allowed me to take the 309 bus home for 2 stops instead of walking alone in the dark and taxing my feet. Luckily, my bus came along in 3 minutes and I was home by 10.00 pm–the latest I have ever come home (but this time all I had to do was cross the street from the bus-top and enter my house). Since I had eaten a big lunch and a substantial tea, I decided not to eat any dinner at all and I simply prepared to go to bed.

I do not think I punished my feet too much today but I did manage to accomplish a lot–despite the heat which I hope will abate soon.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Catching Up at Home–and A Bit of Overseas Banking, Food Shopping and Cooking

Aug26

Thursday, August 25, 2016

London

We have all become so accustomed to being cyber-connected that when traveling overseas, the biggest handicap is not having access to the internet. If I leave my London home for five minutes, I come back to a string of email that needs responding. Imagine being away for three days–the backlog is overwhelming. So, punishment for the pleasure of being in Dorset, was that most of today I was chained to my laptop.

Indeed much of my day was spent writing. I had abstracts to write for the talks I will be giving in the UK at various universities. My speaking appearance at the University of Padua in Italy was confirmed today–which meant more abstracts to write for their website and more travel arrangements to consider. I caught up with my Dorset blog–three days of recording of sightseeing and English seaside cultural lifestyle (before I forget everything I did and saw). Then there was my paper to edit and a Powerpoint presentation to plan and write for my conference appearance in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Don’t get me wrong: I am enjoying all of this work–it is, in fact, what I thrive on. But the heat!!! It is so stifling and so humid at the moment that I feel terribly uncomfortable as my laptop also gives off heat. I can understand that Brits have no air-conditioning in their homes–their temperate climate and (much milder) summers that our extreme ones in the USA do not necessitate it. But no fans???? I mean why ever not? Not only do they not have ceiling fans anywhere in their homes, but they do not even have upright pedestal fans either. I remember the first time I came to live in London in Holborn, my apartment was centrally air-conditioned. I rarely used it as I did not feel the need to live in an artificially created micro-climate. However, the first thing I did was go out and buy a little table fan from Argos for my bedside table–I had two of them and I used one bedside table to prop up the fan so that I could sleep at night. At the end of my life here in London, I had left the fan at the London home of my friend Loulou as I could not use it in the States (different voltage, different plug system).

Here too, in this Bethnal Green home, there is no AC and no fans. I feel as if I am in a boiler all day. And this time I am not going to buy one for just one month only to leave it behind when I return home. When I tried to open the windows in my bedroom (where I do most of my work), the sounds of the traffic below are so deafening and so distracting that I promptly closed them again. Not just traffic–I can hear everything any passer-by says! End result? I had to get out of the house in the afternoon for relief from the heat and although I was trying to give myself a full day at home to rest my over-worked feet and catch up on work, I did make two short trips outside. Both gave me the intense small pleasure of an air-conditioned atmosphere.

Would you believe I was so relieved from the heat in the Co-op (supermarket) that I wanted to linger in there? But I did! Having almost cleaned out my fridge before leaving for Dorset, I needed staples: bread, milk, cream, yoghurt, etc. I bought some chicken breast too, broccoli and onions and a bottle of Piri-Piri sauce: this is unknown to most people in America, but it is a result of Anglo-Portuguese fusion cuisine. Piri-piri, I believe, is chilli pepper in Portuguese, and Nando’s, a local chain of chicken restaurants, popularized a dish called Chicken Piri-Piri. Well, having had much success with my M&S bottled tikka masala paste, I figured I’d try piri-piri this time.

Back home, I got down to the basement kitchen (surprisingly cooler than my overheated bedroom two flights above) and cooked Chicken Piri-Piri and a Broccoli side dish with cumin, fennel and chilli flakes in Balsamic vinegar. That was my food sorted for the next few days. Back upstairs, I chatted with Llew for a while, then because I simply had to get out of the heat again, I took a ride in a passing bus to Bethnal Green to do a bit of overseas banking.

Not having used the ATM machine before, it was a learning experience. The machine is programmed to give only a limited amount of money and since I am trying to limit my transactions (because Chase Bank in the US charges me a fee for each one), I was annoyed at the limit. When I consulted a banking assistant, she told me that for larger sums, I could go to the teller upstairs. But would not the teller charge me a service fee? Would I not be paying double? On this side of the Atlantic and across the pond? No, she assured me. The teller’s service here were free and I would be charged the same fee in the US  regardless of the amount of my withdrawal.  Well…live and learn. I know for next time how to handle it. Needless to say, despite the irritation, the AC in the bank was a pleasure and I lingered as long as I could before I took the bus back home.

More telephonic chatter home followed–with my Dad in Bombay and folks in Connecticut. More work on my paper which I am trying to edit down to size to fit the 20 minute time limit of the conference. I have already found too much very valuable material in the British Library and feel a compulsion to reveal it all–must try to rein myself in. Work on my paper went on for the rest of the evening. I only wound up at 7.00 pm in time for a shower that I badly needed, a very late tea break (a pot of tea and a slice of coffee-walnut cake), washing and drying my dishes below, putting my food away. Then, back upstairs, I began watching ‘Making a Murderer’ on Netflix (which Llew had recommended to me very highly). I was not happy to have to watch it on my tiny laptop screen, but because there is no TV here, I have no choice. But Thank God for my Netflix account. I’d be bereft of entertainment without it.

I watched the entire first episode, then broke for dinner–my Chicken Piri is delicious (no credit to me–its all in the bottled sauce!) and the broccoli was just as tasty. Rum and Raisin Ice-cream for dessert–because the weather demanded it, and then I got ready for bed.

Nothing exciting to report today. I will still be playing catch up with email tomorrow as I still have some urgent ones that need responding.

Until tomorrow, cheerio….

Chelsea Calling: Vintage Jewelry, Lunch at The Ivy, A Stroll, Mass at St. Paul’s, Kensington

Aug11

London

It was all about Chelsea today–an upscale part of London that I have adored ever since I got to know it intimately over twenty years ago as we had stayed there for three consecutive summers when Llew’s brother and his late wife lived there. Not much has changed but for the fact that the designer shops get swankier and the Sloan Rangers, as they are known–the city’s most beautiful people–get ever so chic-er.
So I was up again at 6.00 am and spent most of the morning corresponding with folks to get a reasonably-priced B&B for the night I will spend next month in Glasgow. So far no luck. Everything seems chocobloc! I’m also trying to find accommodation for my travels in Eastern Europe with Chriselle–but that is several weeks away. Glasgow is far more urgent…
I had toast with Nutella and peanut butter today with a cup of coffee–it made a nice change. Then, a quick shower, a review of the items I would cover and I was off. I love planning each day on a little yellow post-It. It keeps me on track and enables me to see on paper how my day is likely to shape up.
I took the District Line Tube to Sloan Square–a whole hour earlier than I was expected to get there to meet a friend for lunch.

 Vintage Jewelry Shopping on The King’s Road:
Regular readers of this blog know that one of the great joys of my time in London is browsing through the thrift stores or what the Brits call “charity shops” in the posh neighborhoods of Chelsea, Knightsbridge and Greenwich.  I have found the most adorable vintage jewelry and antique scarves for which I have basically paid a song. So on every trip to London, since I am not given to shopping on the High Street and since it is the one-of-a-kind item that has always taken my fancy, these are the shops that give me the greatest pleasure.
And so before my luncheon appointment, I browsed in the Oxfam shop (where I found a lovely vintage bracelet by the designer company Les Nerieds) and at the Trinity Hospice shop at the very end of the King’s Road where I had a true knock-out discovery. There is the window was the most stunning necklace and bracelet set you ever did see. I popped in, inquired after it and was informed that it had been placed in the window exactly five minutes previously! I did not need to think about it too long–the price wasn’t going down and knowing vintage shopping, as I do, I knew the demand for it would only go up. I tried the necklace on and loved it, tried the bracelet on for size and since it fit perfectly–that was it. It was wrapped and bagged and the set happily went home with me. A set that dated from the 1950s was in my happy possession. I have no idea when exactly I will wear it–but someday soon, I will.

Lunch at The Bluebird—Not!
I had made plans to meet Mr. Bande Hasan, former banking colleague of Llew’s and a long-time family friend, for lunch and a walk. Having recently retired as CEO of a bank in London, he has more time on his hands now than he ever did. When he suggested that he accompany me on my walks around London, I jumped at the idea–as I would be grateful for his company and because there is so much I learn in our conversational exchanges.
But first, to fortify ourselves for the stroll ahead, it made sense to settle down to lunch and since Mr. Hasan asked me to select a place, I thought of The Bluebird, Terence Conran’s restaurant. Accordingly, we made the appointment. But when we arrived there, after a happy reunion, we discovered that the restaurant is under renovation. Hence, only open-air terrace seating was available. What’s worse, it so happened that the gas supply in the eatery had failed. All we could get was salads or poached eggs! Well, no dice. We weren’t going to one of London’s most famous places to eat a mere salad.
Excusing ourselves, we bid the hapless waitress goodbye and left. We were sure to find something suitable as we walked towards Sloan Square, we supposed.

Unforgettable Lunch at The Ivy, Chelsea Gardens:
Well, guess where we ended up? At none other than The Ivy–one of the city’s most reputed eateries. The flagship restaurant is at the West End, but the one in Chelsea has an almost identical menu.  We were thrilled to be seated despite lacking a reservation and although we were told we’d have to vacate our table by 2. 30 pm, we had ample time to dally over lunch before we hit the streets.
Our meal was superb–which is what you expect from a place with The Ivy’s reputation. For starters, we shared a salad with watermelon, feta cheese, heirloom tomatoes and olives in a balsamic vinaigrette. It was a great start to the meal. As coincidence would have it, since we were seated in a most traditional English restaurant, we both opted for the Fish and Chips–great minds, after all, think alike! And our cod was lovely. The batter was crispy and light, the fish flaking to the touch. Served with tartar sauce and very thick chips, as well as malt vinegar, it made a very filling meal indeed. Dessert, we thought, was best shared–except that my companion did not even take a taste of the Lemon Meringue Baked Alaska which I will not forget in a hurry. It was indeed as nice a meal as I would imagine–and it make a welcome change from the sandwiches I have been lunching on practically every day!

Off to Discover Chelsea:
Replete with our meal, we strolled to Sloan Square for the start of our walk in Chelsea. By the way, Chelsea Clinton got her name from this area. I once heard an interview with Bill Clinton in which he said that soon after he and Hilary were married, they found themselves in London. Strolling early one morning in Chelsea, they so fell in love with the area that they decided if they ever had a daughter, they would name her Chelsea. And that’s a true story, folks!
The Royal Court Theater that has been active since the 1930s and that debuted most of the plays of George Bernard Shaw is a centerpiece of Sloan Square. I once watched a wonderful play here and then had a light dinner with some California academic friends.  From there, we walked through a gorgeous street lined on both sides with identical terraced houses designed by Hans Sloan and from there we entered the vast area known as Ranelagh Gardens–venue, each year, of the famous Chelsea Flower Show. Visiting this exhibition, the last time in lived in London, was one of the highlights of my year then.

Knocking Around the Chelsea Royal Hospital:
A few meters ahead found us in the grounds of the Chelsea Royal Hospital. Not to be confused with a place where the sick are treated, the word ‘hospital’ in this case derives from the word ‘hospitality’. It was built in 1672 by King Charles II who was inspired by his contemporary across the Channel, King Louis XIV, who had created Les Invalides in Paris–a vast army barracks, if you like, for retired or wounded soldiers. Charles set the greatest architect of his time, Sir Christopher Wren, to the task–and the result is the superbly landscaped and planned series of buildings on the banks of the River Thames at Chelsea.
The buildings look down upon the three sides of a quadrangle that is graced by a gilded statue of Charles II as a gladiator. On one side of the structure, under a lovely clock, visitors can go inside to find the door to a chapel (also built to Wren’s design) on one side and a vast dining room on the other. I had once attended Mass in this chapel with my friend Jane–and who do you think was inside, also attending Mass then? Why, none other than Baroness Thatcher, former Prime Minister of Britain!
Although we were able to enter the Chapel, we found the dining room locked. Still, in strolling around the property, we chanced to enter a Museum where we were able to speak to some of the pensioners who are clad, on some occasions, in long scarlet coats with tri-cornered black hats (like soldiers from the eighteenth century). Their many medals, emblems of honor, earned on the battle field, tinkle as they pass by–although one of them jocularly told me, “I get them on E-bay!”
By the time we arrived at the little pub on the premises known as The Chelsea Pensioner and finished watching a game of bowls on the lawn, it was time to leave and explore the spacious lawns of the Duke of York’s property which led us straight back to the King’s Road.

Tea and Mass with my Chelsea Friends:
At 4.30 pm, we called a halt to our walk and took  the same bus together. I had plans to meet my friends Cynthia and Michael for tea at their place on Sloan Street and ten minutes later, I was enjoying a cuppa and a flapjack. Then, half an hour later, I left with Cynthia for Mass at the Church of St. Paul in Kensington–a Mass said by Bishop Michael (who had left earlier) and attended by a grand congregation of exactly four! Still, it was superb to see my friends again and to spend a very relaxed evening with them. I enjoyed our walk to the church and back as we went past the Jumeira Hotel with its Bentleys and other such luxury cars leading to it. It was a day tailor-made for walking and I feel very blessed indeed about these soul-lifting days.

Back Home for Dinner:
It was about 7.45 pm when I walked in my door. After my big lunch, I decided on a very light dinner of soup and salad with ice-cream for dessert. I made a couple of calls to my friends Susan and Rahul, caught up with my email, Facetimed with Llew, wrote this blog and got ready for bed.
After about twelve days of practically my own company and none else, I was beyond excited to have spent almost all of it in the company of caring and very sincere friends.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

British Library (Again), Martin Shaw in Hobson’s Choice, Completed East End Walk

Aug10

London

London was cloudy and chilly when the day began but it warmed up considerably by the time the afternoon rolled around. Hurrah for these great days and the joy of the summer sun on our faces!
I awoke at 6. 30 am today and did a bit of research online for the places I’d like to lose myself in as the days go by. Mainly I looked at taking a trip to Dorset today as I am keen to see Dorchester (base for touring the home in which the novelist Thomas Hardy was born called Hardy’s Cottage and then Max Gate–in the same area apparently where he lived as an adult). While there, it is my intention to visit the seaside town of Lyme Regis for its Jane Austen and John Fowles’ connections and then on to the Jurrasic Coast (for I’d like to see Durdle Door and West Bay, the town that was the setting for the TV series Broadchurch). Big plans! I can only hope they will come to fruition.
So before I knew it, I’d booked National Express coach tickets to get to Weymouth (the Dorset coastal town that will be my base) and back and next thing I knew I was booking a room for 2 nights in a B&B. These steps–getting transport then getting accommodation–is so reminding me of the last time I lived in London when such planning had become second nature to me.  Hopefully, all will go well…Fingers crossed!

Brekkie and Off:
I had to hurry through a shower (after spending time on my Dorset bookings) as I wanted to get out of the house by 9.15 am. My goal was to get to the Vaudeville Theater on the Strand to snag a Day Ticket to see Martin Shaw in Hobson’s Choice. Because, of course, today is Wednesday—and on Wednesdays, there are theater matinee shows to be had for the asking!
Consequently, I showered, ate a hurried brekkie of toast with Nutella and coffee and was off–at 9.25 to be exact. Shame on me–ten minutes behind schedule!!! It would never do. Still, I thought of how much I had managed to accomplish even before I left the house and it was not too shabby after all.

Snagging Tix to see Martin Shaw:
On the Tube I went to Embankment with a change to the Piccadilly Line at Leicester Square to get to the Strand. I am trying hard not to take the Northern Line as I find its complicated structure causes a lot of walking in the tunnels underground as one tries to change platforms. Hence, from Leicester Square I actually preferred to walk to Charing Cross and take a bus from there for one stop. Having the monthly Travelcard is a real boon as I think nothing of hopping in and out of buses, sometimes for just one stop!
I was delighted to arrive at the theater at 10.15 and find a Day Ticket for just 20 pounds waiting just for me. It was in the very first row and, for a moment, I wondered if it made any sense to buy it. But then I did–and believe you me, it was simply awesome. Again, I caught every line, every expression. Only in my dreams could I possibly get tickets this good in New York!

On the Tube to the British Library:
Since the matinee show began at 2. 30 pm, I would have about three hours of research at the British Library before giving myself enough time for the return trip to the Strand. And boy!!! Did I make use of every precious second.  Not only did I have a frightfully exciting time and a very fruitful one at that as I found every reference I was seeking (and then some!) but I was able to use my phone camera to take pictures of so many pages in the century-old magazines I was perusing. I cannot even begin to express how gratifying my research is proving to be.
Right on schedule I finished browsing through my material and feeling hugely pleased with myself and very confident now about being able to start writing my paper for presentation at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland next month, I collected my things for departure. In fact, with the the pictures I managed to collect, I feel very strongly that I should use Powerpoint to make my presentation even more exciting. So there you have it…days of work in the libraries have paid off and in a couple of days, I shall begin working on my paper.

In the Vaudeville Theater on the Strand:
The Vaudeville was packed to capacity and, dare I say it, the average age of the audience was 80 if they were a day! I felt fully at home among these reverent spectators who had clearly come, like moi, to see Martin Shaw with whose work I am familiar in Judge John Deed and currently as Detective Inspector George Gently. Both Llew and I are very fond of him–so I am sure Llew feels a bit jealous to read that I saw him in the flesh this afternoon.
The play was simply delightful. It is an old Victorian comedy that is celebrating its centenary year and every aspect of it was perfect–from the music to the acting, from the direction to the casting. In addition to the widely popular Shaw, there was also Christopher Timothy who had played vet James Herriott in All Creatures Great and Small–many moons ago. He has aged, of course, but he is still lovable and it was absolutely a thrill to see him too. All of the other actors, much younger though they were, did a splendid job to keep us chuckling repeatedly as the plot unfolded in the most charming of ways. Suffice it to say that I loved every second of it.

 Covent Garden on a Grand Afternoon:
It was only 5.00 pm when I emerged from the theater–too late to get to the Choral Prayer Service at St. Martin’s-in-The-Field Church that I would have liked to attend at 4. 30 pm and too early to get back home–not on an evening when the sun was still shining brightly and the city was vibrant with excited tourists.
It made sense to nip behind the Strand into Covent Garden–to watch the buskers at work in the main square, to sample teas at Whittard, to nibble chocolate and cookies in the other tea shops that have sprung up, to listen to an astounding classic vocalist sing Nessun Dorma and Andrew Lloyd-Weber compositions, to spritz on perfumes at L’Occitane and Penhaligon  and Miller Harris without feeling the pressures of time or the guilt of work left undone. This was why I had worked like a dog ever since January–so that I could enjoy London on my own terms and at my own leisure. I was going to take it easy because I felt entitled to. So there!

Completing a Walking Tour of the East End:
When I’d had my fill of Covent Garden and its pleasures, I jumped into the Tube and decided to get off two stops before my usual one–at Aldgate East. I still had about five stops to finish on the Walking Tour of the East End that I began yesterday. And so right outside the station, I found the wacky building that is the Whitechapel Art Gallery (which I have visited before) and which was closed by the time I arrived there. I found that is joins the old Passmore Edwards Library that once provided reading material for the residents of the area. Most of the community spots Passmore ran have closed down or been converted into centers for other uses.
I then made my way into Brick Lane, a street that all London guides proclaim as a Must See for modern-day tourists, much to the joy of the Bangladeshi tradesmen and restaurateurs who run brisk business there. For me, the area is a veritable treasure house of historic fact and odd detail and I reveled in the collection of churches that became synagogues that became mosques–for the area attracted immigrants through the ages from the Huguenots who arrived from France, to the Eastern European Jews to the Muslims from the Indian sub-continent who escaped the Pakistani Civil War of 1971 to find refuge in this neighborhood. I passed by the ancient dwellings (terraced houses) of the first residents of the area in Fournier Street and Princelet Street before arriving at a mosque that has a separate entrance for women and on to the old homes where Jewish litterateurs once held court. Bagels might still be bought at a bakery at the end of Brick Lane that sells them cheaply…but I was heading towards the end of the walk and did not get that far.
Back home on the bus, I passed the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, one of the oldest establishments in the country that has been in continuous business since the 15th century and which is responsible for casting Big Ben and the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. Since I had actually paid a visit there, a few summers ago, I did not stop there.

Dinner and Blogging:
It was still only 8.00 by the time I reached home. I had eaten my cheese sandwich in the theater–but was hungry enough to have some soup, risotto and praline meringue roulade before I continued to do some research on how to get to Chartwell, the home of Winston Churchill, on Sunday.
And then I caught up with email, watched a bit of TV and decided to call it a day. Another magnificent day–and I can find absolutely nothing to whinge about! Yes!
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

More Research at British Library, Lunch Time Piano Recital, National Gallery Highlights and Walk in East End

Aug9

London

Today offered another mixed bag. I started it off with the best of intentions–I was going to spend most of it at the British Library reviewing the vast amounts of material I have requested. But I am not waking up at 6.00 am–which always gives me a head start on the day. Instead, I am awaking at 7.15 or thereabouts and then trying to catch up on email and other travel inquiries while still in bed.

 Breakfast, Shower and Out the Door:
In that order–breakfast (muesli with yogurt and coffee) while I reviewed some of the accommodation options Chriselle had sent me for Eastern Europe–then a shower, I was on my way, earlier than yesterday (10.00 am to be exact) and at 10. 45, I was entering the British Library to get deep into my reading.
It was good to arrive at the library before most of the other readers. I am getting fond of the Asian and African Reading Room on the third floor with the august oil portraits of erstwhile Indian maharajas staring down, dour-faced, at me. This morning, I was delighted to find a reference and an account of the Ayah’s Home in Hackney that sheltered many a female domestic servant of Indian/Asian origin. There was even a picture! Lots of information about the lodging-houses that were a plenty all over London in the late 19th and early 20th centuries filled in many gaps for me of the kind of habitation available to the very first Anglo-Indians who arrived in the UK. Finally, I poured over the Letters from India of a certain Mrs. Eliza Fay whose missives were edited by none other than E.M. Forster and published by Virginia and Leonard Woolf’s Hogarth Press. My interest in the book centered on a Eurasian female maid Mrs. Fay took along with her to England on one of her return voyages only to treat her rather shabbily by abandoning her at St. Helena.  It is Forster who provides interesting details of this encounter in his End Notes. I was about to make my own notes on this discovery when I found that it was nearly 12. 30 pm. I hoped to catch the Lunch time concert at St. Martin’s-in-the-Field church and thought I’d given myself enough time to get there from King;s Cross.

Lunch Time Piano Recital at St. Martin’s-in-The-Field Church:
Needless to say, I did not allocate time for the Tube connection I had to make an Euston where one walks for miles in the tunnels below before one finds the right platform. I was so disheartened.  Still, not willing to give up, I made the effort to race on.  This, despite the fact that I have been plagued ever since my arrival here, with a persistent back pain–sometimes so severe that I have started using a pain-killing ointment for it. Tomorrow, I intend to call a doctor to make an appointment as it is severe and often debilitating.
I arrived at the venue–the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields–five minutes after the concert by Chiyan Wong had begun–this meant we had to decorate the porch of the church with our presence for another five minutes as he finished the first movement of the Beethoven Sonata he was playing. Bummer!  Still, I was not entirely disappointed for, in due course, we, late-comers, were invited in and I caught the entire second Beethoven sonata as well as the one by Chopin that followed.
Chiyan Wong, originally from Hongkong but now a Londoner, was a sheer delight. His talent and his virtuosity were mind-blowing. In the rich confines of the church (where I had once attended an Indo-Western fusion music concert with my cousin’s son, Sudarshan, many years ago), the sound effects were just stunning. I seriously wish I had the time to attend every single one of these concerts–but because they occur in the middle of the day (when I am usually engaged doing other things), it is so difficult to fit them in. The church was packed with tourists–most of them American–and though the concerts are free, I found most people dipped into their pockets to make voluntary contributions when the red buckets were held out at the exit at the very end. What a brilliant mid-day treat!

 Highlights Tour at the National Gallery:
Since it was such a beautiful afternoon, there was simply no way I could take myself back to the Library in a hurry. I have to try to balance work with the sheer pleasure of enjoying the day. Summer days in England are fleeting–soon autumn with its shorter days and its bracing breezes will be upon us. There is no time like the present to enjoy the feel of the warm sun on our faces. So, I decided to eat my lunch on the plaza in Trafalgar Square (in the midst of the thousands of tourists that had congregated there). As the clock hands crept to 2. 30, I entered the Sainsbury Wing to join one of the Highlights Tours given in the Museum.
I have to say that it was one of the most disappointing ones I have ever taken–not just in the National Gallery but anywhere in the world. I don’t believe our guide was a museum curator or indeed even a trained docent. He told us he was an artist (not sure what kind–painter? sculptor? ceramist?–who knows?) I don’t know whether it is the policy now of the National Gallery to “dumb down” the commentary offered and to restrict items shown to just a few. But the fact was that we were only shown three paintings–yes, just three in a whole hour!–and there was nothing even vaguely intelligent about what was said. We saw Jacomo di Chioco’s Adoration of Mary by the Saints, Titian’s Bachus and Ariadne and Joseph Wright of Derby’s Experiment with a Bird. Basically, there was no introduction to the artist or to the genre or to the topic. What we got was a description of the scene in front of us–and that was it. “What is the woman looking at?” he asked “And what color is her robe?” he inquired. He might have been talking to five-year olds. No historical background about artist or era, no attempt to unravel symbols, no interpretation whatsoever. I have never been more disappointed by a highlights tour. I will have to take one more just to see if the entire concept of giving tours has changed (as I recall taking some really superb guided tours over the years at the National) or if it was simply our bad luck in getting a guide that, in my humble opinion–needs a lot more training giving tours.

Back to the Library:
It was time to get back to the library and since I had such a hard time with the Tube, I decided to take the bus instead (believing it would be faster and more direct). There too I was mistaken for the 73 bus was on a diversion route and did not go back to King’s Cross–it was headed to Victoria. I let three buses go before I discovered what was going on! But the time I reached the Library, it was about 4. 30 pm and I then remembered that, given the time difference, it was a good time to call my Dad in Bombay and speak to my brother Russel too.
Dad had a great deal to share with me, not least of which was his take on India’s fate at the Olympics. I gave him all the time in the world he desired because I know just how much these chats mean to him and by the time I got back to my carrel in the library, it was almost 5.00 pm–and guess what? The Reading Room was closing!!! I was under the impression that they were open till 8.00 pm as the Locker Room is open till then!

 A Walk in the East End:
Well, there was nothing I could do except get back home, drop off my laptop and then use the evening to discover bits of the East End I have yet to know. I had a quick cup of tea and a cheese scone at home and then I grabbed my Frommer’s Memorable Walks in London and set off.
The East End has always been the poorest part of London and an area that was always swarming with immigrants through the ages. From the Jews to the Huguenots to the Bangladeshis to the Eastern Europeans,  this area has spread its hospitable arms to them all like Lady Liberty in New York. The end result is a hodgepodge of neighborhoods that bear the distinct stamp of varied ethnicities and the aromas of the regional cuisine they brought with them. My walk was supposed to take 2 hours, but I figured I would do it in two parts since it was already 6.00 pm as I was leaving the house and I did want to get back by 8.00 at the latest.
I took Bus 205 heading to the City and got off at Aldgate Tube Station. From there, it was a quick right to the Church of St. Botolphs which is undergoing a major landscaping renovation. The church dates from before the Great Fire of London (1666) and this is evident in its sharp single steeple design and the ancient black and white stones of its wall. Just past it is the Cass Foundation, set up for the education of poor boys and girls. It has a blue-coated figure in a niche at the entrance to denote that it was a Free School. This area was once fully populated by Jews and so the Bevis Marks Synagogue was the next item on the trail. This is the oldest synagogue in England (dating back to Elizabethan times) and it still conducts full services for the local Jewish population–of whom not many remain as there was a massive exodus towards Northwest London (the area of Kilburn and Golder’s Green) in the 1950s. At some point, I do hope to enter the synagogue that was closed by the time I reached it. In the same area, I passed by Frying Pan Alley and Petticoat Lane (so-called because this was once the heart of the Garment Industry and cheaper clothing was sold at street markets each Saturday in this lane. Today, it is on Sunday morning that the clothing car boot sales are held). I had always thought that, like Portobello Road, there were antiques sold on Petticoat Lane. It is only very recently that I have come to realize that it more of a Cloth Fair than anything else (similar to the one held in Medieval Times outside St. Bartholomew Church in Farringdon that gave Ben Jonson’s play its name).
The walk then took me into maze-like lanes to the south of Liverpool Street Station that were once busy with the efforts of trained and skilled craftsmen such as cutlers and clothiers–I know this because the names of the streets bear evidence of the kind of craftsmanship that was carried out here. This area is also the hub of the space that was devoted to gun makers and creators of artillery and many of the street names bear evidence of this (Artillery Lane, Gun Street, etc). Artillery Passage is extremely picturesque and quaint and today filled with bars and fancy restaurants (Ottolenghi, the famed Jewish chef) has a restaurant here that bears his name.
When I crossed the street, I passed by the Providence Row Night Refuge and Convent that was run by the Sisters of Mercy. For when you have poverty, can Christian works of mercy be far behind? The good nuns ran a tight ship with separate entrances for homeless men and women that still say so–Men and Women is written in massive letters above those doors. A block away, on Tenter Ground, you understand the origin of the term “to be on tenterhooks”. Tenters were wooden frames used to stretch fabric to make it taut and straight. And on this wide street, tenters were spread out as the trade of weaving was practiced. A block later, you realize that works of mercy were not restricted to Christians alone. You will pass by the Jewish Soup Kitchen on Brune Street that proclaims its usage in equally huge (and rather ornate) letters. Here, in the 19th century, poor Jews found refuge and a hot meal. These are certainly parts of the East side I had never seen before and they enthralled me deeply.
A few steps later, I was on Commercial Street with the great steeple of Christ Church Spitalfields gazing down on me. It is the masterwork of Nicholas Hawksmoor who was a pupil of Christopher Wren. I believe it is Ian Nairn who comments that with this church, Hawksmoor seems to have tried too hard! I have to say I rather like this strange-looking portico that is perched high on tall pillars  with the steeple looming on top. Right behind are very modest terraced houses– an almost incongruous sight when compared with the exterior grandeur of the church.
And right opposite the church is the famous Spitalfields Market that dates from medieval times when everything from livestock to livery were sold here. Its later heyday was the Victorian Age when fruits and vegetables were traded under a towering iron canopy. Today, it is more of a flea and crafts market than anything else–but as a place that is being gentrified rapidly (as so many derelict spaces in London now are) it is filled with upscale eateries at which the corporate types from nearby Liverpool Street’s glass and concrete towers have their daily fill of fancy food and pricey drinks.  In the lanes surrounding this market, shop fronts from the Georgian and Victorian Ages still continue to sport painted signage of the goods once sold within. I am very pleased to say that modern-day owners have not wiped out all vestiges of the commercial life of these charming spaces.

End of the Day Rituals:
It was time to call the walk to a halt and Spitalfields Market was a good place to do so. Walking towards Bishopsgate, I caught  the 205 bus to Bow Church that brought me almost to my doorstep. It was about 8. 30 pm when I got home just in time for dinner–chicken risotto, sausage and soup–its a good thing I do not get fed up eating the same meal daily! I Facetimed with Llew and got ready for bed but just before I called it a night, I did a spot of blogging.
It was a very fruitful day and one that makes me feel gratified to be back in this brilliant city again.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Research at the British Library and a Walk in Victoria Park

Aug8

London

How is it August 8 already???!!! And where did this particular day go? Oh yes, it went while I was swatting in the library–the British Library, that is. Having had a full and fun weekend, I had earmarked Monday for research and since the British Library would probably have all the material I requested in today, it would be sensible to get down to some work. But first things first.

Bookings and Brekkie:
I awoke at 6. 30 am, lazed in bed for another 15 minutes and got cracking on my laptop. It was as good a time as any other to book coach tickets for Chriselle’s and my ride to and from Stanstead airport next month. It was fun (but a little nerve-wracking) to get online again making reservations for coach fares—but it was also thrilling to get such cheap ones. The earlier you book these coach rides from Victoria to the city’s airports, the more inexpensive they are. So there. Done and dusted. Now all I have to focus on in getting us accommodation. During the next few mornings, I must attack that project too.
Then it was time to get breakfast and a shower. I have gotten used to my Sainsbury fruit and nut muesli with honey yogurt and a cup of my Lavazza decaff coffee. Predictable but perfect. Why change a great thing? It was a day for a shampoo too–so with damp strands and my cheese scone with blue cheese filling made into a sandwich and a slice of date and walnut cake, I was out the door with my laptop and heading to the British Library.

At the Library:
It was beyond impressive how superbly the British Library delivers whatever it promises to! I got there about 11. 30 (after taking a call form my friend Bash just minutes before I put my phone on silent) and for the next five and a half hours, I was hard at work pouring over and perusing the documents and official files from the Records of the India Office that I had requested. Being a Modernist Post-Colonial scholar myself, I am not accustomed to looking at documents that date beyond the 1940s. So you can imagine the reverential awe with which I handled and read documents dating from the 1700s, handwritten on parchment-like surfaces in fountain pen ink with the most graceful penmanship. I also looked at files and letters dating from the 1860s and the 1890s that derived from the Government of Her Majesty (the Majesty in question being not our Queenie but her great-grandmom, Queen Victoria).  Naturally, I treated them with the greatest care and although they are in many cases falling apart, it was a massive pleasure to go over them, take pictures of them, make notes from them etc.  I stopped for a half hour to get down to the cafeteria to eat my cheese scone sandwich and then I returned to work.
At 5.00 pm, I  retrieved a whatsapp message from my friend Murali making arrangements to meet me at Liverpool Street Station at 6.00 pm. This suited me fine as I had already had my fill of inspecting and interpreting documents and felt the need to leave. I resolved to return tomorrow to go over more of the materials I have requested.  Just before I left, I popped into the cafeteria to have a slice of my cake with a hot tea. I then retrieved my laptop bag from the Luggage Locker and left the library.
It really was the perfect way to spend a cloudy and rather chilly day. I managed to get so much work done and I tracked down wonderful material that I will be able to use in my conference presentation in Edinburgh in Scotland next month.

Meeting Murali at Liverpool Street Station:
Liverpool Street Station was packed to capacity with commuters getting home from work after a long day as it is a major train hub. Elbowing through human traffic, I arrived at the Wasabi counter that he chose as a meeting place and after a fond reunion, we decided to get out of the crowds by coursing on foot through the side lanes.
However, my laptop was not the best appendage with which to be walking around and when Murali suggested that I go home to drop it off, I thought it sounded like a great idea. So off we went on the Tube to Stepney Green from where we walked to my house. After I’d given Murali the Grand Tour of a Far From Grand House, I dropped my laptop off, wore my Dansko clogs (perfect for walking) and off we went.

Exploring Victoria Park:   
Victoria Park is a vast expanse of green in the East End of London that was laid out in the 1840s and designed by Sir James Pennethorne who was a pupil of John Nash, the architect. In many ways, it replicates Regent’s Park in north-west London and is thought by many to be the finest park in the East End. It is massive (stretches all the way to Islington)  and superbly laid out and seems to go on forever, offering a green oasis amidst the urban sprawl. Knowing what I do about the poverty and hardship associated with the East End in Victorian and Edwardian times, I can just imagine what a welcome addition this park was to the plan of the area. Like everything that was created in the reign of Victoria, it was named after her!
Less than ten minutes after leaving my place, we were crossing the Hertford Union Canal (the one on the opposite side of the Park further in the east is the Regent’s Canal) over a small bridge and descending stairs that led to the tow path of the canal and its locks. The water was just as green with algea as it had been at Copperfield Road where the Ragged School Museum is located and where I had walked along the Regent’s Canal Tow Path yesterday. And then just a few feet ahead of us were the grand ornate gates leading into the park.
It is a lovely space and I am so fortunate to have Victoria Park to close to me. When I lived in Paris, my apartment building was directly opposite Parc Montsouris. I had considered myself lucky then…and I am just as lucky now–although truth be told, I have usually already done so much walking all day that most  evenings, I just want to sink down on my bed.
Still, we circumnavigated the large lake filled with mallard life and arrived at the Chinese Pagoda which I discovered to be a very recent replacement of the original one that stood there in the Victorian Age. It has all the color and style of a typical Chinese pagoda and it was irresistible not to walk right through it. The evening was simply perfect–the weather is holding out and there isn’t the sign of a drop of rain at all. After we had walked around for at least an hour and caught up on all the doings in Murali’s life and mine, we left the park and walked towards my home and the Tube station (for Murali).  We stopped en route to inspect a small food shop and I ended up leaving with rum and raisin ice-cream by Carte d’Or (earlier I had picked up biscuits) while Murali bought English cherries which are startlingly black but most delectable!
I warm to this friendship which is a direct result of this blog. Years ago, Murali had was looking for some information about a Gresham College Public Lecture I had attended and he came across my blog post. He contacted me, we made plans to have coffee and our friendship, since then, has grown from strength to strength. It is just fabulous to make a new friend who completely shares your own interests. When he is not traveling or working from Frankfurt, we hope to do a few city walks together as we share a passion for London. Lucky him–he actually lives and works here!

Dinner and a Blogging Session:
It was time to fix myself some dinner with the odds and ends in my frig. I had a cup of chicken soup, a small portion of my mashed cauliflower (which is still going strong!), a small portion of leftover chicken risotto and half a sausage. For dessert, I had blackberries which I had plucked from the City Farm with a helping of rum and raisin ice-cream.
Before I called it a night, I did a spot of blogging and then it switched off the light.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Sunday Mass at St. Dunstan’s, Ragged School Museum and Q. Elizabeth Olympics Park

Aug7

London

Breakfasting for a Change with Company:
It was lovely to wake up and have company at home–for if there is one downside to my being here in London, it is that I have started to feel a bit lonely. I believe it has to do with the fact that I am living in a house with a garden (as opposed to a flat) and it certainly seems like too much house for one person. Anyway, hopefully I will not feel lonesome for too long…
N & C were downstairs by the time I finished blogging and scouting information on the Internet about the places I wished to see today. When I joined them, they were tucking into cereal and tea. I fixed myself some coffee and got my own cereal organized. We chatted a bit over brekkie and then at 9. 45 am, I excused myself to go to church.

 Mass at St. Dunstan’s Church on Stepney Green:
When I lived in Holborn, one of the oldest churches in England, a Roman Catholic one–St. Etheldreda’s–was right at my doorstep in Hatton Gardens. Now that I am here at Stepney Green, one of the oldest churches in the county–an Anglican one–is just a hop away: the Church of St. Dunstan’s And All Saints, which has stood on this tranquil spot since 975 AD.
And there really is a place called Stepney Green (after which the entire neighborhood is named). It is a proper ‘green’ which is a central bit of open space usually around a church and ringed by houses–this was the medieval pattern of town planning. Stepney Green abuts the church property–a vast and impressive bit of green dotted with graves and mortuary monuments. Sung Mass was at 10.00 am and I was keen to participate in it. In keeping with my custom of going to a different church each Sunday that I live in London, this was my choice this week.
The main celebrant was a Nigerian Anglican pastor usually attached to the Royal Hospital in London which is a short hop away. There were about fifty people in the congregation. The inside of the church is antiquated and although it suffered severe bomb damage during World War II (as did the entire East End of London) which blew out every bit of stained glass window, it has been rebuilt and still manages to look older than a few centuries. I enjoyed the service very much. The sermon was particularly wonderful: the main theme was that it is necessary for us to “Invest in Eternity.” I loved the concept as delineated by the priest.  After Mass, there was coffee and biscuits and fellowship–all Anglicans churches follow this custom and it is something I have always appreciated. It gave me the opportunity to meet a few people–a teacher who lives in Mile End but teaches chemistry in a school in Rochester, Kent; one of the female church wardens who gave me a mini tour of the interior, explained the reason why Christ is depicted so unusually on the modern stained glass windows (blonde and without a beard). It is because the artist modeled him on the features of the pastor of the time (of the post World War II period) who had commissioned the new windows! The chemistry teacher is in-charge of the bell ringers and the church has a lively tradition of bell-ringing. So, before I left the church, I received an invitation to join the bell-ringers on Thursdays at 7. 30 and try my hand at learning how to ring them. Apparently it is far more complicated than you would think! I have every intention of going there this coming Thursday as I am always up for one more new experience.

Back Home and then Out Again:
I took the bus home to change into something more comfortable and to make myself a sandwich for lunch. My intention was to get to a most unusual museum in London and one that is probably very little known–The Ragged School Museum at Mile End. In past visits to London, I have either been based in the West or in Central London. I do not really know the East End well at all–I figured this would be a great time to get to know it. Research told me about this strange museum and since it is open one afternoon on the first Sunday of every month, I decided to get there today.

Visiting The Ragged School Museum at Mile End:
It was really easy to get there. I took the Bus 25 to Mile End Tube station (one stop away) and then followed directions to get to the museum. This took me to the Tow Path of Regent’s Canal (which was also one of the items on my To-Do List) and on a glorious morning with the sun on my back and a cool breeze on my face, it was just lovely to walk along the banks of the sea-green canal (green with algea), passing one of the locks (Johnson Lock) and a number of walkers, joggers, bicyclists, etc. In less than ten minutes, I was at the doors of the Museum.
So here is a bit of history about one of the city’s most unusual places: The Ragged School is so-called because most of the girls and boys who attended it were so poor that they arrived in rags. It was founded by a Rev. Thomas Barnardo (you have probably seen charity shops all over the country that still bear his name). He was the son of an Irish mother and a Jewish father and hoped to be a missionary in China. When he was refused a commission to get there, he ended up in the East End of London in the 1880s when the area was one of the most impoverished in the country. He was so broken at the sight of starving children–so many of whom worked as chimney sweeps and died young for their pains–that he devoted his life to setting up a school to educate them to equip them for a better life. He rented three buildings along the canal that had been abandoned because they were pronounced uninhabitable and, through local fund-raising, set up a school that offered the children two meals a day: a breakfast of bread and hot cocoa and lunch of bread and soup. It would be the only food the children would eat all day–which was why their parents encouraged them to attend. By renovating the building, he turned the basement level into a play area, the main level was the office and the top level was a single classroom.

Getting a Victorian Lesson:
I joined a short line of visitors standing at the entrance, five minutes before the opening time of 2.00pm, most of whom were children. They had arrived in time for the monthly Victorian ‘lesson’ that is taught by a Victorian class-teacher in an actual Victorian classroom–just as real Victorian children would have been taught in 1886. We were seated on benches with desks that opened up to become cabinets for books (we had similar desks in my school in India). The teacher told us that her name was Miss Perkins. She was dressed in Victorian garb with floor-length skirt, full-sleeved white high-necked blouse, her hair in a tight chignon, a pair of glasses on her nose and a hooked cane in her hand. When she got into character, you could have sworn you were whisked over a hundred years into the past. The cane was used for pointing to the board, to a map on the wall and to beat the desk to gain attention. Rev. Barnardo did not believe in corporal punishment and his teachers were, therefore, forbidden from using the cane on the children (Good for him! A man certainly far ahead of his times!)
During the next hour, Miss Perkins appointed monitors who presented us with slate boards, chalk and a small rag with which to wipe our slates. She taught us to copy the alphabet as it was written on the board with all the fancy Victorian curls and curlicues. She taught us Math (or as they say here ‘Arithmetic’) and she taught us Spelling. We were expected to sit up straight (no slouching) or else we’d be placed in a wooden back brace (which she showed us) for 20 minutes. If we fidgeted too much, the punishment was to place us in finger stocks (and she showed them to us too). Our names would be noted in the Punishment Book. She was strict and stern and did not smile at all. We had to stand to answer her, stand to wish her at the beginning and the end of the lesson. There was honestly very little difference between the protocol in her classroom and the protocol that had prevailed in my convent school in India in the 1970s–which explains why I disliked my school days so much!
What a brilliant experience it was! From the manner in which she went around the class to examine our hands (to make sure they were clean) to the way she addressed us and barked orders out at us, it was a totally amazing afternoon. The Museum is free and doesn’t get too many visitors–but if you are a Victorianist or if you are a child who wishes to regress into the past and find out, first-hand, what it might have been like to be poor and to have had the opportunity to study, this is the place to which you ought to go.
I then spent about 20 minutes more in the museum reading the exhibits carefully with my eyes misty with tears at the misery of those poor children. I learned so much about the poverty of the East End and the fact that so many of the children who studied at Barnardo’s school were then shipped off to Canada where they found work and made new lives for themselves. The school was marked as unsafe for use after the 1940s and was turned into a museum quite recently in order to preserve a Victorian slice of life in a neighborhood that became rapidly gentrified.
I was quite hungry by this time (not having eaten much after coffee and biscuits following Mass), so on my walk along Regent’s Canal on my way back, I pulled out my sandwich, found a shady bench in the park and ate my picnic lunch.

 Off to the Queen Elizabeth Olympics Park:
Since I was only one stop away on the Tube from Stratford where the Olympics were held four years ago and since this is the week of the Olympics in Rio in Brazil, it seemed apropos to get to the Olympics Park that has been named after the current monarch. I took the Central Line Tube for one five-minute stop, got off at Stratford and simply followed the teeming crowds to the Park.
The designers of the space have taken care to see that you part with some money along the way–for the Westfield (East) Shopping Mall joins the train station building and is packed with shops from huge department stores (like Marks and Sparks) and supermarkets (such as Waitrose) to small trendy boutique shops. On a lovely warm summer’s day, the crowds were thicker than flies with folks shopping, eating at the many chain restaurants that have sprouted up (including Danny Meyer’s Shake Shack) or walking towards or out of the Park.
Part of the Olympics Park itself has been turned into an amusement park with a roller coaster, swings, bouncy castles, etc. taking over one part of it. The Acelor Mittal sculpture by the British-Asian sculptor Anish Kapoor dominates the space–it is a contemporary Effiel Tower. It is now possible to take a ride along it on what has come to be known as The Slide. Tickets are available online but I did not see too many people from the spot from where I viewed it. The landscaping is wonderful with one side of the canal paved and the other turned into a green bank. The Aquatics Center is open to the public and people have become members for the use of the pool, the diving boards, etc. I caught a glimpse from the outside as the pool was closed today (much to the annoyance of the members who had come to use it). Buildings are mushrooming all over the area and very soon it will become one of the most upscale parts of the city. You can see the towers of Canary Wharf quite near at hand. It is pretty amazing what this part of London will shape into as the years go by.
I was very pleased that I made it to this area as I had wanted to visit for quite some time but had never gotten down to it. On the way back, I stopped at Waitrose to pick up cheese scones and cream cheese and at M&S for a special dessert that I love (Caramel Pecan Roulade).
I took the Tube back from Stratford, got off one stop later (at Mile End) and then took the 25 bus for just 2 stops to my home. I was inside the door by 6.30 pm. N and C had left and things were very quiet again. I got upstairs to my room and had a nice videochat with Llew and talked to a couple of local friends on the phone before I decided to get some dinner.
Tomorrow I shall get back to the salt mines–there is work to do in the British Library where I shall probably spend most of the day.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Stereotypical Saturday (Borough Market, Portobello Road), More Art and Company for Supper

Aug6

London

All of London seemed one with me–project-wise–today. The city is simply HEAVING with visitors–everywhere I go, I am being jostled; every sound I hear is on a foreign tongue. The collapse of the pound sterling, post-Brexit, doubtless has something to do with the crowds. Still, I am not complaining. Being alone, most times I still get my front seat on the top deck of red buses!

Travel Planning and Brekkie: 
I am now awaking about 6. 30 am–getting back to routine and defeating jetlag, clearly. It was the perfect time to plan and book my travel to Scotland in September. My invitation to speak at a conference at the University of Edinburgh being confirmed and accommodation being arranged for me in the capital of Scotland, all that was left was booking my transportation there and back.
National Express coach lines have good deals but the one I snagged with much glee was on Megabus. My first time ever traveling with the cheerful fat boy I see plastered on double decker coaches all over the place means that I will be on the red eye from Victoria to Waverly Coach station in Edinburgh for just 3. 50 pounds! How’s that for a steal? I shall be carrying my down pillow and popping in a pill for a whole night’s sleep en route.
From Edinburgh, since it is only 90 minutes away, I shall be riding a National Express coach to Glasgow–for just 48 hours. My only aim is to see the Burrell (Art) Collection at Pollock Park as Llew and I had missed it the last time we were in Glasgow when a Council strike has kept all museums and art galleries closed. Oh, and eating scones at the Willow Tea Room on Sauchihall Street (which remain the best scones I have ever eaten–soft as a cloud, they melt like snow on your tongue).
My journey back to London will be on National Express again–the red eye from Glasgow will see me back into the city. With booking done, all I need to do now is find accommodation for one night in Glasgow. The only annoyance was that Mastercard refused to put my charges through although I had informed them that I’d be traveling for 6 months–I had to call them to confirm intended payments before I was quite done. Would have been well and truly irritating if it were not for the fact that I feel secure about the red flags flying in the faces of some monitors somewhere that keep my account safe. Thanks Mastercard!
It was time for breakfast and I ate a lovely almond croissant and a cup of coffee knowing that I’d soon be eating again–for right after showering, I dressed and left for Borough Market–Saturdays are one of the rare days each week that artisinal food purveyors arrive there with their trucks and their produce to sell their foods through the offering of what the British all ‘samplers’. So I took the 25 Bus to Bank, admired Sir John Soane’s grand Bank of England Building on Threadneedle Street right opposite the London Stock Exchange Building, before I crossed Southwark Bridge on foot and arrived on the South Bank. The Thames looked a ghastly murky brown as it swirled along exposed sand banks. You can have a day at the sea-side on its banks.

Tasting My Way Through Borough Market:
Borough Market on the South Bank has grown enormously since I first went there about 30 years ago. At that time, there were a few stalls and some desultory salesmen and most buyers were from the trade, sourcing fine foods for their hostelries.
Not any more. The secret is obviously out. Everyone who is anyone gets to Borough Market on a Saturday morning and at 11. 30 am, the place was simply jumping. Elbowing my way through the mobs, I passed by stalls selling food–the more exotic, the better. I saw vast trays of curries from Ethiopia and Malaysia before I got to the salesmen with the small farm-produced foods. By the time a half hour had passed, I had tasted fruit butters, jams, marmalades, blasamic vinegars with fig and olive oils with truffle flavors, candied cashew nuts and candied peanuts, Greek bakhlava, pistachio Turkish delight, home-made granola (mine is infinitely better–even if I say so myself!), a multitude of cheeses, lots of charcuterie, brownies and cookies and even a salted caramel pie. It was like having lunch on my feet. Feeling fairly stuffed, I walked towards Southward Cathedral (the church with the stained glass window dedicated to the characters of the Bard’s plays since he often worshiped there), paid a visit in there and left via London Bridge. I hopped on to a 17 bus that sailed along (top deck, front and center, of course) and hopped off at Holborn Circus.

Off to Portobello Road for some Antiquing:
My aim was to get on the Central Line Tube to Notting Hill to browse for antiques and kitsch at the Saturday Antiques Market. The Tube took me there in 12 minutes, I followed the crowds down Pembroke Gardens that lead to Portobello Road, browsed in my favorite vintage jewelry shop there before I found the street vendors.
And once again I was struck by the differences–then and now. Thirty years ago, there was a very good chance you would get treasures on this street for most of the dealers were genuine: when they were not selling to the trade at Bermondsey Antiques Market at dawn, they set up their stalls at Portobello Road. I will never forget the delight with which I spied my Japanese umbrella stand–a fabulous Imari find–and the manner in which I carried it across the Atlantic where it still graces my front vestibule.
Not any more. Today’s stalls carry all manner of reproductions: silver plated tea sets, mismatched silverware, bone china mugs and plates, kitschy London souvenirs (magnets, pub signs). Plus there are flea market wares: leather bags from Florence, tweeds from Scotland, jewelery from Tibet–that sort of thing. I reached out for a small toast rack and she wanted 12 pounds for it. I had bought one from a tag sale in Connecticut for 25 cents! It is simply amazing how things have changed. As for the crowds, they were here too–by the thousand. Clearly not really interested in antiquing at all–just doing what their guide books tell them to do on a sunny Saturday in London.

Finding the Book Shop from the film Notting Hill:
Before leaving Portobello Road this time, I decided to make a concerted effort to find the book shop that was a integral of the film Notting Hill, starring Hugh Grnat (who owned the book shop) and Julia Roberts. Rumor had it that the shop was closed, that it was a private residence, etc. etc. I asked around and a vendor knew exactly where to send me: Blenheim Crescent (towards the end of the Portobello Antiques stalls). Make a left and in the middle of that block is the book shop. It is still a book shop, not a private residence, but it is not a travel book shop any more: it is a general book shop simply called The Notting Hill Book Shop–ah, banking on tourist traffic from the film no doubt. Inside I found one small indication of its film connections: it shows a card with the film’s poster in black and white on it. I took pictures intending to tweet them to the film’s director Richard Curtis and his wife Emma Freud–who recently became friends of mine. As soon as I have a free minute, I will…
Sorely disappointed about the general lack of sophistication about today’s ‘antiquers’, I entered a bus going towards Oxford Circus with the idea of taking the Bakerloo Line to Charing Cross to the National Gallery so that I could finish up seeing the items in the 19th century Wing that are on the audio guide. The bus offered a tour of Paddington–so I took in the sights: the 19th century railway station, the 19th century St. Mary’s Hospital from where Alexander Fleming gave the world penicillin. Finally, we got to Trafalgar Square bathed in sunshine and crawling, simply crawling, with crowds.  There is simply no escaping them in London right now.

Back at the National Gallery:
I escaped gratefully into the National Gallery, procured my audio guide and stool and was off in the main galleries (also mobbed) to see some of its main highlights–the Gainsboroughs and Canalettos, Turners and Constables, the Van Goghs and Cezannes. I have to admit, somewhat guiltily, that I sat down on  a sofa to contemplate George Stubb’s Whistlejacket–the magnificent portrait of a horse–when I actually dozed off and had a ten minute nap! Clearly, erratic sleep patterns are getting the better of me…but then if one has to snooze off, I cannot think of anything better than a brown leather Chesterfield sofa in a great museum on which to catch a few zzzs!
When I was done at almost 6 pm, I treated myself to a slice of Coffee Walnut Cake in the cafe and was off on the Tube back home. Mission Accomplished. If and when I get back to the National again, it will be to look at paintings of my own choosing. The audio guide, by the way, is wonderful and it is a treat to be educated by some of the museum’s best curators.

 Dinner Chez Moi:
Back home, I caught up with email, put my feet up for a bit and then readied myself for dinner. My landlords N and C are expected tonight between 8 and 9 pm and when I suggested we have supper together–they gladly agreed. Which meant that I had to cook it, of course! I had planned to make Mary Berry’s Malay Chicken Rice–very simple and very delicious it sounded too. So off I went, improvising with her basic recipe when I discovered that the rice I had in the house was arborio (and not Jasmine or Basmati). Oh well…what happened, therefore, was that the Rice became a risotto. The dish was tasty–a fine Italian-Indian fusion (as my chicken had been marinated in yogurt and spices) and it was far more edible that you would imagine. With a salad of lettuce, pears, blue cheese, onion, cranberries and nuts with a balsamic dressing, it turned out to be a good meal. Toast crostini with mushroom pate had been my starter and Sainsbury’s marvelous tiramisu was my dessert. What a fine meal indeed! And who says I cannot whip up a meal in a jiffy with ingredients on hand in a pantry or frig???
We had a very nice evening and then it was time to say Goodnight as we called it a day. I watched a bit of a Swedish detective show on BBC I-player called Beck, but fell asleep watching it–so what’s new? At about midnight, I switched off the night…
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Buzzing Around Bloomsbury and Soaking in Art at the National Gallery

Aug5

London

I had the nicest day! It was the sort of day on which the weather dictates what you will do. And although I had decided to spend the entire day in one of my favorite places in London–The National Gallery at Trafalgar Square–when I found the sun smiling down on me in all its glory, there was simply no way I could deny the urge to get out there and enjoy it.

At Work at Dawn:
But first things first. I actually awoke at 6.00 am today, but decided against going to church as I needed to do some urgent research for the trip that Chriselle and I intend to take soon in Eastern Europe. Having picked up books yesterday on Croatia and Slovenia, I got cracking on planning and plotting while most of London was still asleep. And before I knew it, it was 8. 30 and I had the basic outline of a trip that we can flesh out in due course. With flights identified on budget airlines, all I had to do was run them by her, get the green light and I could go ahead with bookings.
It was time to shower and eat breakfast (muesli with yoghurt and coffee). The sunshine beckoned and I carried my tray out to the garden and sat on a bench overlooked by a fat black bird with a vivid yellow beak (that I could not identify) and munched contentedly as I enjoyed the warmth of the sun’s rays on my shoulders. Then I made a sandwich for myself and raced out of the house. At that point I made my decision: I would spend the morning completing my walk in Bloomsbury (that I had started yesterday), get to NYU campus to pick up my water bottle that I had left behind yesterday and then get to the National Gallery where I would spend the afternoon. The National has late evening closing on Fridays–at 9.00 pm–so it makes sound sense to spend Friday afternoons and evenings in that hallowed space.

Buzzing Around Bloomsbury:
I took the Central Line train to Holborn and began my rambles there. At Sicilian Avenue, I turned to Southampton Place where I found the home of Cardinal Newman. Just across, past The Cordon Bleu School of Culinary Art at Bloomsbury Square, was the home of Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli’s father, Issac–and right opposite it was the home occupied by Gertrude Stein for a year before she moved to Paris and became a legend. Along Bedford Square I went toward Russel Square (which was the site yesterday of the deadly knifing of 7 people including an American female professor). There I spied the sculpture of Francis, Duke of Bedford, who was responsible for laying out the area in the Georgian Age in the way it currently stands. In fact, in this part of London, the Bedford family are still the largest property owners though much of their land is used today by hospitals and universities.
I paused by Senate House which was spared by Hitler during the blitz as he had intended to make the building his London HQ when he had conquered it–thankfully, that did not happen! Still, the building was also the model for Orwell’s Ministry of Truth in his novel 1984. It is a rather plain building, stretching one tier upon the other like a gigantic wedding cake (funnily enough, we have a very similar building near the NYU campus in New York–right opposite the Washington Arch at Washington Square!) Just a few feet away is the Faber Building (now used by SOAS–The School of Oriental and African Studies–of the University of London, where I will be giving a lecture later in the semester). It once housed the offices of the famous publishing firm of Faber and Faber where the poet T.S.Eliot (who used to live nearby) once used to work. My guide book says that in addition to being a fine poet, he was also an astute businessman and a great part of his early working life was spent working in banks and in publishing.
I crossed the square then towards the Russel Hotel (one of my favorite buildings in London) only to discover that it was completely shrouded in scaffolding as it is undergoing a major refurbishment. More’s the pity as the building is truly a stunner with its brick red color and lavish carving. From that point, I was directed to Queen’s Square at the back–which was the first time I had been there and from there to Queen’s Tavern and then on to the Church of St. George the Martyr that is known as the Sweep’s Church as  Capt. James South established a charity here for the little boys who served in this capacity–often meeting a premature death. Right opposite the church is a Victorian water pump which cannot be used for drinking water any longer.

Lunch courtesy of the Hare Krishna Movement:
By the time I returned to Russel Square, I found a  queue of people had lined up for free lunch distributed by the devotees of the Hare Krishna Movement. It was a simple rice and chick pea curry and since I am always up for a new experience, I joined the line and partook of the lunch. Then it was time to get a latte from Waitrose before returning to NYU to pick up my bottle. There, I checked email on wifi, used facilities, had a long videochat with my brother and his kids and then made my way to the National Gallery on the 29 bus from outside our campus that took me straight to Trafalgar Square. It had been a fabulous jaunt on a day when the temperature was perfect and humidity non-existent. I was very glad indeed that I had enjoyed it while it lasted.

Exploring the National Gallery–All Over Again!
I can never tire of the National Gallery–it is quite simply a place in which I feel transformed in the presence of some of the greatest paintings produced by the Western world. I arrived at exactly 4.00 pm, got myself a map,a stool and an audio guide and began my study of the highlights that are beautifully spelled out in the black and white leaflet that goes with the guide. In the process, I took pictures of most of the masterpieces on display plus my own favorite ones. In particular, I was drawn to the paintings that were featured in the film, Framed, that I recently watched with my niece and nephew. They were the usual highlights that we see whenever one names the National Gallery–and then some.
I had the most wonderful time for four whole hours during which time I took in about 60 masterpieces. Occasionally I diverted from the museum’s suggestions to see those canvasses that I especially adore–as in the case of the work of Carlo Crivelli that I have only seen in this collection. He is an awesome artist with the most awesome attention to detail and I can stare at his paintings forever and still find something new in each one to mesmerize me. I stopped for a sandwich halfway through and then I was at it again–I simply could not get enough of the brilliant paintings surrounding me. And, of course, the audio guide meant that although I have seen these works so many times before, I still learned something new at each stop. It was just sheer undiluted bliss!

Return Home for Dinner:
At exactly 8.00 pm, I left the Gallery having left just one section–the 19th century–uncovered. Hopefully, I shall get there tomorrow and be able to complete my mission! I took the Tube back from Charing Cross to my place and got home in 20 minutes. A quick stop at the Co-op supermarket to pick up some groceries for dinner tomorrow and I was all set.
Back home, I noticed that the weekly cleaner had been for the place was sparkling and well tidied. I got dinner organized (sausages with cauliflower mash and a mango for dessert) before I went online to make the Easyjet bookings as I did get the green light from Chriselle during the day. That done, I spent a while chatting on Facetime with Llew before I began to blog even as I watched the opening ceremony of the Rio Olympics which are at 12 midnight, my time.
It was just one more wonderful day in this wonderful city. Having spent one week here already, I have to ask myself where the time has gone. But then I think of all the things I have done in just one week and I realize that I have utilized every second creatively and could not possibly have asked for a more brilliant week. Last week at this time I was flying across the Atlantic to get here–and already I feel as if I have been here forever.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…