Tag Archive | Richmond

Visiting Ham House and an Afternoon with Stephen Tomkinson

Apr29

Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Richmond, Surrey

It seems as if I am sleeping longer as the days are getting longer. This morning, I awoke at 7 am–not too bad at all and a far cry from 5 am. which had been my usual wake-up time for months! It left me enough time to write my blog, read 40 pages of The Order of the Phoenix and catch up with email.

I got out of bed after 10 am, showered, had my breakfast and left the house for my long bus ride to Richmond. I ran two quick errands before I boarded the bus–I had to return a battery I had bought from Maplin for a refund and I had to hand in a refund form to London Underground–I had bought a Day Travelcard on the day I traveled to Norwood and not knowing that it was also valid on the bus network, I had spent 4 pounds buying two separate bus tickets for which, I was told, I was entitled to a refund–which the clerk told me would take 21 working days! Don’t you just marvel at the way British bureaucracy works??!!

Well, I used the time aboard the bus to grade papers on what was another fabulous day. Warm sunshine and the slightest hint of a breeze made it particularly lovely. I made swift and easy connections and arrived at Richmond Tube Station at 12. 15 pm at which point I connected with another bus (the 371) that took me to Ham Street. On the bus I entered into friendly and enlightening conversation with a lovely lady from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, who has lived in London for 35 years. She told me of other places to nearby visit but I simple did not have the time.

My idea was to try and squeeze in a quick visit to Ham House, also in Richmond, that is run by the National Trust. Since I have a membership to the Royal Oak Foundation (the American equivalent), I get free entrance to all National Trust-run properties which have only recently re-opened for the season. Since Richmond’s Ham House is one of these, I figured I would see it today.

It was a 10 minute hike from the bus stop to the gate of Ham House which looks far less impressive on the outside than it is within. It also has extensive formal gardens but since I had only an hour in which to check it out, I made straight for the house. Two very helpful female volunteers provided me with the brochures that would make my visit more enjoyable and suggested I go to “the Dairy” to watch the 10 minute film that gives a brief history of the house. This was exactly what I did and 15 minutes later, I made my way to the upper floor past a very small chapel, having acquired a good background about the house and its former inhabitants.

The wooden staircase is richly carved and very impressive indeed and on the upstairs landing, you are greeted by a number of 17th and 18th century members of aristocracy who gaze at you from the gilded frames of several oil portraits. The same large number of oil portraits, many by Peter Lely, are to be found in the Long Gallery, as also a large number of cabinets in ivory, Japanese lacquer and marqueted wood. The grand rooms on the ground floor speak of the wealth of the house’s inhabitants, prime among them being Elizabeth Murray whose parents originally owned the house. She married well (I forget the name of her first husband) and her husband’s wealth helped her maintain the grand home.

But Civil War broke out and very shortly, she was widowed. During Cromwell’s reign, she acted as a spy for the supporters of Charles II in exile in France (placing her life in jeopardy) and was richly rewarded for her loyalty to him when he returned to the throne in 1660 to make her a Countess. This led to her second married to the Duke of Lauderdale which furthered her power, prestige and wealth and allowed her to extend Ham House adding the opulent rooms that we see today. However, she died in poverty, easily and quickly forgotten by the royal circle within which she had revolved. Her descendants approached the National Trust, a few years ago, to maintain the house for them and visitors today are led into the intrigue and prestige of the 17th century in the rooms that were created for the visits of Queen Catherine of Braganza and her entourage.

I would dearly love to return to Ham House and Gardens and perhaps shall do so when I spend a night with Stephanie at her place in Richmond. The banks of the Thames outside London are strewn with such grand estates (Syon House is one other) and now that the weather is changing and I am free of teaching duties, perhaps I can try to see the National Trust ones.

But I had other plans for the afternoon, so by 1.45, I made my way outside, back to the bus-stop and arrived in Richmond in time for my 2. 30 pm show of Tim Firth’s Sign of the Times that starred only two actors–Stephen Tomkinson (whom I was delighted to see in the flesh after having seen him on TV in Ballykissangel) and Tom Ward. They played each other off very well in a gently amusing comedy in which Tomkinson showed his versatility by playing a character that was very different from his role in Ballykissangel where he played Fr. Peter Clifford. I munched on an apple and a peach and some pistachios in the theater–my lunch–until I bought myself a Scotch Egg at Tescos after the show and had myself a very nice afternoon at the theater.

Then, I was on the bus again headed for the city–using the drive to continue grading my papers and getting a neat batch done. But when the bus passed through Kensington High Street, I could not resist the temptation to alight and on impulse I entered Holland Park to take some pictures of the Kyoto Garden and the Orangery as I had my camera with me. I spent the next hour in these lovely environs, surrounded by flowers and twittering birds and the fragrance of wisteria and lilacs in every possible shade of purple. The Kyoto Garden has become one of my very favorite parts of London and with the azaleas in bloom in shades from soft pink to hot magenta, I was enchanted. I took my pictures, then sat on a bench overlooking the small waterfall and graded more papers as I enjoyed the perfect temperature of this gorgeous day. I had waited all winter long for days like these and now that they are here with us, I want to enjoy as much of them as I can out-of-doors.

By 7. 30 pm, I was back home, chatting with Llew on the phone and proofreading a bunch of travelogues I had written before I mail them off to my friends with my April newsletter.

Croydon Anglo-Indians and an Evening with Andrea Levy

Apr28

Tuesday, April 28, 2009
London

I awoke at 7. 30 this morning–YYYEESS!!! It is the latest I have woken up since I came to live in London. I felt enormously rested and very much wanted to stay in bed for a lazy lie-in…but I had too much to do before I left for my long journey to Croydon to interview more Anglo-Indians. I had spent a good part of the morning trying to figure out the best way to get there by using Journey Planner.

Shower and breakfast done, I took Bus 341 from Gray’s Inn Road to Waterloo Bridge from where I connected to the 176 to Penge. I got off at Penge High Street and the Pawlyne Arms (a pub) and connected to the 75 that took me to the Norwood Junction Clock Tower from where Dulcie Jacob of the South Norwood Anglo-Indian Association picked me up in her car and took me over to her place. The whole jouney took me about an hour and a half during which I graded one lot of student papers–no doubt, it would have taken me an hour had I used the interline train. The day was bright and warm and filled me with a tremendous sense of optimism.

In about ten minutes, I was seated in Dulcie’s living-room having met the other three respondents–her husband Ashley, and their friends: Florence Daly and John Stringer. It was the first time I was interviewing four people at the same time and I was extremely nervous and doubtful about my ability to do that effectively enough. Still, I tried as best I could and after introductions were made, and Dulcie served a welcome round of coffee, I began with my questions.

Needless to say, I found all four of them very interesting indeed. It is amazing how divergently people think despite that the fact that their core experiences in the UK have remained similar–they are all first-generation mixed race immigrants from India who ‘came out’ in the 50s and 60s. As always, it is their graciousness that most charms me–where have these old-world manners and customs gone? It is in my close association with these people that I realize what a fine job our Indian educators did in raising a generation of people who might not have a string of degrees behind their names but are informed, articulate, polished, socially graceful and open-minded. Maybe I have been extraordinarily fortunate in having made contact only with people who possess such admirable qualities, but I have rarely felt disappointment after an interview. Despite the fact that the interview went on for hours–I was, after all, speaking to four people at the same time and juggling four interviews simultaneously–they were respectful of my work, remarkably patient and often humorous in their responses–yes, they do also have a huge sense of humor–it is probably this that saw them through their roughest years in this country.

We took a break at lunch time when Dulcie brought out a few typically Anglo-Indian items of food–marvelous ‘patties’ (something I have only seen in India–ground meat parcelled in rectangles of crispy puff pastry) and fruit cake studded, rather unsually but deliciously, I thought, with candied stem ginger. Another round of coffee followed. Despite the fact that I am on a low-carb diet, I managed to find sustenance in the patties though I declined the cake. I was amused to notice that a bottle of hot sauce made the rounds and accompanied the patties–some habits die hard, I suppose, including a fondness for the fiery cuisine of India. It explains why the one thing to which the Anglo-Indians have stuck resolutely in this country is their need for daily rice and curry!

I resumed the interview after these snacks and things went along swimmingly with a lot of laughter and cheeky comments occasionally thrown in. These folks are old friends who are fully comfortable with each other and have found the kind of camaraderie that fills their retired days with the happiest of moments. It felt great to be in their company, to absorb some of their massive love of life and to be conscious of their achievements. I believe that while there is an upside to interviewing four people at the same time–it saved me time and the trouble of going out to Croydon more than once–though it did take away, I think, from the quality of the interviews I ended with as I do think that I did not get the kind of in-depth responses I have received from people whom I have met as individuals or in pairs. Still, I also got some startling new information from these folks of which I was unaware and for that I was very grateful.

Dulcie dropped me to the Bus terminus which allowed me to make my bus connections back to town–but going to the terminus lost me valuable time–over 45 mintues–and I was not able to get home as I had expected to change before my evening’s appointment into something more presentable than jeans and sneakers. However, when I realized that I no longer had the time for a change of clothes, I switched plans and got off at Tottenham Court Road from where I walked directly to the Congress House on Great Russel Street to attend an NYU organized event–an evening with novelist Andrea Levy, author of Small Island.

Andrea Levy is one of the most notable names among Black British writers today. She is the author of several books but it was Small Island that won her huge fame and kudos. A second-generation immigrant from Jamaica, her parents arrived in England on The Windrush, the famous ship that carried the first lot of Caribbean immigrants to England in 1948. Her novels have been systematic attempts to understand the motivations that drew these folks to England, to articulate their early experiences with racism and difference, to document their struggles and their triumphs and to comment on the changes that have occured within their community in over half a century–her work, in fact, is–you guessed in–very similar to my current research project, except that I am dealing with mixed-race Indian immigrants and am an outsider; (i.e. not an immigrant in the UK but from the USA; and not a member of the Anglo-Indian community at all) while Levy has emerged from amidst this community and can, therefore, write about it based not just on observations and interviews but shared experience. Still, in trying to write about Collective Memory, our objectives are identical and I was eager to find out what she had to say.

So, it was with rising excitement that I listened to Levy read from her novel. She chose the voices of four of her characters and dramatized them beautifully as she changed her accent and intonation to suit each voice. Not only were we entertained by the comedic aspects of her ‘performance’, but we were given an additional insight into how these folks might have sounded when they first arrived in Great Britain. Despite the attempts of the fairer-skinned ones to ‘pass’ as English, it was these accents that gave them away–similar to the Anglo-Indians I’ve been meeting who told me that though some of them were pale enough to be mistaken for native Britons, the moment they opened their mouths to speak, they gave themselves away.

I was pleased to be able to chat with Levy for a few minutes after the reading and to take a picture with her. I found her a remarkable speaker who answered questions very competently and very thoroughly and brought her characterisitic sense of humor into her responses. The evening’s questions were moderated by Ulrich Baer who arrived from New York where he is in-charge of multi-cutlural programs at NYU. As a specialist in Comparative Literature himself, he was really the best person to moderate the evening and he did a splendid job.

Then, we all adjourned to our Bedford Square campus for the reception. I was heartened to see how well attended the talk had been and how many students had turned up to hear Levy despite the fact that this is the last week before classes end and they are up to their eyes in homework commitments. The table was laden with the most appetizing finger food–grilled prawns, salmon goujons, chicken satay, smoked salmon bruschetta, among other things while on the other side were drinks. I was disapppointed not to find a diet Coke and had to make do with a glass of white wine but there was enough choice of food for me to have a mini-dinner before the evening was through. I did have the chance finally to speak to Prof. Javed Majeed who is my counterpart here in London in that he teaches Post-Colonial Literature to our students here–similar to the courses I teach in New York. We have made plans to meet later in June. Over all, it was a wonderful evening but a rather tiring day and when I left campus at about 9 pm, I arrived home quite wrung out.

I managed to draft my April newsletter before I looked at plans for the rest of the week and switched off my bedside lamp at 11. 30 pm. Tomorrow, I am off to Richmond again to see a play Sign of the Times at Richmond Theater, but the long drives are now providing me with time to grade papers, so they are rather productive on the whole.

Celebrating Shakespeare’s Birthday–in Stratford and Warwick

Apr26

Sunday, April 26, 2099
Stratford-on-Avon and Warwick

Though I switched off my bedside lamp at 1.30 am last night, I did not fall asleep for at least an hour. Awful tossing and turning and vain efforts to count sheep left me deeply frustrated. Yet, I awoke at about 7. 00. So it is little wonder that I was yawning loudly and frequently in Stephanie’s car on our way back from Warwick this evening. We’d spent the day in Warwickshire (visiting his birth place of Stratford-on-Avon–for the third time, in my case– which is the second most popular tourist town in the country after London) in celebration of Shakespeare’s birthday. Can you believe that he was born and died on the same day–April 23!!! Stephanie couldn’t. ” How weird is that?” she kept asking for she simply had never heard of anyone coming into this world and leaving it forever on the same day.

Now that Stephanie lives in Richmond and I have a bus pass again (and the Tube fare to get there and back is a whopping 7 pounds), I thought I would try to figure out the way to get there by bus. And using Journey Planner, I discovered that it wasn’t difficult at all, especially on a Sunday morning when there is barely any traffic and the bus flies. I was there in about an hour and a half and that’s just because I wasn’t sure where to make bus connections. On the way back it took me just an hour and ten minutes–on the Tube it takes an hour–so it felt really great to find the way without having to spend a bomb on the Tube ride.

Stratford-on-Avon–Shakeapeare’s Beautiful Birthplace:
Stephanie and I first made our way to Stratford-on-Avon (which, I finally found out, is pronounced exactly like the name of the cosmetics company). It took us about an hour and a half to get there which meant that we were parking at the Stratford Leisure Center a little after 12 noon. Stratford was swarming with visitors–not just because this is The Bard’s birthday weekend but because the Stratford Triathlon was also held today (the same day as the London Marathon) and hundreds of people had arrived on what was a splendid day indeed.

As usual, we were famished by the time we reached the town and headed straight for food. Only since my low-carb diet lays strict restrictions, I could only eat the fried fish part of a fish and chips platter that I found at a place called The Golden Bee–certainly not the best fish and chips I have eaten. It was soggy and greasy and over-fried and quite disastrous. Stephanie had gone off to see Shakespeare’s birthplace (I have seen it before, so did not go inside). When we did hook up again, we walked through an antiques fair where I was delighted to find a watch at a rock bottom price. It felt so good to have a wrist watch again!

Our next port of call was Trinity Church with its beautiful grave yard and moss-covered grave stones. This is the church in which Shakespeare was baptised and then buried. Inside, I made the discovery that visitors are required to pay 1. 50 pounds to visit Shakespeare’s grave as it is badly in need of funds and figures it could make some money this way. On the two occasions in the past when I have visited this church–once, 22 years ago, when I was a student at Oxford and then about 10 years ago when I had returned with Llew and Chriselle during our tour of the Cotswolds–we had seen the grave without paying any money. While Stephanie went up to the altar to take a look, I used the opportunity to say a few prayers in the church before we walked out again on to the sun-flooded banks of the River Avon where boats plied on the swan-filled waters.

En route, we had seen the other important Tudor and Elizabethan buildings for which the town is known such as Nash’s House and Hall’s Croft. Since this is the week on which Shakespeare’s birthday is celebrated, there were yellow flags lining the streets and arrangements in the garden that created his portrait in fresh flowers–a rather unusual touch. Poetry readings and a literary festival were a part of the week-long celebrations but both Stephanie and I lacked the enthusiasm to do much more than stroll around at leisure.

Everyone felt suitably festive in the bracing spring air. For me, one of the best parts of England in the spring is the opportunity to admire the incredible chestnut tress with their profuse large candle-like white flowers that we do not see at all in the United States. Also putting on a showy display of lavender blooms all over the stone walls of aged houses are wisteria vines. It is impossible to pass them by without stopping to examine their complicated construction–they hang in heavy bunches, looking for all the world, like grapes. Flower-beds in all the public gardens are blooming luxuriously with flowers in a shocking variety of colors and I have been taking pictures galore. Oh, it sure feels good to enjoy England in the spring time!

It was just 3 pm when we were done strolling around Stratford. We were both disappointed the The Royal Shakespeare Company’s Swan Theater is undergoing massive renovations and has been closed down temporarily. All shows are being performed in the nearby Courtauld Theatre which we visited briefly. Stephanie was not interested in seeing the home of Shakespeare’s wife–Anne Hattaway’s Cottage in nearby Shottery–even though I told her that it is one of England’s prettiest thatched cottages with a delightful cottage garden. She was more keen on seeing Warwick Castle which is only an 8-mile ride away.

Arrival in the Town of Warwick:
I thought it was a a capital idea and into the car we went. Just fifteen minutes later, we arrived in the medieval town of Warwick which I had never seen before. We headed straight for the castle but by then it was already 3.45 pm and we discovered that entry fee was almost 17 pounds. Neither one of us thought it worthwhile to spend so much money on a ticket that we’d only be able to use for a couple of hours. We skirted the periphery of the Castle property spying some showy peacocks in the Elizabethan Knot Garden before we decided to discover the town on foot as we had already spent money on the parking meter.

Warwick is one of England’s most intact medieval towns. It has all the ingredients that make a town a tourist attraction and we had a chance to sample some of those: the River Avon flows gently through it (as it does at Stratford) and we were able to see a few oarsmen rowing their boats in the water. There is the beautiful stone Church of St. Mary with its blue-faced clock staring benignly upon the bylanes of the town that are lined with listed houses. Then, there is, of course, the massive 13th century castle which until very recently was inhabited by a family of Dukes. There was several medieval buildings with exposed beams and stucco walls including the stunning Lord Leycester’s Hospital which is a misnomer as it was never a hospital at all. It was once the guildhall of the town and then a chantry and a chapel and, ultimately, on being purchased by Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex (and supposedly the only man that Queen Elizabeth I ever really loved), it was turned into homes for former military men –a function it still fulfils. We took some charming pictures of this lovely gabled building before we strolled for a bit in the public gardens that were a riot of colors as flower-beds had sprouted to life bringing tall and stately tulips in their wake.

It was at about 5 pm that we started our drive back home and it was at 8. 30 that I arrived home, tired and very eager to have myself a nice shower and a light dinner, to write this blog and get straight to bed.

Rambling in Rye (and Winchelsea) with Stephanie

Apr9

Sunday, March 29, 2009
Rye, Sussex

Stephanie had agreed that Rye in East Sussex would be a good place to spend a day out. Because poor Llew was jetlagged, we did not leave our flat until 10. 30 am, arriving at Stephanie’s new place in Richmond only at 11. 30am. It was the day of the famous University Boat Race–the Oxford Versus Cambridge Race, that is, on the River Thames that brings annual hordes to the banks to cheer their favorite team to victory. Masses of folks wearing their Oxford and Cambridge ‘Blues’ were on the Tube headed for Putney Bridge and while I would have loved to have made an event of this exciting race, it only started after 2 pm and it seemed a waste to spend the day waiting for the afternoon hour when the twenty minute race began as the event is largely determined by the Tide. Instead, we proceeded to Richmond where Stephanie awaited our arrival.

She chatted non-stop on our drive to Rye as she told us about cancelling her plans to visit South America and about her efforts to settle into her new home in Richmond which she loves. Before we knew it, we were entering the medieval city that is one of the Cinque Ports, associated with the smuggling and piracy of contraband goods throughout the Middle Ages. Today, Rye is a quaint town, perched on the Sussex Downs and overlooking the rolling Romney Marshes. A river runs through it and provides rather attractive photo opportunities. But it is essentially its cobbled streets lined with Tudor structures with their thick exposed beams and stuccoed walls that delight visitors who flock to experience a bit of bygone England.

All three of us were starving by the time our feet hit those first cobbles…so it was not surprising that we headed straight for the nearest pub to treat ourselves to a substantial meal–Steph went for the fish and chips, Llew dug into a Chicken Breast served in a white mushroom sauce while I could not resist the Broccoli and Stilton Soup that was served with a hunk of bread. It helped to know that we were seated in Rye’s oldest pub–a very atmospheric place with low slung ceilings and wood panelled walls.

Well fulled for our discovery of the town, we started along the streets indicated in a visitors’ map with graphic brown cobbles. At every turn, we were charmed by the abundance of old-world buildings to which England clings tenaciously by ‘listing’ and thus preserving them. I actually came across a house named La Rochelle–and, of course, I had to take a picture at its door–only to discover that it was the home of artist Paul Nash who had made his home in Rye for several years. In like manner, we passed by Lamb House in which Anglo-American novelist Henry James wrote The Wings of a Dove. Alas, we could not roam through the interiors as the house, run by the National Trust, only opened to visitors after April 1. (I am beginning to feel increasingly that my National Trust annual membership has been a true rip off as most of their properties remained closed over the winter making it impossible for me to extract full advantage from the membership fee I paid last August).

Roving rather aimlessly around the town, we arrived at the East Cliff where author E.F. Benson, once mayor of the town and creator of Mapp and Lucia has installed a plaque on a parapet that overlooks the vast green expanses of countryside that embrace the little hamlet. This look out point is very close to the Land Gate which is, in turn, very close to a clutch of smart but very charming old hotels whose tea rooms offered elegant afternoon teas.

A ramble took us towards the Church of St. Mary (right near the home of John Fletcher of the Beaumont and Fletcher duo of the Jacobean plays fame) whose clock face and mechanism is one of the oldest in the country. It is possible to climb up to the top of the square tower that provides wonderful views over the Downs, but we passed…deciding instead to take a self-guided tour of the ancient church that dates from Norman times and offers a wealth of interesting architectural details inside that are sure to intrigue the most jaded visitor.

We saved the best for last, arriving at Mermaid Lane at the very end of our walking tour and making our way towards the famed Mermaid Inn, a marvelously well preserved Tudor structure whose thick dark beams lend it a very authentic air of antiquity. We took pictures in its cobbled courtyard–in the very spot where I had taken pictures with my cousin Cheryl and her husband David on my last visit to Rye, a few years ago. Then, because the wind had picked up and was playing nasty games with our scarves and my rather thin jacket, we decided it was time to leave one of the Cinque Ports behind us and head home.

However, en route, I did suggest that Stephanie stop at Winchelsea, a lovely little village only two miles away whose white wooden sidings are rather reminiscent of New England and of Connecticut’s seaside villages (such as my own Southport), in particular. Though light was fading fast and the evening had turned chilly, both Steph and Llew were so taken by the churchyard with its half-ruined church facade that they decided to pay a visit inside (only to find it locked) and to stroll through the daffodil-filled front yard.

Ten minutes later, we were racing back towards Richmond, but not before remarking upon the huge masses of daffodils we saw everywhere. Indeed, England’s soil just seems to pop up in the spring in the warmest of yellows as these lovely frilly-headed flowers make their presence felt all over the country.

Back in Richmond, Steph invited us to tour her new flat and was pleased to know that we loved every aspect of it–from its convenient location to the station, to the fireplace in her living room, to the lovely spacious bathroom and the ample closet space that I liked most of all. Because it had already grown dark, we did not linger long in the town, though I was eager for Llew to catch a glimpse of Richmond Green and the famous theater where I have been seeing so many shows lately.

Then, we were kissing Stephanie goodbye and hopping on the Tube to get back home to Holborn. It had been a long and rather tiring day and we were quite fatigued. I needed to prepare for my Monday classes while Llew relaxed at home with the news on TV and after a very light sandwich dinner, the two of us called it a day. I was very pleased that both Llew and Stephanie liked Rye so much and I was glad that despite his rather short stay in England, Llew had managed to see one of my favorite parts of the country.

A Self-Indulgent Saturday in London

Mar14

Saturday, March 14, 2009
London

Sometimes staying around in London on a Saturday can be an adventure in itself. When Stephanie called me early this morning to say that she needed to keep her weekend travel-free to sort out her stuff after her move last weekend to Richmond, I understood right away. I tend to be rather anal about settling down and feeling organized after a move, so I figured, she needed the time and space. I could use a weekend in London anyway to catch up with my own chores and do bit of independent sightseeing.

So over a high-carb breakfast (Waitrose’s cranberry loaf with pumpkin seeds and a variety of spreads–praline from Le Pain Quotidien, Nutella, grapefruit marmalade from Harrods and Lurpak butter), I stretched out on the couch with loads of coffee and had a leisurely and very late meal.

Then, it was Chore-Time! I pulled out the vacuum cleaner from my broom cupboard in the hall, got out my Bounty and started sweeping and scrubbing and polishing and dusting and generally having a great time while up to my elbows in warm suds. Within an hour, my kitchen was polished, my bathroom was spic and span, my toilet was sparkling, and my bedroom was dust-free. I felt fabulous.

Then, I set out for Holborn Library as I finished Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire early this morning and was ready to start the next one. I had to return it though to the library from where I had borrowed it and I also wanted to pick up some travel books on Italy so I can photocopy the pages I need to carry with me on my trip on Tuesday. I usually photocopy just the pages I need on each of my trips as these books are so heavy and with the budget airlines severely restricting baggage allowance, this is the only way to go. I found the DK Eyewitness Travel Guide to Italy and another on Northern Italy and over the weekend, I shall read up and flag the pages I need to photocopy at NYU on Monday.

Then I went on a food shopping spree to Waitrose which is a ten minute walk away from the library at the Brunswick Center. I was amazed at the number of people out in the courtyard where food was being sold by vendors–it was a sort of Borough Market with everything being sold–from chorizos in rolls, cheesecake, nuts and dried fruit, cupcakes, roast pork sandwiches, falafel. You name it, you could buy it–and there were many generous samples (or ‘tasters’ as they call them here) being dished out too.

I, however, went into Waitrose for some scones and clotted cream. After having returned from Cornwall, I have developed a taste for cream teas and thought I would have one instead of my lunch today–I know, I know, I am being wicked and dreadfully self-indulgent, but I promise I will return to sensible eating soon. I am going to Italy next week and I know what the food is like out there. So perhaps I can pig out for the next few days and return from Italy with a new resolution to watch my weight again!

But for the moment, it is time to feast…so I bought some good Stilton with Ginger (my favorite cheese), a walnut loaf from Paris’ Poilane (sold in select stores here in London), some fresh ravioli (as I have a sudden craving for pasta) and an absolutely fabulous-looking Black Forest Gateau! I also bought a number of packaged soups as I had run out of those–I do enjoy a hot cup of soup with my dinner and over the winter I have tried Waitrose’s packeted soups–this time, however, I thought I would try Knorr.

Back home, I had my cream tea (Oh, Happy Day!) and my gateau with a lovely pot of Darjeeling tea. Imagine!!! England has made a tea drinker of me, I have to say, except that I have it very light with lemon and honey. I can’t even express how much of a pick-me-up this is proving to be. In my even lovelier Tea for Two Paragon China Tea Set, I sat and sipped slowly and decided that today would be a day for big time pampering and lots of little luxuries.

Then, when I had cleared up and put everything away, I had a long chat with Llew. I am also in the process of finding accommodation for us in B&Bs in Rome and Istanbul and I remembered that his cousin, a nun named Sr. Rosie, had spent many years in a convent in Rome. I wondered if she knew a convent that gave out pensione accommodation and if she would be able to organize an audience for us with the Pope! I told Llew to try to organize that with her and he agreed. It will indeed make our visit to Rome very special if we can meet the Holy Father.

And then, it was time for me to go out and do another one of my walks. It was such a mild and pleasant afternoon and the weather beckoned insistently. I took the pages I had photocopied from the DK Eye Witness Guide to London that outlined a walk around Smithfield Market (which is right behind my street in Holborn) and by 4. 45 pm I was off.

It turned out to be such a great walk. I had actually explored most of this area about three years ago with my friend Bina Ullal when she had come from her place in Harrow to meet me in London and spend a day with me. The walk took me to the famous Victorian Smithfield meat market which at one time sold live cattle and poultry; but today, thankfully, sells only cuts of meat. It is busiest early in the morning when the city’s butchers get there to select their stock for the day. Right around the lanes radiating from this gigantic building which occupies three city blocks are a number of taverns and pubs and eateries that serve enormous breakfasts with ale to the butchers who are ravenous by mid-morning. I was amazed how many restaurants are to be found in these little lanes–apart from the pubs offering good old-fashioned British food, there were very fancy French restaurants with haute cuisine on their menus and extensive wine lists.

Then, I found myself in lovely Charterhouse Square, a very old part of the city–once a monastery, it is a hospital today. Its cloisters and quiet courtyard still stand but I wasn’t able to go in and explore as guided tours are given only between April and August. I will have to wait for another month, I guess. Meanwhile, the walls of the building are deeply evocative of its history and the entire square reeks of age.

Turning around a corner, I arrived at Cloth Street, which derived its name from a medieval Cloth Fair that was held here annually right up to the Jacobean Age. In fact, it was this noisy fair that inspired Ben Jonson to pen his famous play about this event. This entire area is just fabulous–it contained narrow lanes, some of which have their original medieval buildings just oozing charm and character and medieval architectural details. Numbers 41 and 42 are two of those old preserved buildings and at Number 43, the Poet Laureate John Betjeman lived for many years (in what looks like a very tiny flat indeed).

I am a bit surprised how many references I have recently come across to Betjeman–first it was Padstow in Cornwall where he lies buried; then it was Rules Restaurant at Covent Garden which he frequented and which he endorsed and now it was his home at Number 43 Cloth Street. There is a blue plaque to mark this location as well as a restaurant called, appropriately enough, Betjamans where he is well remembered. I can just imagine how thrilled Betjeman would have been to live in such a historic part of London knowing his great passion for old architectural gems. He is responsible for saving St. Pancras Station from the demolisher’s hammer and has written many books on the old Norman churches of England. I often wish I had the chance to meet him. I think we would have had such an interesting conversation for we seem to share such a love for the same things–Nature, old churches, poetry, Oxford. Well, I guess, I have to be content that I did meet his wife, Lady Penelope Chetwode, once, a long time ago.

Next I was skirting the area around the wonderful ancient church of St. Bartholomew (which gave Jonson’s play its name) with its unique black and white checked design, its round tower and its quiet courtyard garden. I noticed that Sunday services are held at 9 am with Communion and I have decided that in keeping with my resolution to visit a new historic church every Sunday when I am in London, I will go to the service at this one tomorrow. I am so excited to be in a church that Ben Jonson and Shakespeare and the other Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, no doubt, knew well. It has one of the best preserved medieval church interiors in the country and I can’t wait to see the inside of it. I also remember vaguely that one of the wedding scenes in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral was shot in here, but that I cannot confirm.

Then, I was out on the street again making my way towards Newgate where I saw the Old Bailey up close and personal and took pictures of the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop the dome holding her scales forward. I cannot believe how close I live to all these masterpieces of architecture and all these landmarks of the city. I am truly blessed to be within a stone’s throw of all these renowned monuments. I had always dreamed of living in London and the fact that I have been posted here for a year and have access to all these marvels proves to me that the works of the Lord are unique and complete and that, as the Bible says, He “gives not in a measure but in its fullness”. Indeed, when the Lord gives, he gives in bountiful abundance and I often feel as if His blessings upon me this year have been beyond generous; and for that I feel truly humbled and profoundly grateful. And it is amazing how this truth comes home to me in the strangest of ways–like when I am gazing at a church that Ben Jonson might have prayed in or glancing at a monument that crowns the Old Bailey!

Next, I was entering the garden of St. Sepulcre-without-Newgate–I have noted before that these ancient churches have the oddest names–most incorporating their geographical location in them! This one –the Church of the Sepulcre–was outside the New Gate–hence its name!!! This is the church that is referred to in the rhyme Oranges and Lemons in the lines:

“Oranges and lemons” say the Bells of St. Clement’s
“You owe me five farthings” say the Bells of St. Martin’s
“When will you pay me?” say the Bells of Old Bailey
“When I grow rich” say the Bells of Shoreditch
“When will that be?” say the Bells of Stepney
“I do not know” say the Great Bells of Bow“
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop – the Last Man’s Dead.”

I have reproduced the rhyme here so I can read up the sinister references to all the public beheadings that took place in London in days gone by. It seems that the rhyme refers to these killings and they were often recited by children who seemed to take delight in the fact that so many heads rolled in those ruthless days!

At any rate, I walked a little bit further down Holborn Viaduct up to the tower of Christ Church which is the only intact thing that remains of Wren’s masterpiece–the nave of the church that was destroyed in a fire has been converted into a pretty garden that will, no doubt, come into its own in the next few months as spring advances into summer.

I came home to check email and catch up with more chores–I had to make backup CDs for all my pictures. And then I decided to spend the evening cooking myself some fresh ravioli and having a nice dinner and a glass of cider while watching a movie–Where Angels Fear to Tread based on the novel by E.M. Forster (which I had not read) and which featured Helen Mirren, Helena Bonham-Carter and Rupert Graves. Shot entirely on location in Italy (which made it significant since I will be there on Tuesday) and England, it was such a sad story that had me completely absorbed. Lovely Victorian costumes and sets (in the vein of the films of Merchant-Ivory) and marvelous cinematography had me enthralled. That’s what I love about Love Films.com–it is a matter of serendipity for you have no idea what they will mail you. To have ended my lazy day with a Forster film was bliss indeed!

It did turn out to be a perfectly indulgent Saturday for me but one I know I will remember for a long time. I have no regrets that I did not do a day trip today. I have done enough traveling in the last few weeks and it felt good to stay at home and have an unforgettable day–a staycation of sorts!

Sight-Seeing in Sussex: Chichester, Arundel and Petworth

Feb22

Sunday, February 22, 2009
Chichester

Up again at 5. 50 am, I found the time to check and respond to email, make an Easybus booking to get to Stanstead airport and back for my trip this week to Oslo, Norway, and began drafting a new research grant application–all this while the rest of the world had a long Sunday late lie-in! As time galloped forth, I realized that it was almost 7. 30 and without further ado, I jumped into the shower, gulped down my toast and tea while Alternate Soaking and was out of the house at 8. 10 am in time to arrive in Wimbledon for my appointment with Stephanie at 9 .00 am. En route, in the Tube, I began reading Harry Potter #4 (The Goblet of Fire) and was making good progress on it when the train drew into Wimbledon.

Neither Steph nor I knew what the weather gurus had predicted but we hoped it wouldn’t be rain. We had decided to drive to Chichester in West Sussex, close to the Coast and not too far from Portsmouth which I had visited on Friday. As always, we chatted nineteen to the dozen in the car as we caught up with the goings-on of the past week–mainly Steph’s joy at finding a rental flat in Richmond.

Chichester:
By 10. 30 am, Steph was parking her ink-blue Lexus in Chichester’s quiet Priory Lane, so-called because it ran parallel to an ancient stone Priory that is now abandoned–or so it seemed. We found free parking (always a thrill!) and began walking down one of the town’s old lanes towards the medieval Market Cross that formed Chichester’s crossroad in the old days. Spring was decidedly in the air though the sun was playing peek-a-boo for most of the day. When it did make an appearance, it gilded the glorious Sussex Downs in the warmest shades and lifted our spirits no end.

Steph picked up a muffin and orange juice and munched as we walked towards the round monument that denotes the town center. At this point, we received our first glimpse of Chichester’s medieval Cathedral. We skirted its periphery and arrived at the gates where a modern sculpture of Saint Richard greeted us. At the main doors of the Cathedral that loomed above us (its spire creating an impressive landmark on the skyline, visible for miles out at sea), we discovered that service had just begun and visitors were unable to enter for a whioe hour. Since neither Steph nor I had heard Mass, we decided to join the service and spent the next one inside one of England’s oldest cathedrals.

Construction on Chichester Cathedral was begun in 1075 and it was largely rebuilt in the 13th century. It is a vision in clean-cut sophistication, its three storeys rising on rather stark plain walls. The highlight of the service for us was the excellence of the choir whom we passed in their wooden choir stalls en route to Communion–they gave the two of us goosebumps! Right after the service, we encircled the interior to take in the Marc Chagall stained glass window that is a burst of vivid color and contains his signature flourishes–his goat’s heads, for instance. At the back of the Shrine to Saint Richard, there was a beautiful woven carpet, also modern in design. We joined the congregation for coffee at the end of the service in a chapel at the side, then walked out into the town, glad to have attended Sunday service in so revered a place.

Lunch was on our minds by this point and since I have never eaten at Pizza Express but had been interested to try out the “Pizzas by Theo Randall” that Pizza Express has been advertizing for weeks, I jumped at Steph’s suggestion that we get a pizza. I ordered ‘Theo’s Tonnera’ which contained tuna and capers and black olives while Steph got a Guardina with artichokes, asparagus, red peppers and tomatoes. We split our pizzas and had a diet Coke each and then we were making our way back to our car as we had decided to move on to the other interesting venue right outside the town of Chichester, the Fishbourne Roman Palace.

Fishbourne Roman Palace:
This incredible space, right in the midst of nowhere, is one of the most important Roman remains in the United Kingdom. It was while a trench was being dug in the mid-1960s, that a perfect black and white mosaic was discovered embedded in the soil. Archeological excavations then extensively carried out in the area with the help of hundreds of amateur diggers, revealed the remains of a grand Roman Palace built around AD 74. A huge fire in AD 250 destroyed most of the building and the stone was used to build the Roman walls of the city that still stand.

The highlight of the exhibit is an almost intact mosaic floor whose center roundel depicts Cupid riding a dolphin while surrounded by more rondels of sea panthers, wine decanters, etc. This was the floor of what was almost certainly the dining room of the grand home that once housed dozens of people of various generations and a multitude of slaves. A 12 minute film recreated the era for us with the the kind of documentary vividness that these films always do so superbly and when we walked through the remains, we were completely in awe of the elegance with which these people lived and their expertise as gardeners–for the Palace was built around extensive formal gardens that were filled with box borders, espaliered trees and a variety of herbs. For me, it was like revisiting a tiny piece of Pompeii for it was in AD 69 that Pompeii had been destroyed. This Palace was, therefore, contemporaneous with all the marvels I had seen there with my friend Amy Tobin last March.

When we had spent more than an hour in this location, we decided to move on. Stephanie, who works for Twinnings Tea, had told me that her colleague Stephen Twinning, had mentioned to her very casually yesterday that if she intended to go to Chichester, then she ought to go to Arundel for a meal. Having taken a look at our map, I realized that it was not too far from Chichester and, on an impulse, we decided to take a detour there. And, boy, were we glad we did!

Arundel:
Arundel came upon us like a shock! Since neither one of us had read up anything on it, we did not know what to expect. Imagine our reaction, then, when we rounded a corner and came upon the turrets of a fairy-tale castle perched high up on a hill, staring down at us as we drove along a curving street through the center of a medieval town whose beamed shop fronts hid antiques stores, charming eateries and warm tea rooms. Llew had chosen just that time to call me and with Stephanie exclaiming besides me in undisguised delight, I told Llew I would call him later. Indeed, the castle reminded me so very much of the grandeur of the structure known as the Palais des Papes (Papal Palace) in Avignon in the South of France. It certainly had the same dimensions and color and some architectural features such as the crosses cut deep into the steep sides. We parked our car and hurried to see what we could of the castle before we lost all light for it was almost 4.00 pm by this time.

Wondering how to get inside, we asked a little old lady seated on a bench where we could find the entrance when we received the bad news that the castle is open only after April. As we climbed the steep hillside lined with antiques shops, I disappeared into one of them leaving Steph to find her way to the top. I poked around a bit and left with a lovely Hammersley porcelain cup and saucer for my collection which cost me almost nothing. It is steals like these that make my browsing in antiques shops so worthwhile.

Climbing further up the hillside, we arrived at the ancient stone Church of St. Nicholas that dates from the 13th century. I almost had an accident here as the glass and wooden doors of the church were difficult to open. “Turn the knob and push hard” instructed a little sticker on the door. Well I did and I almost tumbled over four steps that lay just beyond the door! Relieved that I had done myself no harm, we roamed about the interior of the church.

Next, we tackled the imposing interior of yet another Cathedral–this one belonging to the Roman Catholic Diocese of Arundel. Of course,we had to go inside and inspect it and how thrilling it was to read the history of Saint Philip Howard, once Earl of Arundel, a courtier in the time of Elizabeth I. He was persecuted for converting to Catholicsm and sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered after being convicted over cooked-up charges of treason (he is reported to have prayed for a Spanish victory over the Armada!). He died of malnutrition (some might say mercifully) when imprisoned in the Tower of London and was canonized a few years later. It is always these little nuggets of history–whether ecclesisastical or secular–that catch my fancy and keep me rivetted to the spot as I circle the monuments that signify their occurence.

On our way downhill, we browsed in another antiques store–this one carrying pricey country furniture as Steph looked for a mirror and a dresser for her flat. Everything was atrociously overpriced, however, and so we beat a hasty retreat. Arundel came upon us like an unexpected gift and we were so thrilled we took the advise of an Englishman to explore a part of the country of which neither of us had heard.

Petworth:
Then, realizing that another picturesque town–this time, one I had heard of before–was on our return route to London, I suggested we drive through Petworth. Petworth House, run by the National Trust, is another great country estate but like all National Trust properties, it remains closed until Easter (I do wish I had been warned about this because an English Heritage membership seems to offer much better value for money. Not only do their properties remain open all year round but they have tie up agreements with several sites that allow their members discounted entry as Stephanie is finding out, much to her joy, while National Trust members get no discounts at all).

Our drive through Petworth did reveal a tiny town that time forgot, complete with narrow winding lanes (also full of antiques stores, enticing shops and cute restaurants–all, unfortunately, closed by the time we arrived there).

We did get a good flavor, however, of the quaint charm of these Sussex coastal towns that come suddenly upon the motorist along country lanes that are sprinkled with villages, dotted with stone-clad churches and fields full of cud-chewing black cows. This kind of rural English landscape that I sometimes believe to be its most spectacular element, followed us all the way into Surrey by which time we had lost light completely as the sun set over the third salmon and aquamarine evening sky I have seen over the past three days.

On the way back on the Tube from Wimbledon, I couldn’t help thinking how progressively better the weather had gotten since we first began these Sunday excurisons together. In Rochester, we had rain. In Battle, we had snow. In Canterbury, we had clouds. And in Chichester, we finally had little spurts of sunshine that had lit up the entire country with a burnished glow.

With a little bit of luck, we will see the rest of the United Kingdom at its best.

And so on we go… towards yet another week–as Lent begins, Shrove Tuesday brings its customary pancakes, Ash Wednesday brings its, well, ashes and we slowly inch towards the spring-time joys of Easter!

Mozart’s Magic Flute at the Coliseum

Feb7

Saturday, February 7, 2009
London

The days are flying too fast for my liking. I cannot believe that the first week of February has passed already. This semester is galloping ahead and I don’t feel as if I am accomplishing anything substantial.

I woke up too early yet again–before 5 am. Turning to Harry Potter, I covered large chunks of the Chamber of Secrets before I tried to fall asleep again. Somehow, I did not succeed. My mind is cluttered now with too many thoughts that no longer have the serenity of a few months ago.

About 10 am, after I had spoken to my parents in Bombay and my cousin Blossom in Madras, I finally got out of bed and had some breakfast–cereal and milk. Since Stephanie would be arriving later in the day, I decided to do a thorough cleaning of my flat. I started with the kitchen, then worked my way through my bedroom and the hallway and the bathroom. It took enormous amounts of time during which I tried to keep the radio on so I could listen to some music–I really have developed a liking for a station called Magic 104.5. But then, I pressed a wrong button on the remote, and bang, just like that, I lost signal. I requested Tim or a Barbara to take a look and Tim arrived a few minutes later and with his magic IT touch, he got it all sorted out in minutes. I am so blessed to have such helpful neighbors.

Most of my cleaning was done by then and I was starving and it seemed a good time to take a lunch break–more Broccoli Cheddar Soup (I really did make a ton of it that snowy day), Spaghetti Bolognese (store-bought) and Saag Alloo (also store-bought) and watched Market Kitchen while I munched.

It was about 2. 30 by this point and Llew called and we had a chat for almost an hour. I expected Stephanie to call anytime and she did send me an email telling me that she had finished looking at flats in Richmond for the day and would soon be headed out to my place on the Tube. Only she simply did not arrive! While waiting for her, I had a shower, reviewed a student essay that might bring upon him a plagiarism charge and continued reading Harry Potter. Still no sign of Steph! It was time to call and find out what had happened.

Well, it turned out that on her way back home to Wimbledon, she decided to see two more flats and that held her up considerably. She would be with me in an hour, she said. This gave me a chance to make a few more phone calls (as my land line calls are free throughout the weekend) to my friend Bina in Harrow–we had a long chinwag–and to a couple of Anglo-Indians respondents for my research project.

At about 5.30 pm, Steph finally arrived and we had a cup of coffee and biscuits as she got her breath back. Like most people who have visited my London flat, she was so envious of my location and loved my place overall. About 6. 30 pm, we set out, took the bus to Covent Garden and The Bear and Staff Pub on Shaftesbury Avenue which had a special–2 meals for 10 pounds. It was such a good deal that we decided we just had to try it. Steph chose the Burger while I went for the Gammon Steak with Scrambled Eggs and Chips–it was scrumptious and Steph loved her burger! I had always wanted to taste a true British gammon steak and it was juicy and just bursting with flavor. English chips are also far better than the ‘fries’ we get in the US which are usually limp and rather soggy. To wash it down, Steph had a Diet Coke while I opted for half a pint of cider. This has become very much my drink of choice and I realize that I love English cider very much indeed.

Much as we would have liked to savor our meal, we had to rush as we had a curtain call at 7.30 pm for Mozart’s The Magic Flute, a production of the English National Opera at the Coliseum. We had Balcony tickets; but luckily there was a lift. It took us ten minutes to walk there briskly from the pub and just in time, we found our (cheap) seats and settled down. The house was almost full–but for a few scattered seats that I saw way down in the Orchestra section, every single one was taken. And no wonder too!

The opera was just delightful. Not only was Mozart’s music charming and even catchy (if one can say that about classical music), but the sets and costumes, the lights and sound effects and, above all, the singing was so marvelous that we were enthralled. The guy who played Papageno was superb and we had an understudy playing Pamina for our performance and yet she was amazing. Steph, who is a huge opera lover and has seen far more operas than I have (for I have only recently got into them) was thrilled. I am looking forward now to seeing La Boheme next month at the same venue.

We didn’t waste too much time getting home on the buses as it had been a long day and I was tired and sleepy. Back home in just 20 minutes, I made up a bed with sheets, a pillow and my down comforter for Steph on the pull out sofa bed in my living room and she settled down to look at our Scotland album before we called it a night.

We have plans to go to Mass to the Brompton Oratory tomorrow followed by a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum which is just next door. Steph has brunch plans with a friend right after that and I might continue to hang out at the museum for the rest of the afternoon.

It is so great to have her spending the weekend with me–it is a pity that she arrived so late, but once she has found a flat for herself in Richmond and makes the move from Wimbledon, I am sure she will hang out here much more.

‘Tons of Money’ in Richmond, A Piano Recital at the National Gallery and ‘Oliver’ at the West End

Jan21

Wednesday, January 22, 2009
London

White I adore London for its long and colorful history, there is a downside to this aspect of its charm. Road works! Ever since I can remember taking possession of this flat at High Holborn, there have been ‘road works’ at some point or the other along its length from Chancery Lane Tube Station to High Holborn Tube station. This plays havoc with the smooth flow of traffic along one of London’s main arterial roads. This also means that you can never really time a journey by bus as it all depends on the vagaries of the road workers and their whims–they hold up buses while their construction vehicles are given priority and when one sits on the upper deck as I always do and have a view of all proceedings beneath me, it is often frustrating and infuriating. But then I have to remember that when you live in a city that has been a work-in-progress since the Medieval Age, you cannot complain.

I don’t know whether this is purely psychological, but after my visit to Paul, the specialist physiotherapist, at Euston Hospital (my name for the University of London’s Hospital at Euston), my legs feel much better. His exercises are more challenging and one of then requires me to lie down on a bed when performing it–which means that I cannot do it three times a day as I am invariably out and about in the afternoon–but they seem to be working already although he told me that I would not feel their effects for weeks. I have also resolved to be good and not walk for leisure anymore. If I take foot rest, the homeopathic treatment, perform the exercises and pray, I should hope to see a complete cure by May–when I hope to start walking the Jubilee Walkway in little spurts.

Awaking at 5 am, I spent an hour reading Bombay Tiger which has a completely different style from the rest of Kamala Markandaya’s novels–though the content bears similarity to The Coffer Dams. After doing my exercises, spending a while blogging, having breakfast and taking a shower, I headed out the door for a long bus ride to Richmond that involved changing three buses.

It was a most unusual winter’s days in London for it was bathed in golden sunlight under clear blue skies. I actually left the house today without an umbrella and just a small bag (though I did carry my camera) so as to avoid the load on my back. Changing buses wasn’t a problem at all and I was actually able to ride in one of the historic Number 9 buses from Piccadilly to the Royal Albert Hall. I now have the hang of changing buses at Hammersmith Broadway Bus Station (at which point you walk through a shopping mall which always makes me feel as if I am back in Connecticut!). I arrived in Richmond at 12. 15 pm, recognized the shops on The Quadrant just past the main railway station and hopped off.

I walked quickly to the Tesco Metro to buy what has become a favorite sandwich (The Cheddar Cheese and Onion) and though it costs a mere pound, it is truly delicious. I also found a pack of four chocolate eclairs for a pound and with this lunch in the bag, I started on a short self-guided walk in Richmond from my book 24 Great Walks in London with the promise to myself that I would take long and frequent breaks and stop as soon as my feet felt strained.

It was such a perfect days for walking. In fact it was a perfect day, period. This is the very first time that I saw Barnes Bridge on a sunlit day and while I recognized it immediately from the bus, I wish I could have gotten off and taken a few pictures of it as the ones I have taken before on rainy days make it look so dour and forbidding. Once in Richmond, I found myself walking along short Duke Street towards The Green which was once a sheep pasture but is used today for a variety of sporting activities including cricket. I could not believe that just a few yards ahead of me were the remains of Old Richmond Palace from which the Tudor King Henry VII had reigned, where his son Henry VIII had been born and where his grand-daughter Elizabeth I had died. Destroyed, but for a small portion of it, by Oliver Cromwell, the seal of Henry VII is still embedded in one of the Palace Gates that marks the entry into a lovely evocative old Tudor Yard that contains the Royal Wardrobe Building.

Enchanted by this hidden treasure and moved by the fact that the remaining shreds of this building have seen so much bloody history (before Henry moved his court to Hampton Court Palace which he seized from Cardinal Wolsey–I can understand now why the egotistical Henry would never tolerate the fact that his lowly prelate owned a dwelling that was so much more magnificent than his own!) I walked along a delightful street with old attached ‘cottages’ that took me to the Thames riverfront where twin bridges stood right in front of me. The promenade along the river was just delightful and many people were out walking despite the wind and the rather chilly temperatures. I read up on the history of the Old Deer Park (which has no deer in it), then ate a sandwich and an eclair on a bench overlooking the water.

A little later, I found myself walking under the beautiful Richmond Bridge which is made of Portland stone and climbing the steps into O’Higgins Square to start a short climb along Hill Rise towards what my book describes as the only protected view in the UK–protected by a 1906 Act of Parliament. Personalities from Turner to Reynolds to Walter Scott have described it as ‘the most unrivalled view in the country’ and William Byrd, the founder of Richmond, Virginia, is said to have named the new colony in the New World because the view of his territory across the Potomac reminded him of just this view of London across the Thames at this site. Be that as it may, one of the ‘owners’ of this unsullied view today is none other than rock idol, Mick Jagger, who owns a house in The Ashburton, a block of grand terraced housing that overlooks the bend in the Thames at this vantage point.

I decided to cut short my rambles at this point as my pedometer (that I am now wearing constantly) reminded me that I had already walked more than a mile. I took a bus back to the center of town and from there found my way to the famous Richmond Theater for my 2. 30 show–but not before I popped into the Cancer Research Charity shop and found myself a lovely English bone china cup and saucer to add to my collection at home. It caught my eye because it was so unusual–a matt black background suddenly opens up to a white glazed border on both cup and saucer that sports the Greek key design. It was these differences in texture that so fascinated me and at 3. 50 pounds, I could not go wrong.

The reason I was at Richmond Theater was to see Alan Ackybourne’s Tons of Money which stars Christopher Timothy whom I have grown to love so much in the TV series from the 70s and 80s called All Creatures Great and Small in which Timothy plays the role of Yorkshire vet James Herriott. I have to say that I was sorely disappointed, first of all, to discover that he had rather a small role (he played the Butler Spruze) and, second, that age has taken its toll on him so that he looks most unlike his younger self. He has filled out considerably, his hair has long abandoned him and his features too have changed. But for his voice (one can never change one’s voice), there is little resemblance to the actor of old who so stole my heart away.

One of the many surprises of this afternoon was the presence in the cast of Janet Henfrey (who plays Mrs. Bale in the BBC TV series As Time Goes By). This is the second time I have seen her on stage–she was present in The Importance of Being Ernest starring Penelope Keith that I saw at the Vaudeville Theater at the Strand last March with my friend Amy Tobin). The play was entertaining but not worth the long hike to Richmond unless one combines it with a walk as I did. At any rate, the theater was only half full, but I swear I was the youngest person in the audience! Everyone around me was silver haired and was no doubt there out of nostalgia for the good old days of the telly when Christopher Timothy made evening viewing special.

Then, I was on the bus again headed back to the city because, unwittingly, I had booked tickets for two plays on the same day (not having my calendar with me when I had booked a ticket for Tons of Money in December when I had gone to see Peter Pan, the Christmas pantomime at Richmond Theater). I knew that I would arrive in the city rather early–my next show (Oliver starring Rowan Atkinson in the role of Fagin) was not until 7. 30 pm at the Royal Theater on Drury Lane (this is the third show I am seeing there after French and Saunders Live and another one whose name I cannot now recall).

Having about an hour to kill, I hopped off at Trafalgar Square hoping that the National Gallery would have a late evening closing–and how right I was. A quick look at “Today’s Program” at the Sainsbury Entrance informed me that there was a free piano recital starting at 6 pm in Gallery 18. So off I went to take my place on a chair right in front of the baby grand piano that graced the gallery on a lovely Oriental carpet. The two performers of the evening were Kentaro Nagai and David Malusa, both from the Royal College of Music who kept me enthralled with an hour long program that included a fantastia and fugue by Bach, an unbelievable Ballad by Chopin, Iberian music from Spanish composes Mompou and Albeniz and a stunning work by Schumann. I could not have asked for a better way to spend an hour. This is what I most love about living in London. I come upon these cultural surprises in the most unexpected of ways and because I have so few commitments here, I can seize the opportunity to enjoy them as and when they present themselves.

Then, I was off on the bus again heading towards Aldwych where at Drury Lane, I hopped off to get to the Theater Royal. I keep forgetting how gorgeous the interior of these theaters are. This one is splendid–with fat putti adorning its walls in the lavish plasterwork along the ceiling and outside the boxes. The only horrid thing about this theater is that the balcony is about seven floors high–you feel as if you have scaled Mount Everest by the time you get to your seat–and being a ‘graded’ building, they cannot install elevators inside.

The auditorium was packed to capacity (as the play won some terrific reviews when it opened a couple of weeks ago). All around me were American college students, one of whom informed me that they were from Long Island’s Hofstra University studying British Drama for a month during their winter break. They were fidgety and noisy (as American students usually are), made inane comments during the interval (“That scene with Bumble was so sexual. She wasn’t supposed to hit on him like that” and “We were sitting at the worst possible angle for that scene”–it happened to be one in which Beadle’s wife bared her cleavage in a seduction scene!). I enjoyed these comments but the very proper English lady sitting besides me was besides herself with outrage at the behavior of the sprightly Americans and at the fact that she had to “get up and down and up and down” to accommodate their frequent passage to and from their seats!

Oliver was superb. I did not realize that some of the songs I have known since my childhood (Oom-Pah-Pah, I’d Do Anything) are from this musical. Apart from the stars (Rowan Atkinson whom I first got to know as Mr. Bean is unforgettable as Fagin and he can sing!–as is Jodi Prenger as Nancy), the little guy who played the Artful Dodger was amazing. Sets were truly stunning and the recreation of Victorian England so appealing visually that for a while I seemed to have transported myself to a different world altogether. It was truly one of the finest shows I have seen since arriving in London in September and I could understand why the critics have been raving about it.

Two plays in the same day, a musical concert, a sunny walk in Richmond…truly it was a day packed with pleasurable activity and by the time I was riding the bus back home, I felt culturally saturated. I could only talk to Llew for a few minutes before I called it a night.

Spring Classes Begin and Seeing an NHS Physiotherapist

Jan20

Monday, January 19, 2009
London

Rain poured down at dawn on the first day of classes as I showered and breakfasted and left my flat early to take the bus to get to Bedford Square. The idea was to beat every other faculty member to the basement copy machines. I needn’t have worried. No one else had surfaced for a first class on a Monday and I had the premises entirely to myself. In fact, I had only 7 students in my Writing II class in the lovely ornate Room 12 with its brass chandeliers and its ornamental ceiling plasterwork and moulding.

Class One is devoted to going over the syllabus and explaining course requirements and getting to know new students. The way I did this was through an assignment entitled ‘Primary Sources’ in which I ask students to pick any 6 words or short phrases that best describe their journey through life. They then expand on these phrases by writing an accompanying paragraph that fleshes out the essentialist idea and helps create a mosaic that informs the reader about the writer’s past. They set to work cheerfully as sunlight flooded the room. I am looking forward to this course which includes field trips with accompanying assignments to Cornwall as well as Portsmouth and Winchester when the weather turns warmer.

During my hour long lunch break, I caught up on email, did some more photocopying and noticed that life had returned to the campus’ academic building, former home of Lord Eldon, Chancellor of London. Other professors started to descend down to the copy machine. I had a chat with Llew who was headed to Manhattan to meet Chrissie to pick up the stuff my parents and I’d sent through her for him from India. We decided to speak again later in the day.

At 2pm, I left for my second class which is located in the University of London’s Birkbeck College. This Writing II class had a larger enrollment–16 to be precise. Several were returning students who’d taken my Writing I class last semester but several were new faces, three of whom are from Turkey. It is like a mini-United Nations in this classroom with students from India, China, Korea, France and the United States and, no doubt, they will bring a great deal of their own background and heritage to bear upon our study of London’s multi-cultural and multi-racial quarters as well as the ethnographic profile that I have asked them to create based on individual research and personal interviews. It promises to be an exciting semester and I am looking forward to it.

I left this class early at 3. 30 pm (instead of 5 pm) as I had an appointment with the specialist physiotherapist that the NHS has finally allotted me. Imagine… I had to wait for three whole months to be granted an interview with a specialist physiotherapist. This, I guess, is the down side of socialized health care. In the United States, I’d be able to see any specialist of my choice within 24 hours. Here, I had to wait for three whole months! On the other hand, in the United States, the visit would have cost no less than $400–of which I’d have to pay a co-pay of $30 per visit, my medical insurance covering the rest. In this country, I was not required to spend a penny but imagine if I hadnt seen a private physiotherapist as I did in October itself since my Aetna Global Insurance covered it, I’d have been writing in agony for 3 months before I could find relief from pain! It is truly hard to imagine such a situation and it explains why the United States is so reluctant to go the socialized medicine route. The wealthy would never tolerate this sort of time lag even while the poor would finally have access to quality health care. It is an impossible dilemma to resolve and today, the day on which the first African-American President of the United States is sworn in as the leader of the First World, I have to wonder whether we Americans will ever be able to settle this impasse.

Paul was very professional indeed as he started from scratch. I had to go through the plethora of questions–where, when, how did the affliction (Plantar Fascittis) assault me. What have I done so far to relieve my condition? What sort of exercises have I been prescribed? etc. etc. He started from Square One, asking me to walk across the room so he could assess my gait. I was pronounced to have a right foot that is flatter than the left (hence the persistent pain in its arch), a right foot that flares out slightly when I walk, weak hip and knee muscles (that are probably responsible for the pain in my knee every time I have done a bit too much walking). Paul recommended a series of exercises (I will be retaining two of the old ones and adding two newer ones) as well as an exercise that involves the use of an elastic rubber band to strengthen the muscles on my right ankle. He too (like my homeopath Alpana Nabar of Bombay) has suggested that I avoid all unnecessary walking for the next two months at least to allow the muscles and tendons to relax completely. This means that I will have to scrap all self-guided walks though I can still do the museum visits in short spurts. I have to admit that I was rather “naughty” (as my friend Cynthia Colclough puts it) and as soon as the pain in the knee disappeared over the two weeks that I stayed in Bombay (where the warmer weather also helped), I was out and about again…hey, you can’t keep a good gal down! Now I know better and shall follow doctor’s orders walking no more than for 20 minutes at a stretch and carrying as light a load as possible. The very thoughtful gift that Chriselle gave me for Christmas (a pedometer) will prove very useful as it measures the number of steps I’ve taken, the number of miles covered as well as the number of calories that have been expended with each step that I take.

On the way home, I felt the beginnings of a cold. My throat felt raspy and dry and I became aware of a strange weakness descend upon me. I took a Crocin immediately and had an early dinner and got into bed with the idea of turning in early. Then the phone began ringing off the hook–first it was Cynthia catching up with me after my return to London, then Stephanie Provost called. She is a close friend of my close friend Amy Tobin and has also been posted in the UK for a year from the States. She is a marketing whiz and works for Twinning Tea Company and will be launching this product line in Europe. Her work involves a great deal of international travel but she is certainly up for doing anything cultural or artsy as well as taking daytrips with me on the weekends. The good news is that the company has given her a spiffy car–a Lexus–and pays her gas bills! This will allow us to take daytrips at the weekend once the spring thaw arrives. The bad news is that she doesn’t work in London but in Andover and, therefore, lives right now in Wimbledon (on the outskirts of London) and will likely be moving shortly to Richmond. We have made plans to meet on Sunday, January 25, to take a day trip to Oxfordshire to see Blenheim Plaace and Klemscott Manor (home of William Morris) and will synchronize our respective calendars at that point and try to find weekend slots during which we can take in a few new plays and go to the opera. So many wonderful plays have recently opened in the city starring some really big names (James McEvoy, Imelda Staunton, Hayley Atwell, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, Edward Fox, Christopher Timothy, Steven Tomkinson, etc.) and I am keen to see them all.

Just then Llew called and we had a long chat and caught up with everything that had happened that day. He had the day off (Martin Luther King Day) and with the USA gearing up for Obama’s big inauguration tomorrow, it promises to be an exciting and very historic day in the country.

I was asleep by 9. 30 and awoke at 5. 30 am (which I guess is better than awaking at 3.30am!) but I still keep hoping that I will sleep until at least 6 am each morning. I guess I am slowly getting there.

Still More National Gallery, NYU Orientation Lunch and a Bus Ride to Hampstead

Jan16

Thursday, January 15, 2009
London

I do not have Internet connectivity at home, which is the most frustrating thing in the world! As a result, I could not check my email as soon as I awoke this morning (at the slightly less unearthly hour of 4. 50 am now, not 3. 30 am!). I used the time to finish reading Scattered Seeds, an anthology of photographs and short essays edited by Dorothy Dady, containing profiles on diasporic Anglo-Indians in various parts of the English-speaking world. I had the pleasure of meeting Dorothy in Richmond in November when she gifted a copy of her book to me. Reading the material it contains carefully has been a deeply enriching experience and I hope that she will now assist me in networking with the many Anglo-Indians of all ages based in the UK whom she had the occasion to meet through her work.

At 8.45 am, when I finished reading the book, I finally got out of bed to eat my breakfast frittata (with a sausage and coffee—I am trying to avoid carbs) and take a shower. By 10 am, I was heading out the door and walking to Fleet Street to take the bus to Trafalgar Square as I wanted to see a bit more of the 17th century European paintings. Trying to locate them through the basement online catalog took me a good half hour and left me with another half hour to browse through a couple of the galleries before I hurried to the Reception desk in the Sainsbury Wing to catch the 11. 30 am “taster” tour of the collection, which was given by a docent named Elizabeth Allen. I was rather disappointed by the tour because it covered only 5 paintings and dwelt on them in so much detail as to become rather uninteresting after the first five minutes. She chose to present The Battle of San Romano by Paolo Uccello, an Altarpiece of the Madonna and Saints by Andrea Mantegna, The Finding of Moses by Nicolas Poussin and a version of the same subject by …. And Turner’s Hercules Deriding Polyphemus, which is considered the Number One item in the entire collection. A great deal of time was spent on the history of the museum and the manner in which the collection came to be accumulated and I often feel that viewers can always read this up on their own. It seems a pity to waste time while they are in the galleries on such extraneous information.

Then, I was hopping into a bus to get to Bloomsbury for the NYU Orientation Lunch for sophomores who have arrived in London for their spring semester. The luncheon that was held in The Venue in the ULU (University of London Union) building did not, thankfully, comprise the small tea sandwiches that I have grown to expect on every such luncheon menu. Instead, there was a decent hot lunch with Chinese Noodles with Mixed Vegetables, a Vegetable Lasagna and really good Chicken with Cashews in a Mushroom and Wine Sauce. Dessert was Lemon Cake and Chocolate Cake but having fuelled up on lunch, ( I was starving by the time I filled my plate), I merely tasted the cake and decided to forego the pleasure. The luncheon was a chance to meet my colleagues again and catch up with them and to force myself to think about the return to the grindstone next week.

After lunch, I spent about an hour in my basement office catching up on my email, which I finally managed to retrieve. I discovered that there are only 2 students registered to take my South Asian Civilization course. However, since one of them needs it to fulfill a degree requirement, it cannot be dropped. Dean Schwarzbach has suggested that I run it as an independent study course rather than a formal course, which means that it is now left to me to restructure it entirely as I see fit. I will probably meet with the students informally in my office in tutorial setting and I shall assign readings and movies to be watched by them in their own time. I am excited to have the opportunity to teach a course in this way—apart from the fact that this will now free up my Tuesdays leaving me with a regular teaching assignment just once a week.

Since there was still daylight outside my basement window, I decided to take a bus ride to Hampstead Heath in order to be able to view London by night from Parliament Hill (so-called because Guy Fawkes and his fellow-conspirators met here to plot the overthrow of Parliament in the Gunpowder Plot and intended to watch the building blow up from this high vantage point!).

The Number 24 bus from Bloomsbury took me to Camden Town, which allowed me also to discover where the famous Camden Lock Market is located—perhaps something I shall explore tomorrow as I hear that it is mobbed on weekends. In less than half an hour, I was at Hampstead Heath and on asking for directions, found my way up Parliament Hill to a fine peak studded with wooden benches from which the sparkling lights of London’s landmark buildings made an appealing sight. Despite the fact that darkness had fallen, there were still enough people on the Heath walking their dogs and the setting reminded me very much of Salman Rushdie’s novel Fury as the male protagonist lives in Hampstead, as also of a number of movies I have seen in which scenes were shot on Hampstead Heath. I really did enjoy my twilight foray into this lovely park and I intend to return to it again when the weather turns warmer and the days are longer.

Back on the Number 24 bus, I arrived in Bloomsbury where I caught another bus home. To my disappointment, I discovered that while I am able to receive messages, I cannot send any. I also cannot access the Web from home. Deciding to make the most of the rest of the evening, I began scrap booking—putting into an album the pictures and other memorabilia that I collected on our August trip to Yorkshire and Scotland. Since I arrange all my photos in albums of uniform design—all with burgundy covers–I managed to bring one back with me from the States during my Christmas trip and it is this one that I can now fill with my clippings. I spent a good hour and a half doing this before I decided to get myself some dinner.

Jetlag is still dogging me and I find myself nodding off by 8 pm and awaking at 5am. Hopefully, I will be able to return to a more stable routine soon.