Tag Archive | Shakespeare

Out and About with Loreen and Dinner Next Door

Apr25

Saturday, April 25, 2009
London

When the day dawned all grey and dreary, I thought, Oh no….that’s it, the end of the glorious week we had. But then, just an hour later, the sky cleared up miraculously, those clouds parted and the sun shone full upon our curve of the globe.

Not that I intended to get anywhere during the morning. I was too tied up transcribing the interview I did with Susan Lynn last week. Needless to say, it took hours and went into 11 pages! My friend Loreen called to find out when I could hook up with her as it is her last day in London (she returns tomorrow to Connecticut). I excused myself pleading work and told her to carry on to the Shakespeare Globe Theater with her daughter Alicia to see Romeo and Juliet as I intended to see it when Chriselle arrived here. I did tell her to come over to my flat for a cup of tea after the show. This left me time to complete my work, proofread it and email it to my office to be printed out.

But less than an hour later, they called again to tell me that the Globe was House Full and they could not so much as get their small toes in! Well, we had no option but to alter our plans. I grabbed myself a light lunch and ran in for a shower and, a half hour later, I was opening my door to them.

It was while we were enjoying a cup of tea that my doorbell rang–it was Tim, my next-door neighbor, whom I invited to join us for a cuppa. He did just that and we spent almost an hour chatting together. Tim had come in bearing an invitation to his place for dinner in the evening as he was fixing Spaghetti Bolognese. Well, I told him that while I would be there in a heartbeat, I was on a low-carb diet and would have to skip the spaghetti and eat only the bolognese sauce. Or, he suggested, as an alternative, I could eat a very small portion of spaghetti–which I agreed I would do.

Then, Loreen, Alicia and I left for a long ramble in Holborn intending to visit the Inns of Court at Chancery. Only most of them were closed (because it was a Saturday?). We were glad we were able to see Gray’s Inn. We did arrive at Fleet Street where we decided to visit the Church of St. Clement Danes on The Strand. The bells of the church seemed to have crazy–the famous bells from the poem, that is: “Oranges and Lemons, Say the Bells of St. Clement’s”. The reason for the carillon was that a wedding had just ended and being the romantics we are, we stood on the sidewalk and watched as the bridal couple received warm wishes and hugs and kisses from their guests.

Interestingly, all of the ladies were wearing Phillip Treacy hats–I wonder if the bride had stipulated this–“You can only attend my wedding if you wear a Phillip Treacy hat!” She herself, dressed in a lovely cream lace gown, was a vision in the midst of so many gentlemen in top hats and tail coats–this is one aspect of English culture that I do wish had crossed the pond–the wearing of hats for ladies and top hats and tail coats for men at formal weddings, I mean. No matter how beautifully American women dress for weddings, none of them ever wears a hat. Pity, methinks!

The wedding party soon left the church ‘yard’ or what little is left of it in the middle of The Strand and filed into the two old Routemaster red buses hired for the occasion from London Transport to take them, presumably, to the next venue for the party! I watched all this, delighted to note that I had experienced an English wedding too while in London. Surely these folks could not have prayed for a better day. I mean there was not a cloud in the sky and the temperature was just perfect!

When the bridal party left, we trooped into the church so Loreen could check it out and take some pictures (I had seen this church previously on one of my self-guided walks) and then, because Alicia informed me that her mother had not yet seen Covent Garden, we walked there and spent the next hour watching buskers perform, listening to a string orchestra and taking in the tourist energy all around us. Yes, with the weather having changed, London is fast filling with tourists and I can’t help but feel pleased that I explored so many parts of the country and indeed Europe at a time when I had most of these sites entirely to myself.

Then, we were piling into a bus with the intention of getting to Holland Park so I could photograph some of the tulips I saw there before they have quite disappeared. But we were tempted on two occasion to alight: once by the crowds at Trafalgar Square where Mayor Boris Johnson was holding a free concert to celebrate St. George’s Day (though the temptation was strong, we resisted alighting from the bus at that point and elected to stay on board) and once at Piccadilly where we did get off to explore Fortnum and Mason as we were all starving by this point.

In the food court, we bought ourselves Scotch Eggs and quiche (for Alicia), then settled down on a bench at St. James’ Church Square and munched on our extempore snack as the craft vendors closed shop for the day. By then it was almost 6. 45 pm and time for me to return for my dinner with Tim and Barbara next door.

And what a delightful evening that was! Tim, of course, not only produced one of the superb meals I have grown to expect from him, but ever so thoughtfully had changed the menu completely in keeping with the dictates of my low-carb diet! To my enormous surprise, he eliminated the spaghetti and while he retained the Bolognese Sauce, he served it with sauteed mushrooms, glazed carrots and steamed beans–all of which combined to make a truly delicious meal and a most colorful plate! For dessert, I had taken along a Belgian Chocolate Cheesecake from “our larder” (as they like to call the M&S Simply Foods across our building) and together with coffee, it made another wonderful course which we enjoyed as we watched golf on TV, listened to extracts from a revue from the 1960s by Flanders and Swann, watched a portion of Top Gear, a BBC TV show of which I had never heard and generally talked about a lot of things! Time always flies when I am in their company and before I knew it was it was past 10. 30 pm and time for me to thank them and return home–all the way next-door!

I told Llew all about my day before I fell asleep but not before I wrote this blog.

Tomorrow I am off to Stratford-on-Avon with Stephanie to celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday in his own hometown!

Seeing Judi Dench on Stage, Another Interview and Springtime In London’s Parks

Apr22

Wednesday, April 22, 2009
London

Another glorious day in the city made me understand why the English tolerate their notoriously dull and dreary winters–it’s for days like this, that appear like the light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel. Being outdoors in Spring makes all those ghastly weeks worthwhile. I heard a giddy teenager, this morning, say, “Summer’s here, isn’t it?” Well, it certainly seemed like summer had arrived with a vengeance. I wore a T-shirt for the first time this year, if that can be any indication of a season’s change.

My day began in Notting Hill where I had an appointment to interview Susan Lynn, an Englishwoman who preceded me in having spent a great deal of time interviewing Anglo-Indians in Great Britain about fifteen years ago. While her focus was on the lives of the Anglo-Indians in India before World War II, mine, of course, is on the lives of Anglo-Indians in Great Britain since the War. Still, I felt as if she would be able to offer me a fund of information and anecdotes and, indeed, she did not disappoint.

First of all, her home which is in the basement of a terraced building in Kensington, one of London’s poshest residential neighborhoods, is the kind of English home I have inhabited in my fondest fantasies. You reach her front door by descending down a spiral wrought iron staircase and arrive at a landing filled with potted plants. Inside, there are all the props of the typical English home: countless photographs, loads of delicate china and porcelain ornaments, furniture that looks as if it has seen a happy lifetime in the service of image-unconscious owners, books–hardbound, old, well-thumbed.

Susan settled me down with a mug of coffee and biscuits (which I declined, tempting though they were) and we began our conversation. Though she was not “country-born”, her father was a member of the old Indian Civil Service and she spent long periods intermittently in India, a country she remembers with the sweetest nostalgia and to which she returned recently with the deepest affection. Her own research, documented on audio tapes, has been donated to the Empire and Commonwealth Museum and I know that they will make fascinating listening.

We spent almost two hours together, at the end of which we discovered that we had one more thing in common–we are both avid gardeners and when she gave me a tour of the lovely gardens that she helps maintain in the high-class neighborhood in which she lives, I was charmed. We realized that our mutual love of gardens and gardening ought to have led us outdoors to do the interview. Pity neither of us had thought about it. Still, I enjoyed sitting in her very ‘homey’ living room talking to this wonderfully articulate woman who is one of the Last Children of the Raj.

Then, because it was such a gorgeous day, I decided to do something I have been waiting for a long while to do: explore London’s Parks. Since Holland Park was so close to Susan’s place, that’s where I headed. I had carried a pile of student essays to mark and I decided to make real another one of the fantasies I have long entertained: sitting in the parks and grading them. In less than ten minutes, I was entering Holland Park, a place that became known to me through the TV series As Time Goes By, for Lionel Hardcastle and Jean Pargiter (played by Geoffrey Palmer and Judi Dench), the show’s protagonists, own one of these sought-after terraced houses in Holland Park. I haven’t yet been able to find the exact location of the street on which their house stands, but before I leave London perhaps I shall. The garrulous Web makes all such trivia so easily accessible now, doesn’t it?

And then I saw signs pointing me towards The Kyoto Garden. One of my students had made a presentation in class on ‘Japanese London’ and had mentioned the existence of this Japanese Garden in the heart of London. Well, here it was. I began to follow the signposts directing me to the garden when, lo and behold, a magnificent peacock strutted right past me! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Peacocks in a London garden!!! It walked right by me, tame as ever, crossed a pathway and went over to join its buddies on the other side–a half dozen of them! You could have struck me down with a feather. I was so annoyed with myself for not having recharged my camera last night. Here I was in the midst of a glorious London spring garden in which peacocks paraded nonchalantly by and I wasn’t able to capture the images! It frustrated me no end.

And then I found it–the lovely Zen calmness and serenity of the Kyoto Garden. Landscaped around a pond in which huge golden koi swam lazily and a short waterfall tumbled in a swirl of soapy foam, the garden curved around sweeping lawns, vivid magenta azaleas and coppery maples. It was a miniature Paradise and I was pleased as Punch when I found a vacant bench. It was not long before I whipped out my students’ papers and began marking them. Soon I started to feel hunger pangs tugging at my insides and I pulled out my packet lunch (containing my chicken salads) which I ate contentedly as squirrels scrambled around and birds chirped in the bushes. Truly, spring is good for the soul and I am so blessed to be able to enjoy this season so early in the year in this country.

At 1. 20 pm, I reluctantly left this idyllic spot to go out in search of the nearest Tube station. Passing by the cafe, my heart leapt with joy for there in front of me was the brick red structure that is featured in As Time Goes By as the spot where Lionel and Jean first met as a young soldier and trainee nurse respectively. He had asked her the way to Curzon Street and the rest became their personal history! Again, I rued the fact that I could not take pictures and decided that I simply would return again before all the scarlet tulips have disappeared. I know I shall never look upon that scene in the TV show again without seeing myself walking through the same boxwood pathways of that formal garden.

Then, I was in the Tube headed to Leicester Square to arrive at the Donmar Wyndam Theater where I had matinees show tickets to see Judi Dench (yes, what a coincidence that I had been to Holland Park in the morning where her huge TV hit show had been shot) in Yukio Mishima’s play Madame de Sade. I had been to this theater just a month ago to see Derek Jacobi play Malvolio in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but I was still taken by its fabulous interior. I had fairly good seats and gave myself entirely to the beauty of the production. For that’s exactly what it was–beautiful, no exquisite, in terms of set design and costumes which were the best parts of the shows. Christopher Outram outdid himself in creating a color palate that was monochromatic from one scene to the next and blended perfectly with the set design. Set during the years preceding the French Revolution, the recreation of the period must be a costume designer’s dream–what with those enormous silk skirts, towering hair-dos and fluttering fans. All the satorial grandeur of the period was spread out before our eyes in the most delectable colors that matched those of the walls. How ingenious a set design was that???

As for the performances, it was a pleasure I have waited long to experience: the opportunity to see Judi Dench, one of my favorite actors or all time, in the flesh, on the stage, emoting live, projecting her lines. Only, oh dear, because this legendary actress is also human, she did forget a line and for a very noticeable ten seconds at least, paused then got right back in her stride without so much as batting an eyelid. Still, the performances were exceptional, Dench’s stage presence alone giving her tons of marks. And then there was Madame de Sade (Rosamunde Pike) who was extraordinary and Frances Barber who, in my opinion, just stole the show getting better and better with each scene that she completely whisked away from right beneath Dame Judi’s nose! Mishima is verbose at the best of times and this play was no exception (many many moons ago I had actually acted in a play by Yukio Mishima called TheLady Aawee under the direction of Hima Devi in Bombay); but at least his lines are more poetic than prosaic and make magical listening especially when enunciated as expertly as these actors have been trained to do.
The play was only an hour and 45 minutes long which actually left me enough time to get back home to catch up with email and compose two quizzes for a gathering that my Dad is organizing in Bombay. Then, I was off again, headed to the same venue at Charing Cross to meet my friend Loreen and her daughter Alicia who were going to the 7.30 performance of the same play. We met in Chinatown at a restaurant on Little Newport Street where I nibbled on some greens and sipped green tea and caught up with them. Loreen has arrived in London for a week from Westport, Connecticut, to spend time with Alicia who is also posted in London for work. I took my leave of them about an hour later and headed back on the Tube to explore yet another park: Regent’s Park.

It was a long hike from the Regent’s Park Tube station to the Queen’s Garden where the roses in the summer are supposedly spectacular. While it was too early in the year for roses, tulips were everywhere in brilliant colors and the trees were in full bloom–pink, mauve, white. I saw a rhododendron so tall it was like a full-grown tree with the most startling magenta blossoms. Babies enjoyed their evening out in their prams, dogs appeared wild as they darted about energetically, Muslim women in headscarves and long skirts played badminton and kids rolled with abandon in the grass. It felt so good to be alive.

I did some more grading on a park bench before I took the Tube back home. It was almost 9 pm and darkness had fallen by the time I reached home to eat my dinner, watch a bit of TV, write this blog and get to bed on what had been a very productive yet very relaxing day for me.

Verona–City of Lovers

Mar22

Friday, March 20, 2009
Verona, Italy

Annalisa was tied up all day today in meetings at the University of Padua. Left to my own resources, I decided to take the train to Verona to see yet another beautiful medieval Italian city. After we checked the train schedule, I found that the 9.30 train would work for me. Breakfast followed (Lavazza coffee, Greek yoghurt with cereal and blood orange juice–fiery red and with quite a different delicious flavor) as did a shower and we were off at 9.00, Annalisa dropping me to Vicenza railway station before we said goodbye for the day.

Because it was a Eurostar City express train, I was in Verona within a half hour (day return was 23 euros). Once at Verona (about 10 am), I found the Tourist Information Office at the railway station and, armed with a map and some literature, I made my way out into the city. Verona is a very walkable city (as most Roman cities are), the main monuments clustered around the banks of the River Adige that flows through it in an elaborate S shape–similar to that of the Thames in London.

I walked briskly down Corso Porta Nuova, so-called because it stands at the corner of an old gatehouse wall–the New Door, in other words. Sunshine streamed generously upon the city and warmed me up as temperatures were still low enough to leave a distinct nip in the air. I walked straight towards the massive Roman Arena, stopping to browse at a local street market at Piazza Bra where organically grown fruits and vegetables, farm house cheeses and home-smoked hams and salami gave the area a mouth watering aroma. I resolved to take some of Italy’s gastronomic goodies home to London with me to enjoy them in the comfort of my home.

Last night, the Inspector Morse episode we saw together, Death of the Self, had been set partly in Vicenza and partly in Verona. Annalisa had been exclaiming throughout the screening as she recognized so many of the locations and had personal contacts with some–much to the exasperation of Giacomma whose limited (though very good) English required him to concentrate on every word if he was to follow the plot! The final scenes were set in the Arena in Verona where the main character, an opera singer, performed to a packed crowd. This made me all the more eager to visit the Arena–to walk, as it were, in the footsteps of John Thaw and Kevin Whatley.

The Roman Arena:
But the TV episode had not prepared me for the enormous size of the Arena. I paid the 6 euros entry fee and walked into the world of the Romans for it was built in the 1st century (about 61 AD) and yet exhibited marvelous engineering and construction techniques. How did these Romans manage to do the kind of building they did, I wondered. Then, I remembered slave labor and I ceased to be impressed. The arena was under refurbishment (as so many of Italy’s monuments constantly are) and the main ‘stage’ upon which the opera singer had belted out her arias was hidden behind screened scaffolding.

Nevertheless, the place was atmospheric in the extreme and as I requested fellow travelers to take my pictures against its pink stone stands (most of which are intact). I received a call from Llew (for it was about 11 am at the time). I told him where I was and described the arena and wished we were together. I also did tell him that Annalisa suggested we do a house swap, i.e. she takes over our Connecticut home next summer and we move into her Vicenza apartment at the same time. I thought it was a brilliant idea as Llew has not seen much of Italy at all and but for the few days we will be spending in Rome next month, he hasn’t toured the country. Such an arrangement will allow us to see Italy at leisure, especially the Veneto which Annalisa say offers wonderful walking opportunities in the Lower Alps, the glamor of Lake Garda and all these walled medieval towns, not to mention the proximity to Venice.

A Walk Along the River Adige:
Back outside the Arena, I walked along Via Roma towards Castelvecchio, an impressive 14th century castle built by the Scaligeri dynasty that had once ruled Verona in its medieval heyday. It has been converted into an art gallery and museum but I was more keen to explore the city than remain cloistered indoors. As I walked across the Ponte Scaligero that was packed with school groups out on a field trip (as was the Arena), I took many pictures as the huge ramparts of the castle just begged to be photographed.

Once on the opposite bank of the River Adige, I walked eastwards towards the Duomo or Cathedralwith its grand Romanesque portal. Inside, I made it a point to see Titian’s Assumption. Every one of these Italian churches in the tourist belt charges an admission fee but, I have discovered, that if you wish to enter to say a prayer, you are exempt from paying the fee. This allows the local Italians to continue to use their churches even during tourist visiting hours.

The walk along the river banks was easily one of the best I took on this trip. Not only was the weather perfect for walking but the streets on both sides are lined by grand pallazos, churches whose spires and domes give the skyline a look that is reminiscent of Salzburg in Austria (one of my favorite cities in the world) and a river that glistened softly under romantic bridges that reminded me of Paris. I crossed the Ponte Garibaldi to buy myself some gelato at a gelateria, quite impressed, if I say so myself, by my rapidly growing facility with Italian: “Buon Giorgno, Signora. Gelato per favore. Una pralline, coppa. Cioccolatto”. As Giacommo told me later, it was “Perfect!” I sat outside in the sunshine studying my map and savoring my ice-cream and decided to rest my legs for a while before I set out again, this time towards the Teatro Romano which, Annalisa told me, I must not miss.

The Teatro Romano:
Verona’s Theater Romano is reached across one of the oldest Roman Bridges in the city–the Ponte Pietra or Stone Bridge which reveals its age in the exposed stones with which it is constructed. It is a curving bridge that spans the river quite theatrically indeed and leads you across to the heights of the Roman remains of the old theatre, most of whose stands are still intact–thoug the rest of it is in ruins. I paid the 5 euros entry fee and using the map and the directions climbed the many high steps up into the hidden corners of the complex which, in addition to the remains of a monastery (including really evocative cloisters), houses an archeological museum today.

The highlight of a visit to the Roman Theater, however, is the view of the city from the Grand Terrase–an almost 360 degree vista that offers stunning scenes of the city with its uniformly tiled red roofs, its spires and domes, its lazy river and its scenic bridges. It was a perfect day for photographs and snap away I did. Meanwhile, a quick walk through the rooms of the museum revealed marble sculpture, bronze figurines, bits and pieces of ancient frescoes–nothing very special anywhere but all contributing towards the age and antiquity of the space.

Lunch in the Piazza of the Church of St. Anastasia:
It was time next to cross the Ponte Pietra again and go out in search of the Church of Saint Anastasia which I could see clearly across the banks of the Adige. Its tall spire was very prominent indeed and as I walked along quiet, almost deserted cobbled streets and squares towards the Piazza, I believed that it was these walks that I enjoyed almost as much as the sights I had come to Verona to see.

Unfortunately, almost the entire interior of the church is under heavy renovation which makes tourist visits pointless, but it did offer me an opportunity to marvel at the two holy water stoups that sit upon the carved stone shoulders of two I. Gobbi (or hunchbacks), one being a hundred years older than the other. They made a wonderful pair indeed and after I took pictures, I decided to find myself a small ristorante somewhere for a pasta lunch as it was 2 pm by this time and I was hungry.

I could not have been luckier in my choice of restaurant for right there in the piazza overlooking the grand exterior of the church was a tiny place that offered a variety of pasta preparations for just 5 euros. As I settled myself down, a basket of Italian rolls was placed at the table and with the accompanying olive oil and balsamic vinegar that accompnaied it, I found myself enjoying one of my favorite treats in the world–bread dipped in balsamic vinaigrette. When the waitress arrived at my table, I ordered Fettucine con Fungi (fettucini with mushrooms) and a few minutes later, I was presented with a dish that was superb–I sprinkled on the fresh parmesan-regiano that was available and with some freshly ground pepper cracked all over it, it was one of the most memorable dishes I ate on this trip–not to mention startlingly good value for money.

The Attractions of the Piazza dei Signori:
After a 45 minute rest, it was time for me to leave the quiet and serenity of these untrodden paths behind and venture into the main tourist areas of Verona which I did find out to be around the Piazza dei Signori. This area was buzzing with student groups (I heard many high school American accents). The statue of the poet Dante dominates the square which is surrounded by imposing medieval buildings, almost all of which are official buildings today. Just around the corner in the adjoining square, a great deal of renovation work was going on at the Tombs of the Scaligeri family (mainly by way of stripping these monuments of centuries of accumulated dirt and grime) but I did enter the tiny Santa Maria Antica Church which proclaimed its age boldly in its hushed interior.

It was time, then, to go out in search of the Casa di Romeo, yes, the home of Romeo–the Romeo of Shakeapeare’s play, for Verona, of course, is the great city of the feuding Capulets and Montagues. I found it on a deserted side street, far from the prying eyes of tourists or noisy student groups, its walls, therefore, free of the ugly graffiti that I saw on all the moinuments associated with Juliet!

I passed next through the Piazza del Herbe (which probably got its name from the early produce markets that were held there each week). In modern times, these piazzas serve the needs of tourists looking for cheap trinkets and souvenirs of their visits. The Plalazo dei Raggioni has an imrpessive frontage and the Lion of St. Mark stands sentinel on a tall column (as it does in almost all these medieval cities in the Veneto). I strolled around at leisure, taking in the atmosphere which has remained unchanged in centuries.

Juliet’s House:
Then, since it was not too far away, I decided to pop into the Casa de Guiletta, perhaps Verona’s most popular attraction. No one is certain whether this quiet courtyard that houses the famous balcony is, in fact, the house of the Capulets. But the folks who run the visits to the house as a commercial venture swear that there are enough signs inside to prove that the Capulets did own this home. I refused to pay the steep admission charge (10 euros) to stand on the balcony and have my picture taken, but I did compromise in that I posed below the balcony near the contemporary sculpture of Juliet that adorns the courtyard. Graffiti covers the walls of the entrance and the hundreds of students who move through the space made it clear where it came from. Inside, near the ticket kiosk, is a bronze sculpture of Shakespeare and at every venue associated with the play are appropriate lines from Romeo and Juliet for it was this drama that immortalized the couple and keeps the name of the Montagues and the Capulets still alive in Verona today.

San Fermo Maggiore:
It was time then to leave these crowded tourist attractions behind and move into more interesting architectural monuments such as the Church of San Fermo Maggiore which I found by following my map and asking occasionally for directions. This very interesting church is unique because it is actually two churches–a large Romanesque one that has a fantastic ship’s keel ceiling and beneath it, an older medieval one which sits on top of more excavated ruins. The interiors of these Italian churches are quite unlike any you can see in the rest of Europe and their architectural details always hold tremendous interest for me.

Juliet’s Tomb:
I was left then with just enough time and energy to go in search of Juliet’s Tomb, another popular tourist attraction especially among teenaged students. I paid the 4. 50 euros that allowed me to enter an old pallazo at the base of which is a tomb that is supposed to contain the remains of the young girl who gave her life for her beloved. The space includes a museum which houses an exhibit of rather tattered frescoes and marble sculpture but none of it was worth spending too much time over.

I headed instead to area where the crypt is located. You enter the area through a wrought iron staircase which does proclaim its age loudly and enter into a brick hewn space where the single tomb in rather a battered shape can be seen. I had expected it to be surrounded by other tomb stones as I was always led to believe, from reading Shakespeare’s play, that Juliet was buried in the family tombs. Well, this is a solitary grave with absolutely no marking around it to suggest definitively that it is Juliet’s last resting place. At any rate, the mythology that has developed around the lovers allows such commerically run venues to thrive and though there is no documentary evidence to suggest that it is her grave site, it was certainly atmospheric enough to lead anyone to believe this.

With my feet quite killing me by this point, I decided it to was time to return to Vicenza. I called Annalisa and informed her that I would be taking the earlier train and wondered whether she could pick me up from Vicenza. I did not bargain for the fact that not all trains are express ones. The one I did board was a local and while it did allow me to appreciate the rural parts of the Veneto, it took over an hur to arrive in Vicenza by which time it had turned dark.

Annalisa was awaiting me upon my arrival. On the drive home, she told me that she had had an awful day at work and needed to kick back and relax at home. She decided to take orders from her family for pizza. She called a local pizzeria and ordered a margherita (for Giaccomo), a vegetable one with peppers, aubergine and tomatoes (for Giovanni), a radicchio and Brie one for herself and as we divided the pizzas, I had a chance to taste Italy’s great contribution to international gastronomy and loved every morsel. Over a fruit tart for dessert, we ended our meal and a very full and fascinating day indeed.

I was just as tired as Annalisa was as the sight seeing had taken the steam out of me and it was with great anticipation that I went to bed.

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!

Sauntering in Suffolk

Mar13

Friday, March 13, 2009
Suffolk

Leaving my window open and using ear plugs to drown out traffic noises worked like magic! I awoke at 6. 30 am after a very restful sleep just a couple of minutes before the alarm on my cell phone went off. It seems as if a cooler temperature in my bedroom will keep me asleep longer! Within 45 minutes, I was on the bus headed to King’s Cross to the NYU hostel at NIDO where the coach arrived very shortly to drive us to Suffolk.

Spring was in the air though it was a tad chilly and I felt underclad in my denim jacket–should have worn something warmer. Once we left the city limits behind, the landscape changed. The fields were flat but fresh new green grass is emerging everywhere and though the trees are still free of foliage, it is very pretty out there in the countryside and I am glad we’re entering into a new season of renewal. It is still a wonder to me how quickly spring comes to Europe. What a blessing indeed!

Delving into Dedham:
Two hours later, we were in Dedham, a tiny little town that Time forgot. Peter, our driver, parked in the main street and we were set free to poke around for 45 minutes. I had read about this lovely place in The English Home magazine a few years ago and I had saved the clipping and brought it with me to London. Using that as a rough guide, I wandered first into St. Mary’s Church which appears in some of the paintings of John Constable whose world we had arrived to explore. The church is notable for a window which sports the initials E.S. referring to Edward Sherman. Three notable Shermans are associated with American history including the famous General Sherman who led the troops during the Civil War. As in all Norman churches of the region, it has a square tower with a clock face and the stone cladding gives it a very picturesque look.

Down the High Street, I delved into a few of the stores (The Shakespeare Art Gallery was particularly enticing) which held the kind of decorative domestic items tourists find attractive–pendulum clocks, pottery, framed art–that sort of thing. Most of my students had made a bee line for the Essex Rose Tea House where they sat down to cream teas. I went into the Dedham Arts and Crafts Center where a variety of stalls offered all sorts of hand crafted items from baskets and quilts to jewelry and soft toys. Then, I walked towards the Stour River and took a look at a few ducks bobbing in a pond.

Architect and art historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner wrote, “There is nothing to hurt the eye in Dedham” and he was so right. Indeed, the town is a lovely collection of narrow meandering streets that radiate from the one main road that runs through it past the church. The exteriors of these houses have exposed beams and quiet pastel shades with the color pink dominating. It soon became obvious to me that pink is the preferred color in these Suffolk towns and villages. It is referred to as ‘Suffolk Pink’ and is visible in varying shades from the softest baby pink to deep, almost magenta, tones. We saw a lot of it in East Bergholt and then in Lavenham which were some of the other towns we visited.

I simply could not stop taking pictures of the charming nooks and crannies that make up this attractive town. The Sun, a well-known hostelry had a distinctive sign but did not open until later in the day for lunch. When we’d had a look around the village, we did one of the things that the English most love–took a long walk along the banks of a river.

Messin’ Around On the River Stour:
One of the most memorable walks I have ever taken was along Port Meadow in Oxford along the River Thames in the company of my friend Annalisa Oboe, about two summers ago. We had walked all the way from Oxford to the Lock and then rewarded ourselves with drinks at the famous Trout Inn at Wolvercote, a 17th century free house that was used as one of the settings for an episode of Inspector Morse mysteries. Well, I have to say that this walk today, taken in the company of 16 of my students, will also stay in my memory for a long time.

To begin the walk, you start along Bridge Street in Dedham and walk towards Flatford Mill. This means crossing the beautiful little wooden bridges and stiles that span the river and the surrounding meadows. The pathway is narrow and follows the natural curves of the River Stour, which is much smaller and narrower than I imagined. It cannot be more than a mile and a half before you see the rooftops of Flatford Mill. Were I walking alone, I know I would have covered it in about a half hour. But with a group and with the pictures I stopped to take, of swans and then of mallards in the water–it took over an hour. The fresh green of the fields and the total quiet and serenity of the rural landscape was very appealing indeed. Occasionally, we saw a flock of ducks fly into the air. It is obvious that the migrant birds are returning for the spring season and it was lovely to be a part of it. These were the very tracks along which John Constable walked in the early 1800s and to have traversed over lands that have proven to be so inspirational to him was very special for me.

Arrival at Flatford Mill:
At Flatford Mill, where we arrived a whole half hour behind schedule, we were met by Edward Jackson who is Head of the Constable Arts Center there. He was to be our guide for the next hour and he started us off by taking us inside the lovely red brick interior of Flatford Mill where Constable spent the early years of his life with his parents and younger brother. Mr. Jackson illustrated his introduction to Constable with a slide show in the library that explained the evolution of his most famous paintings including the iconic Haywain, the setting of which can easily be seen on the shallow bank of the river outside.

We then walked to the spots themselves that Constable sketched and used as the backdrop of some of his most celebrated works. I was so excited to be in the very spot in which he created these canvasses–his little studio was right in his home. Later, when his parents died and he came into a little money, Constable moved with his wife and family to London where he accepted commissions for portraits that were his bread and butter. But, clearly, it was the rural scenes he most remembered from his boyhood while messing around his father’s mill that inspired his most enchanting works. And it is these venues that art-loving visitors come to see today.

Off for lunch to East Bergholt:
Then, after I had bought a few postcards from the National Trust shop in the premises, we boarded the coach again and arrived at the tiny village of East Bergholt where, for a short while, the Constables also had a small home. This little place was the perfect venue for a meal and at the Red Lion Inn–really the only little place at which one could get a bite apart from the Fountain Tea Room which offered only teas and scones–we sat down for a proper meal. I ate a ‘huffa’, a rather odd sort of name for a hearty sandwich that contained steak and mushrooms and onions and was made tasty by my addition of some brown sauce.

East Bergholt is an equally delightful place to get lost in. It has a church that lacks a tower. Apparently someone had a dream in which the devil appeared and said that he never wanted to see a tower on the church. Each time a tower was constructed, lives were lost in the process and a point arrived at which the villagers decided to abandon the idea of constructing a tower and left it unfinished. And that it how is stands today.

The Post office and a couple of other small stores are the only other shops to be found in the entire little place. Small pink homes and a few red brick ones grant the village the air of a quiet rustic hamlet, the sort that visitors to Suffolk love to see.

On to Lavenham:
We had barely an hour to finish our meal, however, before we had to get back on the coach again for our ride to Lavenham. We thought it would take about half a hour but we had a diversion in the road and having to change routes, we took more than an hour and almost missed the guide who was waiting for us there, Jim Robinson. However, after we had parked our coach, Jim began his tour and showed us some of the most interesting and unusual buildings in this medieval town.
Like Dedham, Lavenham is exceedingly picturesque. Almost all of the buildings here are ‘listed’, that is to say, they are protected by strict conservation laws, some of which make it impossible for current owners to make any changes at all, inside or out. The town is, therefore, frozen in time, standing as a silent sentinel of the past when homes were constructed with thick timber beams and filled in with stucco plastered brick.

The most important building of all in Lavenham is the Corpus Christi Guildhall–this is not a trading or crafter’s guildhall but a religious one. Mr. Robinson explained that in the Middle Ages, people paid money to a priest in a guildhall such as this one, whose sole job was to pray for all the poor souls in Purgatory! This guildhall, clad in exposed timbers and thin whitewash and sporting the original leaded windows passed into disuse after the Reformation. It is only in recent years that it has been refurbished to appear the way it once did when it was the most important building in the town.

From this point, Mr. Robinson took us to so many different structures, each of which had some interesting architectural details to which he pointed. We learned that Lavenham was once a leading producer of a thick hard-wearing fabric called serge. The cloth weavers’ guild was powerful and wealthy and it made Lavenham the sixth richest town in the country. Traders vied with each other in building homes to show off their new prosperity and it is these structures that have been preserved, most dating from the 16th and 18th centuries.

We also learned about pargetting, for instance, the decorating of the sides of the houses with all sorts of designs that were set into the stucco while it was still wet. We learned about the fashion that led to the scraping away of the plaster that exposed the timbers that give so many of the medieval structures their individual look–this was not how they were originally constructed. The plaster was stripped away when it became fashionable for the owner to expose the number of timber beams that made up his house. We also learned about the Mullet–the five pointed star that is associated with the court of Henry VIII and which is evident on the steeply sloping sides of the roofs. So many of the Lavenham homes seemed to be falling under their own weight. There were so many of the higgedly-piggedly cottages of fairy tale illustrations and the striking colors of ochre, pink and white that stood in uniform height along the streets making the entire town seem so very quaint and old-fashioned.

I certainly wished I could have browsed in more stores but I only had the time to buy a post card really quickly before it was past four and we found that we had to return to London. I did walk towards the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul to get a picture and then off we went. We said goodbye to Mr. Robinson and boarded the bus back, hitting awful traffic en route so that it took us almost three hours to reach King’s Cross.

Suffolk was striking beautiful and I am so glad that my first venture into this territory was so pleasant. I found the village people very friendly and very eager to interact with my students. They were so pleased that their quiet unspoiled villages are the center of so much scholarly attention. They recommended other villages that we should see and Kersey was suggested as a rural favorite. When Peter drove through it, I did find it very appealing indeed and I can see why so many people settle down in B&Bs for a few nights in this area.

Suffolk might best be described as a patch of green fields closely knit together by a serene river that flows through it and story book villages and medieval towns that remain distinctive for their old-world architecture and narrow rippling streets. It is easy to see why these natural backdrops inspired the work of some of England’s best-known artists such as Gainsborough and Constable and why they have been preserved, as if in aspic, to continue to delight each successive generation.

For if you enjoy walking or even just sitting by a river and watching it flow gently past and if you enjoy doing nothing more strenuous than whiling away time in the warm embrace of Nature, then this is indeed the place for you. I know that if I get the chance to return to Suffolk, I will not refuse the opportunity to walk by these delightful byways again.

At the end of the day, when I was in the midst of writing this blog, my door bell rang. It was my neighbor Tim whom I haven’t seen in ages–as I have been traveling so much. He stopped by to invite me to supper at their place on Tuesday–an invitation I would ordinarily have leapt at as Tim in a chef par excellence. But, alas, I am leaving that morning for Italy, so will have to take a rain check. Instead, we have decided to go out for an Italian meal on Sunday–probably to Carluccios which is a favorite of Tim and Barbara (and has become one of mine as well). Tim stepped inside for a chat and over a glass of wine, he entertained me with his inimitable wit and humor. I am very much looking forward to Sunday when we will catch up together.

Lunching with MPs and Of Ghosts and Greasepaint

Mar10

Tuesday, March 10, 2009
London

Awaking at 6 am is late for me these days!!! I had always imagined that when I came to live alone in London, I would have daily lazy lie-ins, never dreaming that I’d awake long before the first rays of light reached my window blinds. Still, I’m not complaining. I do not feel sleep deprived and I have been enormously productive. When I do occasionally feel fatigued as I did last night, I respond to my body’s signals by switching off the light (sometimes as early as 9. 30 pm) and going off to bed (though midnight is pretty standard for me).

I am sure now that my short nightly sleep spells have to do with the warmth of my bedroom. Under the down comforter, it is deliciously cozy, but it also can get oppressively hot as the night wears on. Arben, my concierge, had told me way back in September that 7 High Holborn does not get any cross ventilation unless one has a corner flat–which mine is not. This explains why air-conditioning is so essential in this building and comes as a standard built-in ammenity.

On the upside, this has meant that I have not had my heating on at all all winter long! I know…it is hard, if not impossible to believe, given the kind of winter London had this year, i.e. worse than usual. The double glazing in this flat is apparently so superbly effective that while it does shut out all the traffic noises along High Holborn that are pretty loud, let me assure you, it also conserves heat and keeps this flat toasty all day and all night. I have not had to spend anything on heating…I mean nadda, zilch. That alone has made this flat extremely economical to live in; but it does mean that come summer, I will be sweating it out rather copiously.

After reading The Goblet of Fire for an hour, I began to grade student essays–first drafts (most of which require a colossal amount of work!). At 7. 30 am, I finally got out of bed to brew a cup of coffee and eat my breakfast (yogurt and muesli with honey). I made a call to my nephew Arav (and spoke as well to my brother Roger) and then to my parents in Bombay. Then, I realized that I was running out of phone credit and needed a top up. Llew called me about 10 am and we had a chat as we updated each other on everything going on in our lives.

Then, after doing my stretching exercises (I need to get back to my exercise routines again that have been severely disrupted by all my travel) , I began work on the lecture I shall be giving in Italy next week. It is a comparison of the manner in which Pakistani novelist Bapsi Sidhwa’s work Cracking India evolved from page to screen through the film 1947 Earth made by Canadian-Indian filmmaker Deepa Mehta. The first draft kept me busy until
11. 45 am when I took a shower and left for my lunch appointment with Michelle Misquita Rafferty at 1 Victoria Street, in the office of the Dept for Business Enterprise and Regulatory Reform (BERR) where she practices Constitutional Law.

Michelle and I were undergrad classmates at Bombay’s Elphinstone College… so our friendship goes back a long long way. Both she and I majored in English Literature and though she does not know it, she was a source of great inspiration to me. I was so impressed by her dedication to her studies that I emulated it and, without intending to do so, constantly ran in competition with her for the highest marks. I have always believed that were it not for Michelle and Marie-Lou Menezes and ‘The Two Sharmilas’ (Mukerjee and Chatterjee) who were in my batch with Shoma Sen and so many other truly brilliant classmates that I had the good fortune of knowing, I would never have been spurred on to give of my best efforts in college or produce the kind of results that propelled me towards a career as an academic.

Michelle, surprisingly, did not go the academic way. She did not register for her Masters in English as Marie-Lou and I did. Instead, she became a journalist in East Asia, first spending many years working with a travel magazine in Hongkong before she emigrated to London and read Law. For the past few years, she has been a government solicitor working with British Parliament. I am extremely proud of her and the shape her life has taken and I continue to be inspired by her achievements–not to mention how deeply privileged I feel to be able to call her my friend.

We’ve met only occasionally since I arrived in London as she is grappling with a whole load of personal matters. Still, when she suggested we meet for lunch to catch up, I decided to carve out the time, despite my pressing schedule this week as I do not know when she will next be free to spend time with me. She had once mentioned that her cafeteria is considered the best among those run by government offices and it was something I had to prove myself.

A Far from Institutional Lunch:
So off I went on the Tube on a rather mild morning to her building which I have passed a million times on foot and in buses, little knowing that she worked in it. Michelle came down to greet me and after I had gone through security routines and been presented with a Visitors Badge, we made our way down to the cafeteria. It was buzzing as it was close to 1.00 pm.

Michelle was right–if the food was as good as it looked, I was in for a treat. Indeed, it appeared far from institutional and when I saw the fillet of tuna resting on a square white china plate (as in the posh restaurants) in a balsamic-olive oil dressing surrounded by healthy vegetables, I knew at once what I would eat. For dessert, I picked a Chocolate Nut Torte and when I went to pay for this lovely meal, it cost me less than five quid! Ah, the joys of the subsidized lunch!

We caught up all right over each mouthful and, as Michelle had informed me, I found myself in the company of some sitting Members of Parliament who were either enjoying their lunches or relaxing with the newspaper. I have to say that my cultural ignorance of the UK does not allow me to recognize these folks, so Michelle introduced them to me in guarded whispers. “That is Pat Mcfadden”, she hissed, and then a little later, “and there is Gareth Thomas”. I have to say that these names meant nothing to me but it was fun to look at these British politicians anyway!

A Self-Guided Walk around the Theater District:
In about an hour, I bid Michelle goodbye and decided I would take one of the walks in my Frommer’s Book as the weather induced me to stay outdoors. I chose one entitled “Ghosts and Greasepaint” that commenced at Piccadilly Tube Station. I reached there after changing two buses and found myself at the Statue of Eros which had attracted a number of French student groups.

Among the more interesting things I saw today on this walk was the interior of the Criterion Restaurant which has a most stunning ceiling made entirely of gold mosaics and polished full-length mirrors which must create, I am sure, a truly superb eating experience. The Victorian restaurant also has a literary connection as it was in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work “A Study in Scarlet” that Dr. Watson met, for the first time, an eccentric character by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Of course, I enjoy this kind of literary trivia that these walks provide.

The title of this walk derives from the many theaters through which it passes and the stories of the many ghosts who dwell within their interiors. I learned about ghosts who haunt the Theater Royal Haymarket, for instance, where a production of On The Waterfront is currently on and in which two of the UK’s finest Shakespearean actors Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart will shortly be playing the roles of Vladimir and Estragon in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. I feel strongly tempted to book a ticket to see this version, just because these actors are the best in the land. But I have seen this play on more than one occasion and it is not really one of my favorites. I have a problem with all Theater of the Absurd but this one particularly bores me. In the earliest version I saw in Bombay, many years ago, Nasserudin Shah and Benjamin Gilani had played the key roles and yet I did not connect with the lines. I doubt that Mckellan and Stewart will make me do so.

I continued through Trafalgar Square and entered the Church of St. Martin’s-in-the-Field and was reminded of my cousin’s son Sudarshan Rodriguez as I had seen a concert with him about five years ago in the interior of this church featuring fusion musician Tavleen Singh. I did not remember what a beautiful plaster ceiling this church has.

Then on I went, past the Garrick Theater which also has a resident ghost and where I had once seen Patricia Routlege (Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances) play an American shareholder quite superbly in a comedy called Solid Gold Cadillac! This took me to a lovely street called Cecil Court that was full of antiquarian book stores (I think Llew will love this place and I must take him to it on his next visit) where I saw a real live tarot card reader dressed in Victorian clothing sitting in a window and reading the palm of a client! How very weird!

I also browsed through perhaps the neatest antiques store I have ever seen in my life–a place called Mark Sullivan’s which specializes in Victorian literary pieces such as the busts of writers and royal commemorative keepsakes. Everything was so perfectly displayed on neat dust-free uniform shelves that marched around the entire store and when I told the store owner how unique his store was, he was delighted by the compliment and promptly gave me his very unusual business card!

At the Lamb and Flag Pub, one of London’s oldest, I heard about John Dryden’s brush with a bunch of thugs who almost killed him. At this point, I was told to go right past the gates of St. Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, but because it looked so unusual and so inviting, I simply had to enter it.

On doing so, I was surprised that the walk hadn’t insisted on a visit because the church, designed by Inigo Jones, no less, is an absolute gem both inside and out. It is entirely brick-clad, very symmetrical (there are two bells embedded in the sides flanking the main entrance) and set in an adorable garden in which spring had plainly arrived, for there were hosts of golden daffodils and crocuses that brought wonderful gaiety to a rather drizzly afternoon. Inside, the walls were covered with memorial plaques to so many actors, playwrights and producers who had made their fortunes at Covent Garden– some names that were familiar to me were Sir Charles Chaplin, Vivienne Leigh, Sir Terence Rattigan. I still can’t understand why the church is not a part of the walk. Had my innate curiosity not got the better of me, I would have missed this delight in the heart of Covent Garden. The entire hidden square within which St. Paul’s Church is set has facades of buildings that could easily belong to the 18th century. Indeed, it seems that if you want to see some of the oldest architecture in London, you need look no further than the tucked-away recesses of Covent Garden.

The walk ended on Maiden Lane at the stage door of the Adelphi Theater where another ghost story kept me enthralled. However, my attention was drawn to a very unique restaurant on the opposite side of the street called Rules which turned out to be London’s oldest, established in 1798. Again, a host of theater and literary personalities have frequented this place over the centuries including Charles Dickens and Sir John Betjeman who described the interior on the ground floor as “unique and irreplaceable and part of literary and theatrical London…
Its paintings, prints, busts, bronze figurines, red plush seats, stained glass as well as the playbills and theatrical relics some of which often go back to earlier than 1873, make it a restaurant very much as it was when it was first newly furnished in 1873. It is the gradual accumulation of the last and previous centuries”. Interestingly, on it’s website, I found an endorsement for this restaurant from Candida Lycett-Greene, the daughter of Betjeman and Lady Penelope Chetwode (whom I had the opportunity of meeting many years ago in Simla in North India). It would seem as if Rules was very much a Betjeman family hangout!

Indeed, when I peeked into the restaurant, I was completely charmed by its collection of animal heads, stag’s antlers and the like, not to mention photographs, playbills and all such theatrical memorabilia that grant a place the sort of ambiance that makes it distinctive and individualistic–a sort of older version of New York’s famous Lindy’s (renowned for its cheesecake)! It was beautifully lit with brass chandeliers and tiny lampshades (old world mood lighting!). I glanced at its menu and found it to offer a selection of typically British dishes, with an emphasis on game (there was woodcock and rabbit, for heaven’s sake), most of which is sourced from its ownership of the Lartington Estate in the High Pennines. I would love to eat at this place someday…God willing….and perhaps even catch a glimpse of some theatrical legend of the future (maybe when Llew next gets here).

I took the bus home and spent the evening continuing work on my Sidhwa lecture, grading more papers and then organizing myself some dinner–pasta and mixed vegetables that I pulled out of my freezer–pleased that I had combined work and leisure in a rather novel sort of way today.

Exploring Downtown Oslo

Mar1

Thursday, February 26, 2009
Oslo, Norway

Day One in Oslo–Breakfast at the Youth Hostel:
Because I had managed to get some reading done from my Norway DK Eye Eyewitness Guide en route to Stanstead airport, I decided that I would spend my first day in the City Center getting oriented. It seemed that the city was rather small and could easily be explored on foot. Attempting to avoid what I imagined would be the early-morning rush for the bathrooms down the hall, I decided to shower in the evening.

Dressing warmly, I went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast (included in the price of 22 Euros per night) and thought I was in a hotel. Truly, after the breakfasts I have consumed in other European youth hostels, this one appeared princely. There was a variety of cereals with milk or yogurt, a buffet bar with rolls, various types of sliced bread and the famous Scandinavian crisp bread and all sorts of jams and marmalades as well as a rather chunky and very delicious apple sauce. In the deli bar, there was cheese (Jarlsberg, of course, Norway’s gift to the world) ham, salami, liverwurst, coleslaw, fresh sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and a variety of fish dishes—in mustard sauce, tomato sauce and pickled with onions. There was also a variety of juices, tea and coffee—like I said, fit for a king. There was even a traditional brown cheese called geitost, served in a round block with a cheese knife. This is eaten at breakfast, very thinly sliced, and when I tasted some, I found this goat’s cheese sweet, sharply flavored and very delicious, especially when placed on the crisp bread and eaten with the tomatoes. I found myself crafting very creative open sandwiches each day for breakfast! Well, when in Oslo…..

Exploring Downtown Oslo:
Well fortified to face my day and having joined a group of women my age at their table—they were international academics from Brazil and Norway attending a conference in the hostel premises—I left to explore the city. Katya from Brazil joined me on the downhill trek to the tram stop which I boarded ten minutes later. It promised to be a beautiful day for the sun was just beginning to gild the snow draped hills and being warmly clad myself, I wasn’t in the least uncomfortable. One great thing about New England winters is that they teach you now to dress in layers and feel snug.

Oslo’s National Gallery:
Fifteen minutes later, I was at Karl Johans Gate which is the main artery that runs through the City Center. I headed first off to the National Gallery mainly to see The Scream by Edvard Munch, Norway’s best-known artist. Not only has this painting being stolen from this museum twice, but it has been, miraculously, recovered twice as well! One of the things that visiting the world’s museums has taught me is that no pictures in the world can prepare the viewer for the actual size of famous paintings and, time after time, I have been surprised at how small the real thing is when all I have seen were pictures. The Scream is small indeed but rather riveting. In the Munch Gallery, there was also his other famous work, Madonna—these two were held behind plexiglass shields.

A few rooms away, there was a special exhibition on his very personal work The Sick Child, based on his memories of his sister who lay dying of tuberculosis. There were various versions of this subject, painted over twenty years, the work getting more and more Expressionistic as he progressed. I was so fortunate to be able to see about eight version of it all gathered together in one room, as well as the definitive one which was the center piece of the exhibition. In addition to works by Munch, there were some wonderful Norwegian artists represented such as J.C. Dahl, Tilemund and Dude and some other canvases by Old Masters—After the Bath by Renoir was particularly lovely as was St. Peter by El Greco. Tilemund and Dude’s Norwegian Bridal Party on display in their museum has achieved iconic stature in the country as it comprises all the elements that best portray Norway—mountains, lakes and traditional rural people dressed in their colorful bunads. Best part of all was that this museum was free to the public and though there was almost no one when I first entered, a few tour groups did arrive later in the day.

The National History Museum:
Right next door to the National Gallery is the National History Museum—also free of charge. I entered it to find myself lost for the next hour as I took in some marvelous medieval art. There was the front portal of a traditional Stave Church—richly carved and in a fantastic state of preservation though dating to the 1100s. I did not appreciate it right away but, a few days later, after I saw and entered a real stave church on Bygdoy, I realized where exactly at the church door it would fit and I was then so taken by this piece.

A special exhibition on the Vikings taught me a great deal about these people who originated in Scandinavia. All I had known about the Vikings was that they were violent marauders who destroyed abbeys in Ireland. So I was pleasantly surprised to see the artistic streak they also possessed as evidenced in the silver-studded sword handles and the vast amount of metal jewelry (mainly brooches to hold their flowing garments in place) that they produced. In the Sami section, I saw a great deal of material on the ethnic people who thrive in the northernmost reaches of Norway and, as my school geography lessons had taught me, live in igloos, wear reindeer fur and travel on dog sleds. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Everywhere I went, I saw the museums filled with school groups on field trips, their teachers actually teaching them lessons in the galleries.

Karl Johans Gate:
Then I was out on the sunshine-washed streets of Oslo walking towards the Royal Palace called Slottet that sits on a hill overlooking the city’s main thoroughfare called Karl Johans Gate. The word ‘gate’ in Norwegian does not mean ‘gate’; it means ‘road’ and this one named after one of Norway’s most illustrious kings, Karl Johans, is its busiest. Groups of tourists were out by this time, slip sliding on the ice and throwing snowballs at each other. There were no guided tours of the interior in the winter but I did enjoy the exterior environs of the palace that are set in sprawling lawns open to the public—all thickly covered with crisp and spotlessly white blankets. The current monarchs were resident in the palace as was evident by the flag which flew from the flag mast.

I walked downhill towards the National Theater and paused to take pictures of the sculpture of Henrik Ibsen of whom Norway is so proud. The National Theater was actually putting on a production of his most famous play A Doll’s House together with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Kazamarov. A few steps away, the grand Neo-Classical building of Oslo University lay ahead of me in its own square. The Aula is its most interesting feature—a room that is covered with murals by Munch–but since it was under renovation, it was closed to the public.

The Wonders of Radhuset:
Using my map, I found my way, a few blocks away, to Radhuset, the City Hall, and scene, each year, of the distribution of the Nobel Peace Prize. This extremely modern building built by Arnstein Arneberg and Magnus Poulsson, who won a competition to design it, dominates the cityscape by its unusual shape and conception. The exterior is only the beginning, however, as the inside of the building, covered with murals, sculptures in bas relief and almost floor-to-ceiling size paintings is breathtaking. The public can move freely from room to room including the Chamber where the Council meet to debate state affairs. Norway’s leading artists have painted each one with murals. Filled with traditional carved furniture, they are truly a delight to explore while the brilliance of the architecture is never very far from one’s mind.

Right outside the Radhusett is the Nobel Peace Center (which is open to visitors) but for lack of time, I decided to forego visiting it and proceeded towards Akker Brygge where I found a cozy corner in a McDonald’s overlooking Oslofjordden, for Oslo is indeed situated at the head of a fjord and the sun gleaming on the ice-filled waters was a lovely sight indeed. I spent almost an hour there watching the ferries come in and take off for the many islands that dot the fjord and admiring the sight of the turrets of nearby Akershus Slott (also closed in the winter), a castle and fortress that also contains the remains of some of Norway’s most prominent monarchs.

Christiana Torv and Oslo Domkirk:
Using my Guide Book, I then walked towards Christiana Torv (or Christiana Square) which is one of the oldest and best preserved of Oslo’s medieval squares. Indeed, I was so taken by the beautiful old structures that comprise the square that I braved traffic moving in slow circles around the ice and took many pictures.

Then, since most European capitals have at least one spectacular cathedral, I went in the direction of the Domkirk, only to find it completely shrouded in ugly scaffolding and completely closed. My book is rather old and doesn’t have up-to-the-minute information and had, therefore, failed to warn me of this. But I was glad to have seen the busy square around Kirkstein and since, by that point, I had walked a great deal and was tired, I hopped aboard the tram and returned to my room as I did not want to get back too late.

How delighted I was to find the hill leading to the hostel covered with tiny tots sledding and tobogganing on the slopes in the noisy company of their parents. Indeed, the Norwegians really do know how to enjoy the winter and make the most of its pleasures. As the sun was about to disappear behind the hills that surround the city, I decided to sit outside myself and watch it wave its magic wand upon the ice making the countryside seem as if asleep under a diamond encrusted comforter. It was pure magic and I was glad that I had not missed the beauty of winter completely this year but had caught some of its glory in Scandinavia.

British Library, Discovering Clerkenwell and Exploring the Tate Modern

Feb21

Saturday, Fenruary 21, 2009
London

Despite going to bed at 11. 30 pm last night, I awoke at 5 am, then forced myself to get back to sleep again as I am afraid that this lack of sleep might not be too good for my health! Luckily, I did doze off and woke up again at 6.45 am at which point my day’s work began.

I started off by drafting a longish response to the collaborative preparation online workshop in which all overseas NYU faculty are currently involved. Responses have been trickling in from Paris and Florence and with Karen having sent in her contribution from London, I thought it was about time I put in my ha’penny’s worth. It took longer than I expected, but it was finally done and I emailed it to my colleagues scattered around our satellite sites in Europe. A call to my parents in Bombay (to whom, for various reasons, I haven’t spoken for a few days) followed, after which I made a Eurostar booking for my trip to Belgium (I shall be visiting Brussels and Bruges) and a Youth Hostel booking for accommodation there. I followed this by another accommodation booking at St. Chrisgtopher’s Inn in Newquay, Cornwall, and finally got down to eating my breakfast while doing my Alternate Soaking–by which point it was a little after 9 am.

A shower followed soon after and then I was leaving my flat to catch the bus to the British Library where the Frank Anthony book that I am seeking is stocked. Only problem is that when I reached the Asian and African section where I have been carrying out the bulk of my reading, I discovered that the book is “off site” in Boston Spa, Yorkshire. Of course, I requested that it be sent to me here in London and since I expect it to arrive on Tuesday, I have earmarked that entire day for research and reading at the library itself–as I might only refer to the book for three days at the library itself.

When I walked out of the Library, the sun was shining gloriously and the world suddenly seemed spring-like. There was still a decided nip in the air but it did nothing to chill the spirits of the vast numbers of people that had taken to the streets to bask in its cheer. What a perfect morning for a walk, I thought, as I rode the bus back home (during which time Llew called me and we had a chat), dropped off my bag and other non-essentials, pulled on a baseball cap and my sunglasses, grabbed my book (24 Great Walks in London) and set off to discover nearby Clerkenwell.

And what a lovely morning I had! The walk is entitled “Monks, Murder and Masons” and it took me into what the book calls “London’s secret village”. Indeed, I would never have ventured into this part of the city were it not for the book and yet the area is in my own backyard! Starting right outside Farringdon Tube Station, it brought me to The Castle, a pub that has the unique distinction of owning two licenses–as a public house and as a pawnbroker! There are three gold balls outside the pub to proclaim this fact. The pawnbroking license was granted to The Castle by the Prince Regent (later George IV) who ran up a huge debt at a near-by cockfighting ring. In despair, he turned to the pub next door and asked the owner if he would accept his gold watch for a loan. Not recognizing his royal patron, the pub owner agreed and money changed hands. The next day, an envoy appeared at the pub with enough money to retrieve the watch and a pawnbroking license which the pub has proudly displayed ever since. I entered the pub to see a painting on the wall that depicts this fascinating story.

Going through a really narrow alleyway that was reminiscent of the novels of Dickens, I arrived at St. John’s Square under a stone gateway that Shakespeare would have known. This lovely gateway that dates from 1504 was once the main entrance to the Priory of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John. Following their dissolution, it became the Office of the Revels. Contemporary dramatists like Shakespeare and Marlowe would have brought their plays here to be licensed for public performance. By 1877, the space was acquired by the organization that evolved into the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade which has branches world-wide. I was able to take a quick look at the small but very interesting museum inside on the ground level though I could not mount the stairs leading to the opulent rooms upstairs, Those could only be visited through a guided tour that began at 2 .15 pm.

The walk continued towards St. James’ Church, Clerkenwell, but since it was closed, I could not visit it. It has been on this site since the Middle Ages but was rebuilt in the 18th century. Just past Clerkenwell Close, I arrived at the Middlesex Sessions Court, a beautiful and very impressive building that, by the middle of the 19th century, had become the busiest courthouse in England. When the courts moved elsewhere, the premises were occupied by the London Masonic Center. As if on cue, just as I arrived there, a stream of suited, booted and tied Freemasons poured out of the building, crossed the street and made their way to a pub at the corner for a noon day tipple.

I, on the other hand, crossed into Farringdon Lane and arrived at the most fascinating part of the walk–the Clerk’s Well–from where the entire area derived its name in the Middle Ages. You can actually see the well or spring which became known as Fons Clericorum. It once gushed forth abundantly and was popular among the locals clerks. Lost for centuries, the well was rediscovered in 1924. It lies below ground level and can be glimpsed through glass windows.

Once in the street called Hatton Garden, the center of London’s diamond district, I found myself gazing at the Police Court that provided the inspiration for a scene in Dickens’ Oliver Twist–though the modern offices on the ground floor belie any of its Victorian antecedents. From there, it was on to The Bleeding Heart Tavern where we once had dinner with Karen and Douglas when Llew was visiting London. The gruesome story that gives the pub its name is probably more a result of legend than reality.

In another five minutes, I was back home for lunch (soup and noodles from Wagamama) and taking a much-needed nap. I wasn’t so much drowsy as tired and decided that a few mintues shut-eye would do me a world of good. I woke up about a half hour later, got dressed and set out again–this time to see the Tate’s Modern collection on the South Bank as the museum stays open until 10 pm on Fridays and Saturdays.

I caught the bus to St. Pau’s, then crossed the Millennium Bridge on foot, astonished at the huge crowds that appeared like black ants ahead of me on the bridge. Clearly, the excellent weather had contributed to the presence of spring fever for people were prancing around light-heartedly and taking pictures galore of the urban scenes on both banks. Within a couple of minutes, by 5.00pm, I was in the gallery gazing upon the gigantic spider in the Main Turbine Hall. This recreation based on the original by Louise Bourgeois made every visitor who entered the gallery stop dead in his tracks and gaze upon the humongous creation.

I decided to spend my time taking in the museum’s permanent collection most of which is on the 3rd and 5th floors. But before I began, I took the lift up to the seventh floors for some of the most gorgeous city views. In fact, on the seventh floor, the viewer is at a height that is almost parallel to the dome of St. Paul’s whose impact is just stunning. I got some really lovely pictures from this angle of the glistening Thames and the large number of sailing craft that plied its waters.

Really pleased with my pictures (because every other time I have been to the Tate the weather has been gloomy and my pictures have appeared suitably grey), I started my exploration of the collection. Among the many famous works that dot the galleries, the one that most struck me was entitled ‘Thirty Pieces of Silver” by Cornelia Parker to whose work I became introduced just a couple of weeks ago at the V&A Museum when I saw her suspended work entitled ‘Breathless’. That one was composed of a collection of trombones, clarinets, trumpets and other wind instruments that she had flattened and then strung from the ceiling where they swung gently like one of Alexander Calder’s mobiles. This one, composed of thousands of pieces of silver that she acquired from junk shops was flattened out by a steam roller. She then composed thirty vignettes comprising trophy cups, cutlery, platters, etc. and has strung them from the ceiling where they simply mesmerized me as they seemed to do some many other visitors. Indeed, a whole large gallery has been devoted to this breathtaking piece of Modern Art with which I found myself connecting instantly. I was also pleased to find Roy Lichtenstein’s “Wham” on display–this is one of Marina Versey’s 100 Masterpieces of Art. I have been trying to see every single one of them in the various musuems around the world where they are on display.

It was 8 pm when I finally finished seeing the permanent collection. I was tired but not exhausted as I had the good sense to use one of the compact folding stools available for the museum’s aged visitors. It proved to be very helpful to me and as I crossed the Millennium Bridge and took the bus back home, I could not help but think how wonderful a day I had spent.

If the weather holds out like this, Stephanie and I will have a lovely time tomorrow–but given the lousy weather we’ve been having for the past three Sundays, I am not holding my breath, and I am sure, neither is she.

Seeing Imelda Staunton on Stage!

Feb9

Monday, February 9, 2009
London

It was Black Monday–literally! The skies were leaden and rain came down in sheets! It is unusual to get such heavy rain here in London–most times it is just an annoying drizzle. By the evening, the streets were actually flowing and I was afraid of slipping as I don’t think my shoes are equipped to handle muddy ones. It was funny but when Mark, our concierge at NYU, was leaving the building and I asked him if he had forgotten to carry an umbrella, he replied, “I have one. I just can’t be bothered”. To carry it, he meant, and I thought that was a very English way of putting it indeed.

I taught my two Writing II classes–odd, but it seems as if my classes are only just beginning. What with my hoarse throat and the snow of a week ago, this was a first real class. I had to sort out items on the syllabus to bring us back to speed, discuss the change in plans–no field trip to Cornwall for my Writing II (B) class. We’re going instead to Suffolk (Constable Country). I also handed out field excursion assignments to London’s ethnic quarters–which I must try to cover myself! The classes went well–we’ve started our discussions on Anthony Appiah’s Cosmopolitanism–and my students seem to be engaging with it rather enthusiastically.

After classes, I went up to Yvonne Hunkin’s office to pay my electricity and media bills, but she was in a meeting and I only met Ruth Tucker. Back in my office, I graded one batch of homework before I set out for my evening at the theater. I was excited as I would be seeing Imelda Staunton in Entertaining Mr. Sloane at Trafalgar Studios.

The streets were flowing copiously by the time I left NYU. It had rained all day and the mood was dismal. I actually used the Thomsons’ birthday present to me for the first time today–a Nautica Umbrella For Two–it was massive! Our English friends in Fairfield, Connecticut, Jonathan and Diana Thomson, had gifted it to me in July when they got to know I’d been posted to London. Diana had written in the card: “This is the thing you’re going to need most in Blighty–a really good brolly!” And how right she was! The umbrella was like a huge walking canopy around me and sheltered me completely on this day made for ducks! Thanks, Di!

I nipped into the Tesco Express at the corner of The Strand on Trafalgar Square for just a second and re-emerged with two packs of Prawn Mayonnaise sandwiches, It had been a long time since I had eaten my rather frugal lunch of a tongue sandwich and a cup of creamed asparagus soup at my desk during office hours. I knew that Rosemary had a ticket for the same show but since we hadn’t made any plans for dinner, I figured I better get a bite to eat or else my stomach would rumble throughout the show! Unfortunately, I did not see Rosemary anywhere during the show though I looked for her frantically before it began, during the interval and at the end. We must make more definite plans next time!

Trafalgar Studios is a very modern space, unlike the ornate 18th and 19th century theaters I have been frequenting. Though I had the cheapest seats on the very last row, the slope was so steep that I had a completely unrestricted view of the stage. Large black and white posters of English actors such as Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Edward Fox and John Gielgud, decorated the stairwells–each taken between the 1960s and 1980s! It was fun to see what these thespians once looked like and, in the case of many, such pictures are a revelation about the years, no decades, one needs to slog before international fame can finally come one’s way in this very uncertain acting business.

As for the show, it was such a surprise to me. I thought it would be a comedy–that was what the blurb said, but gosh, it was a classic example of a Dark Comedy. It started funnily enough with Kath, a landlady in the early 1960s, taking in a lodger (I finally understood what the term ‘lodger’ means–a paying guest–and what the term ‘lodgings’ means–a rented room in a house) named Mr, Sloane. Kath is 42, single, desperately lonely, bullied, belittled and browbeaten by her obnoxious brother Ed, and completely taken in by the handsome, sexy, young Mr. Sloane.

Kath was played superbly by Imelda Staunton (I bought tickets for the play only to see her as I had been completely blown by her performance as Vera Drake in the film of the same name for which she won the BAFTA for Best Actress in 2005), Mr. Sloane was played by Mathew Horne and Ed was played by Shakespearean actor Simon Paisley Day who supported Staunton brilliantly.

The range of emotions Staunton had to exhibit in the course of the play was stunning. In turn, she was a lecherous seductress, a harassed daughter, a caring landlady, a pleading sister, a heartbroken lover. The inimitable Staunton slipped into each one of these guises effortlessly and kept the play moving along brilliantly. What I did not expect was the harshness with which she was treated–as a woman and as a sister, her treatment was deplorable and in our day and age of politically correctness, very difficult to watch. Her father (“Dada” played very competently by Richard Bremmer) was pushed around by both his children, then assaulted by Sloane who could have brought much more menace to his role.

The two other great bits of the production were the set that captured succinctly the “hideousness” (as one reviewer put it) of working class domestic interiors of the era (horrid busy wallpaper, stained flowered rugs, a lumpy old velvet upholstered sofa, late-50’s kitschy knick-knacks) and the brilliant use of a Jim Reeves track, “Welcome to my World”. Another ingenious touch was the playing of pop hits from the early 1960s before the play began and during the intermission. It put us beautifully into the mood, the milieu and the moment and evoked the desperation of suburban families and of the brother and sister duo whose need for self esteem allows them to overlook the murder of their father by the unscrupulous lodger.

The other brilliant thing about this play was the writing itself by the late Joe Orton. Glancing rapidly at the Playbill during the interval (which costs 3 pounds and which I, therefore, never buy but invariably borrow!), I saw that he was killed by his gay partner in the 1960s, being snatched away in the prime of his writing career. A dramatist of no less a stature than Harold Pinter spoke at his funeral calling him a marvelous writer.

Orton brought a great deal of his own working class background into the plays he wrote (particularly in this one). His attempts to transcend it through the procurement of an education and his own struggle with his sexuality were grist to his creative mill–like Mr. Sloane, Orton was apparently bisexual. Because this was a classic Black Comedy, I found it odd when the audience laughed at lines and scenes that were not even remotely funny–in fact, they verged on the tragic–but then, the scenes and the characters’ actions and reactions were so unpredictable and surprising when they occurred that the audience quite lost sight of what would be the appropriate mode in which to react. It was a very good night at the theater, made memorable by Staunton.

It was still pouring when I made my way out of the theater and caught the buses back home. For some reason, I felt quite worn out but then I remembered that I had awoken this morning at 5.30 am and I was no longer surprised.

Discovering the V&A

Feb4

Wednesday, February 4, 2009
London

I had a very early start this morning, awaking at 5. 30 am, working on my PC for a while, then showering, eating breakfast and getting out of my flat by 7. 45 am to take the buses to the University College Hospital for my physiotherapy session. I reached there in under a half hour which was something of a surprise to me. Traffic seems to be moving a bit faster now on High Holborn–which is such a relief.

To my disappointment, I found that Paul is no longer working with me (he has been rotated to another division) and I now have a new physiotherapist–Claire Curtin–who says that she will be in this division for at least 4 months, so is likely to work with me long-term. I find this very annoying as I think the patient loses continuity with a health practitioner. This is also what is wrong about this NHS system–the patient has no control over who he is treated by. He just has to lump it and whether the physician is good or not, he has to stick with him. Anyway, I am not that bad now that my condition needs specialist attention, so I guess I shall just stay with Claire and hope for the best.

Nothing much came out of our session. She basically told me to continue with the same exercises that Paul had recommended. She drew them out for me because their computer is still not working (what??? Even after three weeks? How do these folks function?) However, it seems that Paul has made the referral on my behalf for the podiatrist, so I should be getting something in the mail asking me to see a podiatrist who will then recommend the orthotics that Paul thought I needed. So the rigmarole continues…Claire did massage my right ankle and told me how to do it myself and suggested that I see her again in two weeks time! She could not recommend the exercises strongly enough and told me not to stop, come what may!

I then took the Number 14 bus from Euston and rode on it all the way to Kensington. Now that I have finished my study of the National Gallery, I have turned my sights on to the Victoria and Albert Museum, known affectionately as the V&A. I had visited this museum only once, a few years ago, and been completely overwhelmed by its size and scale. I had taken a Highlights Tour then, but do not remember anything that was shown to me except for the Raphael Cartoons and a Cast Room. When I arrived at the Museum, a few minutes before 10 am, there were a couple of dozen people there already but the museum was still closed. At 10 am sharp, the heavy wooden doors were thrown open and I was the first person to enter the museum today!!!

After my bag was physically examined, I went to the Cloak Room to hand in my coat and bag, then went to the Information Desk to find out about Highlights Tours for the day. There were two at 10.30 am and 11. 30 am respectively that I thought I would take. Meanwhile, I got myself a Map and a list of 20 Highlights of the Museum and started to see those for the first half hour.

In the basement, I saw an ivory inlaid wooden cabinet by Fiammingo. Then in the Fashion Gallery (which is highly reputed), I saw a beautiful dress designed by Vivienne Westwood under inspiration from French artist Watteau. It was fashioned in emerald silk and was gorgeous. In the South Asian galleries, I saw Shah Jahan’s exquisite wine cup, carved in white jade, featuring a flower on the bottom and the head of ram in its handle–truly beautiful! In the Islamic section, I saw the Ardabil Carpet, a gigantic carpet woven in Iran and containing over 4,000 knots per square inch. The Far Eastern Galleries held a really charming Bodhisatava called Guanyin and in the Japanese Armor section, I saw a suit of armor that was presented to Queen Victoria by one of the big gun shoguns of the time. These were the highlights I saw on my own.

At 10. 30 am, I went to the spot where the Highlights Tour began and met my guide, Jane Hampson. She was disappointed to find that I was the only one on the tour but she took me, first off, to one of the Museum’s biggest attractions–The Raphael Room–where we were joined by another visitor originally from Egypt but now living in Australia. For the next hour, Jane took us on a very lively and interesting tour of the museum that included the following objects:

1. The Raphael Cartoons. (These water colors were the basis for the tapestries that hang in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. They were made in Mortlake on the outskirts of London. These belong to the Royal Family having been purchased by Charles I).
2. The Gothic Altarpiece featuring St. George and the Dragon.
3. A Chinese Red Lacquer Table and Throne.
4. The Eltenburg Reliquary (made of wood, whale ivory, and superb cloisonne work).
5. The Plaster Cast Room (with special emphasis on Trajan’s Column–the original of which stands in Rome).
6. A Porcelain Pagoda and Export China in the Chinese Gallery.
7. The Thomas Grace Cup–a medieval ivory cup that is associated with Thomas a Beckett of Canterbury and was decorated during the Renaissance.
8. The Dacre Animals (saved from a stately English country estate before it burned down).
9. Sculpture of Neptune and Triton by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (one of his early works, showing similar compositional elements with his Bachannalia that I show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York).
10. The Great Bed of Ware (this was made in the 1100s and there is actually a reference to it in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night–which, coincidentally enough, I saw last night!)
11. The Dale Chihuly Chandelier in the main lobby–this has always been one of my favorite pieces in the V&A and I recall taking a picture of it the last time I was there.

I thought the tour was superb and when Jane mentioned that she gives a special tour of the British Galleries at 12. 30 pm, I told her that I would join that as well. Meanwhile, I rushed off to join the 11. 30 am Highlights Tour, this one being given by a guide called Mina Renton. She took the group to the Raphael Cartoons, then moved on to “Tippoo’s Tiger” in the South Asian Galleries.

The title of the work refers to a music box that is concealed in the body of a tiger that is seen devouring a British soldier. As anyone with any knowledge of Indian History knows, “Tippoo” is Tipu Sultan, who was known as the Tiger of Mysore. He defended his territory against the British onslaught throughout the 18th century (as had his father, Hyder Ali, before him). He was finally vanquished and killed in the Battle of Seringapatnam by Lord Cornwallis (yes, the same Cornwallis who was involved with the British surrender at York during the American Revolution!). Mysore then came under British control. I was surprised how huge this object is–for some reason, I kept thinking it was a small table-top model. When I saw that it was almost life size, I was shocked. It is so fragile now and can no longer be wound up to play the sounds that emanate from the dying young British soldiers who is being mauled by the tiger. This design, incidentally, is based on a real-life incident–a Captain Munroe was out hunting in Mysore when he was attacked and killed by a tiger. Tipu was delighted and amused by this occurrence and requested that an organ be made for him in this design. It happens to be the most popular item at the V&A and one that most visitors wish to see. This tour then wound its way to the Bernini Neptune, but since I was keen on joining Jane’s British Galleries tour, I left it and returned to the lobby.

Jane’s British Galleries tour was just fantastic. In the short space of just one hour, she covered such a great deal and explained things very clearly indeed. She went from the 1500s till the late 1700s and confined herself to the ground level only. The British Galleries continued on the 2nd, 3rd and 4th levels, but those I shall see on future visits.

These are the items I covered with Jane in the British Galleries:

1. A Morstyn Salt Cellar.
2. Henry VIII’s Portable Wooden Writing ‘Desk’.
3. The Bradford Table Carpet.
4. A Funeral Pall for the Brewer’s Company.
5. A Medieval Baby wrapped in swaddling and a slipware cradle.
6. A Virginal used by Queen Elizabeth I.
7. The Drake Jewel (containing a miniature of Queen Elizabeth I and presented to Drake in recognition of his services to the country after the defeat of the Spanish Armada).
8. The Hunsdon Jewels (Presented by Queen Elizabeth I to various courtiers for services rendered to the country).
9. The marble bust of Charles I.
10. Fashionable Men’s Wear in the Court of James I and Charles I.
11. A Mortlake Tapestry.
12. A Marquetry Cabinet.
13. A Sumpter Cloth (used to be thrown across goods in a wagon).
14. A Sculpture by Cornelia Parker entitled “Breathless” featuring real crushed musical instruments and suspended from the ceiling.
15. The Melville Bed from the Melville House in Fife, Scotland.
16. The Stoke Edith Tapestry from a country estate in Herefordshire featuring the estate’s formal gardens.
17. The Badminton Chinoisserie Bed from Badminton.
18. A Marble Sculpture of Handel by Jonathan Tyers originally made for the Vauxhall Gardens.
19. A Selection of Chelsea Porcelain.
20. Four Painted Rococo Panels.
21. An 18th century Mantua or Court Dress of a Lady.
22. A Painting entitled ‘The Duet’ by Arthur Devis
23. The Norfolk Music House Room which originally stood in St. James’ Square, London–later razed to the ground after a fire destroyed it.
24. A Selection of miniature portraits by Nicholas Hilliard.

I found it hard to believe how much I covered in just two and half hours. That’s why I love these tours!

When Jane and I got talking at the end of the tour, I happened to mention my Plantar Fascittis (which had caused me to sit wherever I could find a seat or bench on the tours) and Jane informed me that she had the same thing, a few years ago. Apart from the massages and stretching exercises, she recommended what her physiotherapist called Contrast Bathing! What??? She told me this meant that I needed to sit with two big bowls of water side by side. One should be filled with water as hot as I can take it, the other filled with water as cold as I can stand it. You are supposed to place your feet for a few minutes in the hot water, then in the cold, the hot, then the cold. This apparently would expand and contract the muscles. Jane claims that ultimately this did cure her completely and, occasionally, when she still gets a twinge, she does this for a few minutes and she is right as rain, again! This sounds to me like Chinese torture but what the heck, since I have tried everything else, I am willing to give this a shot as well. She told me to do this while watching TV and I would not feel it at all!!!

I came home for lunch, caught up with email correspondence and tried to take a short nap; and then before I knew it, the time was 5. 45 pm and I left my flat for my appointment with Rosemary Massouras and Christie Cherian, her partner. We had decided to meet at the Sherlock Holmes Bar which is located in the Park Plaza Sherlock Holmes Hotel on Baker Street, just a block from the fictional 221B Baker Street where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Victorian detective Sherlock Holmes lived.

It was a lovely evening and over cider and white wine and some nibbles (hummus and pita, feta cheese and sauteed peppers), we chatted about a vast variety of subjects from travel and India, films, our children, my trip to Berlin, etc. Rosemary and I have decided to go together to the special exhibition on Byzantium at the Royal Academy of Art where she happens to be a member and she also wants to do a weekend trip with me somewhere–but is afraid she will not have the stamina to keep up with me, she says!

I took two buses back and got home at 10 am when I had a small bite to eat and after writing this blog, fell asleep.