Getting Acquainted with Rio!

Jun17

 

From Iguazzu to Rio
Tuesday, June 9, 2015:

            The highlight of my day was the gargantuan buffet breakfast that was part of my deal at Hotel Rouver in Foz de Iguazzu. I must explain that the town is nothing to shout about—a one-horse outpost if it is anything at all. Good job there wasn’t much to do. This enabled me to linger over breakfast in the pleasant ground floor dining room, offered from 7-9 am. I awoke at leisure, showered and dressed and seated myself at a table after walking past the most impressive array of food. Lonely Planet had described it as “a modest breakfast”. Well, they might have had their tongues most definitely in their cheeks, for this spread was huge. Scrambled eggs, ham and other cold cuts, sliced cheese, croissants, butter, a selection of preserves, two kinds of quiche—ham and cheese; a variety of cakes from plain sponges, to coconut cakes to chocolate domes, plain and fruit yogurt. There were juices and coffee and tea. And best of all, there was fruit! Tropical fruit like fresh pineapple and musk melon, sliced papaya, big chunks of watermelon. I was in foodie heaven and am ashamed to say that I ate enough to get my money’s worth—and all I had paid was the modest sum of $30 for this bed and breakfast steal. No wonder I lingered, had a second cup of coffee and then returned to my room.

            An urgent work commitment kept me chained to pen and paper for the entire morning. I had a lot of reading to do (I had carried my papers with me) and I poured over them until about noon, by which time I raced through my packing and with check-out time being noon, just about made it to the counter and out the hotel door on schedule. I waited at the bus stop for about five minutes, hopped into a bus and was at the airport within half an hour.

 

Flight to Rio de Janeiro:

            My flight to Rio by TAM Airlines at 2. 45 pm was a two-hour affair. A window seat and two sweet female companions from Australia offered me my first glimpses of the stunning landscape that is the city of Rio de Janeiro—also known as Cidade de Maravilhosa (The Marvelous City). Bathed in bright sunshine under clear blue skies, it reposed quietly. Touchdown was smooth and reassuring and half an hour later, my baggage retrieved, I was at the Arrivals Lounge looking for my friend, Prof. Rosana de Freitas who teaches Fine Arts at a local Rio university. She had offered to meet me at the airport and lo and behold, there she was. We were meeting after exactly a year—we had parted in Kyoto, Japan, last July, little knowing that when next we met it would be in ravishing Rio!

            Rosana found us a taxi and soon we were skirting Galeao airport and at 5.00 pm joining the peak hour rush on the highway towards the city. It was a fine time for the two of us to catch up as the taxi inched its way through heavy traffic. I caught my first exciting glimpses of the famous iconic image of Rio—Christ the Redeemer perched high on a hill, His arms outstretched to embrace the world.

 

Discovering my New Apartment in Gloria:

But, an hour later, the driver was pulling up in the central Rio neighborhood known as Gloria and taking the lift to an apartment owned by Rosana and her American partner, Andrew. As luck would have it, the apartment which is usually rented to visiting tenants, was empty for the week of my occupancy. I saw shades of London all over again as Rosana put me through  the paces, gave me keys that opened the great big front gates and the door to my 2 bedroom flat. Unlike my little boutique flat in London which was tiny but brand-new with the spiffiest new appliances, this was old and sprawling, the rooms huge but wearing their age proudly. I was introduced to the layout of the space, inspected the kitchen and bathroom, took stock of closet space (loads of it in an empty cupboard), was shown supplies of bed linen, etc. before Rosana left to run errands.

            I did what every new arrival in new accommodation does. I unpacked, I made the bed (Rosana had left me bed linen and towels, soap, toilet paper, a few cookies) and marveled at the Andy Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe above my bed. In a former life, when living for three months in a loft in Farringdon, London, there were Marilyn avatars all over my living room (only those had been the real thing—signed Warhol lithographs–while this was a pink print). Still, there was a comforting sense of being followed by poor Marilyn as I switched on the fan to cool the room. The only downside was that for some reason I wasn’t able to get on to wifi nor did the TV in my bedroom work.

 

The Bombay-Rio Connection:

            Rosana took me for a brief turn around the neighborhood, which, strangely enough, reminded me so much of Bombay and more specifically of Bandra, the small suburb of Bombay from which I hail. When I try to think why it was so reminiscent of the city of my birth, I am sure it has a lot to do with the fact that Rio like Bombay is a coastal city of buildings—no houses to be seen. Shops encircle the ground floor of these buildings that, as a result of the city’s perpetual heat, have wide open balconies around each flat. Indeed, Rio even smells like Bombay: it is the smell I realize now of the urban tropics—a heady mixture of quickly deteriorating garbage, warm and sweaty bodies, the salt tang of the sea. Even the bright fluorescent lighting of the shops reminded me of my home town. The only difference was that unlike the English and Hindi I hear everywhere in Bombay, this was all about the Portuguese tongue tripping on the mouths of one and all. No one speaks anything but Portuguese and in the week that followed, I picked up several words to enable me to get by.

            With Rosana’s guidance, I found the little grocery store that would become familiar to me as I bought food for the next few days: milk, Nescafe instant coffee, cereal, ham, cheese, multi-grain bread for sandwiches, ice-cream and fruit (yes, I almost cried happy tears of nostalgia as I bought papayas, guavas, and custard apples)—enough to see me through the next few days. Even the market smelled like the shops do in India, where the heat quickly gets to meat and fish even with refrigeration and where even the freshest vegetables wilt rapidly. With my food supplies for the week, I returned to my apartment and continued to get organized when Rosana arrived to escort me to her apartment, three buildings away.

            Up a low hill we climbed together and made our way to Rosana’s miraculous ‘find’ of a home: a two bedroom terrace apartment on the rooftop of an eight-storey building that offered lovely views of an illuminated city! Inside, she offered me the country’s favorite snack—Brazil nuts, of course. And cashew nuts and a cold glass of water. There was humidity in the air and it followed me around throughout the week. This too was similar to Bombay. Before long, Andrew walked in. Rosana made introductions and we got chatting easily as we sipped the local brews. They had decided to take me out to dinner on my first night in Rio and I was grateful for the suggestion. It would enable me to experience Rio’s legendary night life as well as acquaint me with restaurant etiquette in this gracious city.

 

Dinner in Lapa at Nova Capella:

            Half an hour later, we were strolling through the ink-black night under the warm shroud of darkness to Lapa, a bohemian neighborhood just ten minutes from our digs in Gloria.  I had requested local traditional Brazilian food—no McDee’s for me when I have local friends with whom to feast. Luckily, they got exactly what I meant to discover—a small, old, custom-bound eatery that would showcase regional cuisine. Rosana and Andrew chose Nova Capella, a Lapa dining institution dating from 1906, with white sharkskin-clad waiters who exuded gracious charm. Seated at bentwood chairs on red gingham-covered tables, we started with drinks (local beer for me, cashaca, a liqueur made from sugarcane juice for Andrew, red wine for Rosana). They ordered appetizers that were the specialties of the house—bacalau (dried, reconstituted cod fish) formed into fritters with mashed potatoes—light and very tasty, and shrimp–filled empanadas. And for the main dish, they got the house special: roasted squid with broccoli rice. I noted with wonder that the squid was far from leathery—indeed, it was almost as soft and appealing as chicken. Portions were large, the young waiter was cordial throughout and very kind to the foreigner in me—he even offered a bilingual menu! What a wonderful evening, what a fine meal, what delightful company! A gal could not ask for better on her first night in the city.

            On the way back home, we trawled at a leisurely pace through Lapa taking in the well-refurbished restaurants that are seeing a recent gentrification. Old buildings continue to color the neighborhood with the shades of its rich history, but bright paint, the sounds of bossa nova and samba strains emanating from every eatery as live music was offered to patrons on a week night gave me a taste of the rich night life for which Rio has acquired quite a reputation.

            Happily I noted my surroundings, making mental landmarks to remind myself of what I had passed through so that, while on my own, I might renegotiate my way through this vibrant area. We passed an old atmospheric church constructed in the Goan-Portuguese vein, a massive Aqueduct that once carried water to residents in the hilltop enclave of Santa Teresa and is now used for the running of the historical tram from downtown to the hills. On one block, there were strings of gorgeous, skimpily-clad women. I realized at once that they were hookers, but you could have knocked me down with a feather when Rosana informed me that every single one of them was a man—transvestite prostitutes who would not hesitate to kill a regular hooker if she ever strayed on their turf. That was one of the times when the seedier side of Rio revealed itself to me. Repeatedly I was reminded to “Be Careful”—to watch my back. It is a city with a dangerous side and personal vigilance, quite unknown to me, became second nature during my stay. I was even told to put my watch away.  

            There had been a great deal to take in on one day—and my mind was spinning with so many sensual impressions. But above all, as I turned the key in my door ready to hit the sack, I could not help but feel grateful for the opportunity to live in a foreign city once again just like a local resident—a Carioca, as Rio’s citizens are known. Having done so already, on different occasions in my life as in London and Paris, I felt like an old hand at making myself at home in an unfamiliar city. Rio, I thought, here I come!

            Until tomorrow, ciao!                 

Ignited by the Iguazzu Falls

Jun16

Monday, June 8, 2015: At Foz de Iguazzu

            Going through Immigration was painless at Rio de Janeiro’s Galeao airport, but retrieving my baggage from the Claim area took forever: the No-Win Unwritten Rule of International Travel is that if Immigration is a snap, the wait at Baggage Claim is endless; if Immigration takes an hour, you get your bags in five minutes! For me, the next aim was to find the Domestic Departures section as I was to be airborne again in less than two hours, for my onward flight to the south of Brazil—for I was headed to the small town called Foz de Iguazzu which is the base for every global roamer’s wish to spy the Iguazzu Falls.       

            Well, the connection was just as smooth as peanut butter—and this time, I requested a window seat—but again, all were taken and I was placed besides an Oriental woman who seemed to have flown to Brazil from China as she slept right through the flight! What a horrible waste of a window seat, I thought! Still, at least she did not pull down the blind. Lonely Planet (my Travel Bible) had said that passengers on the left side of the plane often received a good view of the Falls at landing—and as luck would have it, there they were in all their glory. A gush of water that ended in a haze which was clearly a result of the mist that develops where the river Iguazzu makes landfall! Needless to say, I snapped a few pictures and was quite pleased with the results.

            At Foz de Iguazzu airport, as is my wont in a foreign country, I picked up my baggage and looked for the Tourist Information Desk in the Arrivals Lounge. It was a tiny little room manned by a lovely young girl named Marcella who spoke functional English. It was 12. 30 pm when we landed at Foz and at 1.00 pm, there was a public bus right outside the airport to take me to my hotel. There was little time to waste: I was grateful for the maps handed to me and being directed to the little bank kiosk next door, I changed a couple of hundred US dollars into Brazilian Reais for a far better rate than was offered at New York or at Rio airports! Feeling very pleased with myself, I raced off for the bus stop, found it in a jiffy and five minutes later, along came the bus.

It took me less than five minutes to figure out how the public bus system works in Brazil: you board the bus, wish the   driver Bom Dia (pronounced Bonjia—very similar to the French Bonjour), turn to the conductor, usually a female, who is seated at the front at a turnstile! You pay her your fare (a flat R3. 40—approximately a dollar) for any journey, then turn the turnstile around to let yourself through. If you have baggage (as I did), a kind passenger gives you a hand to pass it across the turnstile on the top—God forbid if you are handicapped! I found a seat and spent the next 20 minutes feasting my eyes on the tropical green of southern Brazil for the Iguazzu Falls sit bang in the midst of the great Brazilian Rain Forest—thousands and thousands of acres of it as is easily evidently from the aircraft. If you are familiar with Goa or Kerala, you will fancy yourself in that part of the world for the vegetation is similar: miles of coconut palms, cashew and mango trees.

            As luck would have it, the bus dropped me right outside my hotel: all I had to do was cross a busy street and there it was: Hotel Rouver (pronounced Hotel Hoover—as words beginning with R are pronounced as H in Portuguese). Five minutes later, I was checking in, opening the door to my first floor room, dumping my baggage, changing into a tank top and capris (for it was HOT!) and using the facilities before heading off to the Falls.

            Because, you see, there was no time to waste. I was only at Foz for one night and my flight back to Rio was to depart at 2. 45 pm the next day. I had little choice but to make the most of the rest of the day and I was determined not to waste a second. The hotel receptionist kindly directed me to the bus-stop (again, right outside my hotel) and in the ultra-warm afternoon, I waited for ten minutes for the bus that then made its way back to the airport and past it to arrive at the entrance to the famed Iguazzu Falls.

 

Sighting the Iguazzu Falls:

            I should make clear at this stage that it was our family friend and physician, Dr. Edward Pinto, who had told me that the Iguazzu Falls were one of the most spectacular sights he has ever seen—and he is well-traveled. He had advised me to make a detour and go and see them, no matter where in South America I happened to be. Since I always heed my doctor’s advice, there I was! At 3. 00 pm, there was plenty of daylight left and at least three hours to see the place. Once off the bus, I hurried to the Main Entrance to buy my ticket (R54, approx. $18) and was directed to the bus that ferries travelers through the vast expanse of the National Park in which the Falls are located. I took a seat on the top deck and within ten minutes, the bus took off with about twenty passengers on board. I was very grateful for the strong breeze that blew throughout that ride (on the open upper deck) that threatened to blow my baseball cap right off but cooled me well!

            The plan on a bus tour of this sort is something akin to the Hop On, Hop Off bus service found in many of the world’s cities. You get off wherever you please (usually an Observation Deck) and wait for about 20 minutes for the next bus to come along and take you to the next stop. I had done my homework and had found out that Stops 14 to 19 were the most crucial because they offered the most stunning views. At Stop 14, most of the passengers alighted and climbed down the ramp leading downhill for their first glimpse of the Falls. From that point, I walked for about 4 kms (2 miles) along the periphery of the canyon stopping frequently to take pictures and appreciate the sights from many varied vantage points. For what is unique about Iguazzu is that, unlike Niagara, is it not just one gushing wall of water but several different falls—some narrow, others wide; some very tall, others much shorter; some close at hand, others far in the distance; some a drop over a single shelf, others comprising multiple tiers.  Overall, the variety of scenes and the fury of the Iguazzu Falls make Niagara look like a trickle! With every step I took further along the trail leading eventually to the piece de resistance, Devil’s Throat, at Stop 19, I was awed! At some points, there are simply no words. You just gaze and try to get your camera to do justice to what you see—but you soon realize that the impact is only partly visual. Much of the effect is audio—you hear the gushing, you take in the deafening roar. And tactile—for you are sprayed gently at some points and well soaked at others. It is a completely sensual experience to be drenched by the spray of hundreds of tons of gushing water as the mighty Iguazzu goes over a succession of rapids and plunges into a foaming cauldron of white blindness! What is also spectacular about this spot are the multiple rainbows that form across the ravine as the tearing waters catch the sun’s rays. Cameras work overtime to capture it all—and often fail. But I did spot at least two rainbows through the length of my stay at this spot.

            Enough said! As often happens to solo travelers, you request fellow sojourners to take your picture against the sound and the fury—and before you know it, you have a new friend. This was the case with me as I requested a sweet young man to take my picture and in turn offered to take his. He happened to be one Mohamed Saad, Algerian by parentage and heritage, French by birth (he was born and grew up in Lyon) and now working in Bristol, UK, as a petroleum engineer. I enjoyed trying my French out on him for size and was delighted to receive compliments on my fluency! We got into the natural rhythm of discovering each other in French as we discovered the Falls and were grateful for each other’s company. As we trekked through the rain forest to the next vantage point, we squealed at the sight of raccoon-like furry brown wild animals who stomped around in packs. They are called Quatchi in the local lingo and they amused one and all with their hunt for food.

            Ultimately, after walking for about an hour, we arrived at Devil’s Throat, a spot where visitors actually walk right over the falls on a concrete trail that takes you to the heart of the ravine. This part of the Falls is very similar to Niagara and boat trips (similar to the Maid of the Mist) take visitors to the base of the Falls (for an additional fee earlier in the day). We contented ourselves walking to the absolute edge of the canyon and watching the water swirling in mighty pressure beneath us. Right across the ravine is Argentina—and, as in the case of the Niagara Falls where one has views from the America and Canadian sides of the borders, so too here, one can view the Falls from both countries. There were many people across on the Argentinian side also walking along a concrete trail—which led me to investigate the possibility of getting on the opposite side the next day. However, I nixed it when I discovered that US citizens need a visa for Argentina which is available at the border but costs a whopping $160! Not worth it, I thought for just a few hours! Overall, I was very thrilled with the visit to the Falls from the Brazilian side and did not regret my inability to cross international borders to see them again.    

The trail was wet with the constant spray and we were quite drenched by the time we tore ourselves away from the Devil’s Throat and returned to the bus stop to take the bus back to base. Restaurant, restrooms, souvenir shops and other amenities are frequently available along the trail. Had one the entire day to spend at the falls, one could do all sort of trails, take the boat to the base, etc. But I was perfectly content with the three hours I spent there and felt that it had certainly been worth my while to make the long two-hour flight to South Brazil to catch a glimpse of this astonishing natural wonder.

The drive to base took another 20 minutes, at which point I spied the public bus that would take me back to my hotel. Mohamed and I took the same bus and got off at the same stop—he had reservations at the local Youth Hostel near by. We exchanged contact information and parted and I walked to my hotel. En route, I spied a McDonald’s—yes, I have to admit that when I am alone in a small outpost where I cannot speak the language, I am rarely tempted to enter a restaurant. McDee’ssuits me just fine and with a salad, a fish burger and a cold chocolate milk, I was content to return to my hotel, eat my dinner and spend the rest of the evening catching up with email—for I had free wifi. Sadly, the TV only transmitted in Portuguese—of which I do not understand a word. One hot shower later, I prepared for bed and having taken the red eye flight from New York, slept the sleep of the dead!

Ciao until tomorrow…  

Breezing Through Brazil–Departure and Arrival

Jun16

Sunday, June 7, 2015: Off to Brazil
Departure for and Arrival In Brazil:

 By 5.00 pm, we had piled into our car and began the drive to Kennedy airport from Manhattan—with a very tired and sleepy lot of passengers in the back. It was really hard to say goodbye to my family members from India (especially as we had such a splendid week together), but by 6. 30, I found myself in great time to check in, go through Security and take my place at the Boarding Gate of a flight on TAM Airlines, the national air carrier of Brazil. The flight departed promptly at 8. 30 pm—the red eye is a great way to catch some zzzs but not before I enjoyed The Second Best Exotic Mariegold Hotel on the in-flight entertainment service. Sleep did come eventually after dinner was served and at 7. 30 am, the next morning, I found myself at Rio de Janeiro’s Galeao airport. Alas, I did not have a window seat so could not look for the telltale sightings that orient me to a city while still airborne (but I would have a few opportunities to get bird’s-eye views of this appealing city as the week progressed).
 
Until tomorrow, ciao!
 
 
 

A Convoluted Return Home from the UK to Spain to the USA

Jan27

Sunday, January 25, 2015
London-Madrid-New York

 Having set my alarm for 5.00 am (for a 5. 30 am departure), I found myself waking up automatically at 4. 45 am with plenty of time to wash, dress, do last-minute packing and leave. Chris and the cab driver were on schedule and we were off for Heathrow airport while St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage were comatose. Through the sleeping streets we sped past Chiswick to arrive at Heathrow at 6.15 am where I checked in immediately, received my boarding passes, had my bags tagged but was told to return at 8. 3o am to check them in as the counter only opened 3 hours before departure.
       It was a good time to get into Carluccio’s to buy myself a hot chocolate and a plain croissant which I enjoyed with butter and their signature fig jam as I awaited 8. 30 am and the arrival of my friends Bash and Kim who were scheduled to come to the airport to spend a couple of hours with me as they live nearby. As it turned out, my brother Roger had arrived at Heathrow on duty last evening and it was with him on the phone that I passed time while waiting for my friends. They did turn up at 8. 30 am when we went straight to Café Nero to get mocha lattes and to catch up. It was great to see Kim on her feet (sciatica had kept her away from our trip to Oxford) and for the next couple of hours, we had a lovely time together.
        Then, if you can believe it, I boarded my flight to go from London to the USA but for some inexplicable reason, via Madrid in Spain! The flight run by Iberia was in a very small plane but it made good time and gave me a chance to catch up on my journal. Skies were clear over Portugal and Spain and views from my window showed me snow-struck mountains and fallow fields. Soon we were descending into Madrid where I had to change terminals to get my international flight to the US. I had no time to grab a sandwich (I could have murdered for one with Spain’s manchego cheese and serrano ham!), but in no time at all, I was in my plane (another small one with none of the lovely British Airways in-flight entertainment) and just when I wondered what I would do for the next 9 hours during daylight, I was grateful for my laptop that would allow me to pass time through writing and for the Woman and Home magazine that I had bought at Heathrow airport. My seat had a charger plug point which permitted me to listen to music on my I-Phone and hammer away on my laptop and with a window seat on a very light flight, I was up and airborne and ready to make the most of the last lap of my holiday.
       It had been a blast! In one week in London, I had done favorite old things (the National Gallery and the Guildhall Art Gallery, for instance) and discovered new ones (tours of the Royal Courts of Justice, Highgate Cemetery). I had seen one play (Di and Viv and Rose) at the West End and one really brilliant TV show (Wolf Hall). I had been invited to a very special lunch in a very special place (Morden College in Blackheath), Afternoon Tea with the NYU Dean’s Circle in a fancy hotel—The Montague on the Gardens  in Bloomsbury—and had a lovely farewell pub dinner of fish and chips at the Old Bank of England pub on Fleet Street where Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street had apparently murdered many an innocent client.
I had found some really good buys at really great prices (a Barbour quilted jacket for myself, plum puddings at Harrods, vast supplies of my favorite tea, biscuits, cereal, soup). I had combined some work by meeting with my Dean and the students he had brought to London plus many of our administrative staff members with a great deal of play, long walks and longer bus rides on days that were frightfully cold even when the sun shone.
       I had heard Mass at favorite churches—St. Etheldreda’s in Holborn and at Westminster Cathedral. I went to very unusual museums of which even Londoners haven’t heard (The Old Operating Theater in Southwark and the Linely-Sambourne House in tony Kensington) and discovered new lines of perfume by my favorite perfumier (Jo Malone in her new line called Jo Loves) on Elizabeth Street. I made one daytrip to another one of my favorite places on earth—the university city of Oxford—to which I introduced Raquel.
        But, above all, I had met and reconnected with dear English friends who mean so much to me (Tim and Barbara, Rosemary (Roz), Loulou and Paul, Michael and Cynthia and Susan in Oxford), Indian ones (Murali, Michelle and Reshma, Bash and Kim) and American ones (Mahnaz. Raquel and Chris) who make my stays in London ever so special by invitations to lunch or dinner either in their homes or restaurants. In the final analysis, although I adore London in every season and despite every affliction that is thrown my way (this time it was a persistent cold and an aching throat), ultimately, it is the people I know and love in this country that make it all worthwhile for me.
        Thank you for following me on my adventures and for being my companion through thick and thin. I hope you enjoyed armchair traveling with me as much as I enjoyed actually making the trips, for, remember as the philosopher said, it is not the destination that matters but the journey. I am grateful that you were a part of mine.
       Until the next time when I leave my usual abode in Southport and return to my Roost, I say cheerio! 

A Convoluted Return Home from the UK to Spain to the USA

Jan27

Sunday, January 25, 2015
London-Madrid-New York

Having set my alarm for 5.00 am (for a 5. 30 am departure), I found myself waking up automatically at 4. 45 am with plenty of time to wash, dress, do last-minute packing and leave. Chris and the cab driver were on schedule and we were off for Heathrow airport while St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage were comatose. Through the sleeping streets we sped past Chiswick to arrive at Heathrow at 6.15 am where I checked in immediately, received my boarding passes, had my bags tagged but was told to return at 8. 3o am to check them in as the counter only opened 3 hours before departure.

It was a good time to get into Carluccio’s to buy myself a hot chocolate and a plain croissant which I enjoyed with butter and their signature fig jam as I awaited 8. 30 am and the arrival of my friends Bash and Kim who were scheduled to come to the airport to spend a couple of hours with me as they live nearby. As it turned out, my brother Roger had arrived at Heathrow on duty last evening and it was with him on the phone that I passed time while waiting for my friends. They did turn up at 8. 30 am when we went straight to Café Nero to get mocha lattes and to catch up. It was great to see Kim on her feet (sciatica had kept her away from our trip to Oxford) and for the next couple of hours, we had a lovely time together.

Then, if you can believe it, I boarded by flight to go from London to the USA but for some inexplicable reason, via Madrid in Spain! The flight run by Iberia was in a very small plane but it made good time and gave me a chance to catch up on my journal. Skies were clear over Portugal and Spain and views from my window showed me snow-struck mountains and fallow fields. Soon we were descending into Madrid where I had to change terminals to get my international flight to the US. I had no time to grab a sandwich (I could have murdered for one with Spain’s manchego cheese and serrano ham!), but in no time at all, I was in my plane (another small one with none of the lovely British Airways in-flight entertainment) and just when I wondered what I would do for the next 9 hours during daylight, I was grateful for my laptop that would allow me to pass time through writing and for the Woman and Home magazine that I had bought at Heathrow airport. My seat had a charger plug point which permitted me to listen to music on my I-Phone and hammer away on my laptop and with a window seat on a very light flight, I was up and airborne and ready to make the most of the last lap of my holiday.

It had been a blast! In one week in London, I had done favorite old things (the National Gallery and the Guildhall Art Gallery, for instance) and discovered new ones (tours of the Royal Courts of Justice, Highgate Cemetery and the Linley-Sambourne House). I had seen one play (Di and Viv and Rose) at the West End and one really brilliant TV show (Wolf Hall). I had been invited to a very special lunch in a very special place (Morden College in Blackheath), Afternoon Tea with the NYU Dean’s Circle in a fancy hotel—The Montague on the Gardens  in Bloomsbury—and had a lovely farewell pub dinner of fish and chips at the Old Bank of England pub on Fleet Street where Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street had apparently murdered many an innocent client.
I had found some really good buys at really great prices (a Barbour quilted jacket for myself, plum puddings at Harrods, vast supplies of my favorite tea, biscuits, cereal, soup). I had combined some work by meeting with my Dean and the students he had brought to London plus many of our administrative staff members with a great deal of play, long walks and longer bus rides on days that were frightfully cold even when the sun shone. I had heard Mass at favorite churches—St. Etheldreda’s in Holborn and at Westminster Cathedral. I went to very unusual museums of which even Londoners haven’t heard (The Old Operating Theater in Southwark and the Linely-Sambourne House in tony Kensington) and discovered new lines of perfume by my favorite perfumier (Jo Malone in her new line called Jo Loves) on Elizabeth Street. I made one daytrip to another one of my favorite places on earth—the university city of Oxford—to which I introduced Raquel.
But, above all, I had met and reconnected with dear English friends who mean so much to me (Tim and Barbara, Rosemary (Roz), Loulou and Paul, Michael and Cynthia and Susan in Oxford), Indian ones (Murali, Michelle and Reshma, Bash and Kim) and American ones (Mahnaz. Raquel and Chris) who make my stays in London ever so special by invitations to lunch or dinner either in their homes or restaurants. In the final analysis, although I adore London in every season and despite every affliction that is thrown my way (this time it was a persistent cold and an aching throat), ultimately, it is the people I know and love in this country that make it all worthwhile for me.
Thank you for following me on my adventures and for being my companion through thick and thin. I hope you enjoyed armchair traveling with me as much as I enjoyed actually making the trips, for, remember as the philosopher said, it is not the destination that matters but the journey. I am grateful that you were a part of mine.
Until the next time I leave my usual home in Southport and return to my roost, I say cheerio!

Long Last Day in London: Linley-Sambourne House, West End Theater

Jan27

Saturday, January 24, 2015
London

My last days in London always tend to get a bit frenzied because there is so much I desperately wish to finish doing before the day is done. It began, as usual, with Jonas climbing into bed with me, watching a couple of his cartoons while I caught up with my blog. But soon he was hurrying off to his ice-skating class with his mother while I had my breakfast (walnut bread with peanut butter, hazelnut yoghurt and coffee) and left to make some food purchases. First off, I walked to Panzers, a gourmet food store at St. John’s Wood, to buy some Scumshus Granola as I had heard through Twitter how fabulous it was. I found it rather quickly, bought a jar and then hopped on to the Tube to get to Holborn to buy some bags of muesli and Three Fruits Marmalade from Sainsbury. That done, I requested the sales staff to hold on to my bags as they were much too heavy to be carted around for the rest of the day.
I walked briskly then to one of my other favorite food stores in Bloomsbury called Bury Food and Wine on Bury Street right by the British Museum for my supply of biscuits: Border’s Dark Chocolate Gingers. And it was here that I found lovely round biscuit barrels of Borders’ Assorted Biscuits—I thought it would be a good thing to take back home—so buy one I did. With those bags, I returned to Sainsbury at Holborn and requested the clerk to add them to my existing bags.

Visiting the Linley-Sambourne House:
While at Bury Food and Wine, I called the office at the Linley-Sambourne House at 18 Stafford Street in Kensington when it opened at 10. 15 am to find out if they could accommodate one more person for their 11.15 am tour—and they could! There was no time to waste. I hopped straight on the Tube at Holborn, got off at Notting Hill Gate, then switched to the Circle Line train for one stop to alight at Kensington High Street. I found the place very easily using my trusty map of London and soon I was joining a group of 7 other enthusiasts to see this very interesting home.
So here is a historical word about the Linley-Sambourne House: It is only a stone’s throw from the much more well-known Lord Leighton’s House, only a block away. It was the home of a man called Edward Linley-Sambourne who was one of the principal cartoonists for Punch magazine and who lived in the house for 35 years between 1875 and 1910 with his wife Marion from the time he married her and bought it to the time he died at the age of 66.
If the name Linley appears familiar to you, you would be right in associating it with Viscount Linley, now a famous designer of bespoke wooden furniture and son of the late Princess Margaret, sister of the present Queen of England whose husband Lord Snowdon was born Anthony (Tony) Armstrong-Jones and who was related to the original owner of the house, Lord Linley-Samborne.
The reason the house is on public display today is because ‘Lin’ (as he was known) and Marion spent their lifetime creating a very special family home by making every manner of purchase you can imagine in contemporary decorative arts. The home is, therefore, a fine receptacle of Victoriana as it flourished in the reign of the erstwhile Queen who gave the age its name. Lin and Marion had two children: a son, Roy (who remained unmarried and, therefore, childless) and a daughter Maude who eventually inherited the house and then passed it on to her daughter Rose who married the Irish Count of Rosse. It was she, eventually, who decided to preserve her parents’ immense collection of art and artifacts by turning it over to the nation by involving people like Sir John Betjeman, Sir Nicholas Pevsner, Hugh Casson and others who gathered in the house in 1956 to found the Victorian Society for the conservation and preservation of such items at a time when they had fallen out of fashion and people were getting rid of them by the ton. Today, the house is in the possession of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea who manage it well and keep it maintained through the running of tours. I had first read about this home through the writings of one of my favorite British architects and illustrators,     Sir Hugh Casson, one-time President of the Royal Academy whose beautifully-illustrated book entitled Hugh Casson’s London has led me to some of London’s most secret corners and offered me untold delights through the decades.
The tour began on the lower level, the basement, what was then the kitchen (although it is not a kitchen today) and a pantry (which, I learned, was not the kitchen storeroom but, in fact, the room used for sleeping by all the servants of which, at that time, there were four: a cook, a nurse/governess for the children, a housekeeper to supervise the running of the house and a housemaid to clean, fetch and open front doors). A 15 minute film introduced us to the principal characters in this drama and to the artistic work of Linley-Sambourne who, apart from producing cartoons for Punch, also illustrated contemporary novels (his best-known work is for The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley), and a photographer (he used photography quite effectively to perfect the poses of the characters in his cartoons and to produce art). The short film was a fine introduction to the dramatis personae in this story.
Our tour then began in earnest. It was given by a little old lady whose knowledge of the house, the objects in it and its inhabitants was prodigious, to say the least. No matter what question she was asked, she could answer it and in detail. I was terribly impressed by the extent and the depth of her knowledge. As we went through the Dining Room, the Morning Room, the spectacular Drawing Room (the principal room in the house and the one most crammed with objets d’art), the bedrooms, the childrens’ bedroom and the nursery on five levels till we reached the very top, we got the sense that, for the Victorians, less was certainly not more. In fact, for them, more was never enough! Layer upon layer of decoration overwhelmed the eye from the original wallpapers by famed contemporary William Morris (of course!) to the vases, ceramic bowls, lamps and figurines of the Arts and Crafts Movement (also known as the Aesthetic Movement)—they were all there. Furthermore, the Victorians were known to have a great love-affairs with foreign lands and the home is cluttered with items from the Far East: Japanese wood block prints, chinnoiserie, etc.
Plus, rather unusually, this home is simply filled to the rafters with framed prints such as I have never seen anywhere before. When I asked the guide about them, she said that the couple could not afford to buy real contemporary art so they contended themselves by buying black and white prints of famous paintings and then framing them to fill every bit of wall. There isn’t anything particularly Pre-Raphaelite in here except for some prints of paintings by Millais who was actually known to Lin. He wasn’t friends with any of the other names associated with the movement either. While this house is not as grand at Lord Leighton’s, it is a great example of a Victorian-Edwardian home of a normal middle class family, similar I would say to the home of Thomas Carlyle at Chelsea (which has far fewer objects in it) or even Charles Dickens’ home at 48 Doughty Street that I re-visited on this trip. Do go and see it to get a glimpse into the lifestyle of Kensington folks of 150 years ago at a time when tony Kensington was a brand-new ‘suburb’ of London and when ordinary folk were buying modestly-priced property there to create family homes for themselves. The Linley-Sambournes did not have an alternative place in the country but they did often rent a home in the south of France for three months each winter to escape the cold. As such, this is the only home they ever owned and the only place where their passion for collecting was made known.
The tour lasted one hour so that by 12.30, I was on the Tube again headed for the Theater District in the West End as I was keen to obtain a ticket to see a matinee show. I could not believe that I had actually been in London for a whole week and had not yet been to the theater! But not before I found the time to nip into several of the thrift shops on Kensington High Street from which you can find real treasures such as the lovely pair of vintage ear-rings that I snagged for a mere five pounds from Oxfam!

A Matinee on The Strand:
I was delighted, therefore, to score a ticket to see Di and Viv and Rose, a new tragi-comedy that has recently opened in the West End to good reviews. I guess I could have seen a musical right across the street; but I was keen to see this first work by playwright Amelia Bullmore with whose work I am familiar through a British TV series called Scott and Bailey (currently showing on PBS in America). Bullmore, who is also an actress, plays a police inspector on the series of which she has written a couple of episodes herself. I find her multiple talents endlessly fascinating and was keen to support her work by seeing the play.
Finding a branch of EAT nearby, I got myself a Singapore Laksa soup which was thick with noodles and coconut milk and made a very filling, if late lunch indeed. Then I hurried off towards the theater.
The 3.00 pm show allowed me to take in some of the delights of Covent Garden on a particularly crowded morning. The sun was out, people had descended upon London’s sights and from Trafalgar Square to Covent Garden, tourists were swarming. I walked through the lovely colonnaded arches of this magnificent structure by Inigo Jones, visited the Jubilee Market to inspect its wares and then hurried to the Strand to pick up a ticket for just 15 pounds. As it turned out, although the acting was very good and the play did tear at my heart strings, the writing was not as tight as it could have been although the concept was great. The plot followed the fortunes of three women who had met in college at the age of 18 to become roommates and whose friendship was cemented during those heady days. One of them (Di) is a lesbian, one is focused and career-driven (Viv) and one is carelessly promiscuous (Rose). As the next forty years in their lives are documented through their personal ups and downs, the drama swings from funny to sad. Their highs and their lows bring them closer together until one of them dies and the other two are left to mourn not just their friend but the death of their friendship as a threesome. Good acting redeemed a rather thin plot and I guess I was too tired after a whole week’s traipsing around London to really enjoy it. It was with relief that we reached the end of the play

Back Home for a Very Restful Last Evening:
It was 5. 30 pm and quite dark when I left the theater to spy Paul’s, my favorite French patisserie on the opposite side of The Strand. It was the perfect time for two of my best-loved treats—Paul’s lovely hot chocolate and an almond croissant (filled with gooey marzipan and studded with flaked almonds). I sat down in the cozy interior and enjoyed my goodies before hopping into a 91 bus across the street (what would I ever do without my Central London bus map?) that took me to Aldwych and then down Kingsway to Holborn station from where I picked up by bags of groceries at Sainsbury and made my way back home to St. John’s Wood on the Tube.
It was about 6. 45 pm when I walked in the door. My friends Raquel and Chris were leaving soon to see the movie A Most Violent Year and asked if I wished to join them. I declined as I had a load of packing to do in readiness of my early-morning departure. I was, in fact, all set to call a cab to pick me up on the morrow, when I discovered that Chris was headed to Heathrow airport too for a business trip to Athens. Naturally, we decided to share a cab and I was so pleased to have both his company and his help in handling my heavy baggage—for on this return journey, I have two full suitcases as I had brought one suitcase inside the other when I had arrived from India! Yes, these are the tricks one picks up from years of experienced travel!
I spent the next couple of hours organizing my packing, dividing weight between two suitcases, carefully weighing my loads on Raquel’s scale, taking a shower, having a small glass of white wine and fixing myself a sandwich dinner with the last of my bits and bobs in the fridge—walnut bread and cold ox tongue—as I sat with my laptop to watch the BBC’s Wolf Hall on I-Player based on the novels by Hilary Mantel. It was deeply absorbing especially as Mark Rylance is playing the principal role of Thomas Cromwell and Damien Lewis is playing King Henry VIII. Having read both of Mantel’s novels (Wolf Hall and its sequel Bring Up The Bodies), I found the series enthralling and easy to follow. But by 10.30 pm, I set my alarm, took a few last pictures with Jonas and was out like a light.
My last full day in London had been just as full as my first one and I was ready to hit the sack while thanking the Lord for another really splendid time in my favorite city.

Unti tomorrow, cheerio!

 

 

Long Last Day in London: Linley-Sambourne House and West End Theater

Jan27

Saturday, January 24, 2015

London


            My last days in London always tend to get a bit frenzied because there is so much I desperately wish to finish doing before the day is done. It began, as usual, with Jonas climbing into bed with me, watching a couple of his cartoons while I caught up with my blog. But soon he was hurrying off to his ice-skating class with his mother while I had my breakfast (walnut bread with peanut butter, hazelnut yoghurt and coffee) and left to make some food purchases. First off, I walked to Panzers, a gourmet food store at St. John’s Wood, to buy some Scumshus Granola as I had heard through Twitter how fabulous it was. I found it rather quickly, bought a jar and then hopped on to the Tube to get to Holborn to buy some bags of muesli and Three Fruits Marmalade from Sainsbury. That done, I requested the sales staff to hold on to my bags as they were much too heavy to be carted around for the rest of the day.

            I walked briskly then to one of my other favorite food stores in Bloomsbury called Bury Food and Wine on Bury Street right by the British Museum for my supply of biscuits: Border’s Dark Chocolate Gingers. And it was here that I found lovely round biscuit barrels of Borders’ Assorted Biscuits—I thought it would be a good thing to take back home—so buy one I did. With those bags, I returned to Sainsbury at Holborn and requested the clerk to add them to my existing bags.

 

Visiting the Linley-Sambourne House:

            While at Bury Food and Wine, I called the office at the Linley-Sambourne House at 18 Stafford Street in Kensington when it opened at 10. 15 am to find out if they could accommodate one more person for their 11.15 am tour—and they could! There was no time to waste. I hopped straight on the Tube at Holborn, got off at Notting Hill Gate, then switched to the Circle Line train for one stop to alight at Kensington High Street. I found the place very easily using my trusty map of London and soon I was joining a group of 7 other enthusiasts to see this very interesting home.

            So here is a historical word about the Linley-Sambourne House: It is only a stone’s throw from the much more well-known Lord Leighton’s House, only a block away. It was the home of a man called Edward Linley-Sambourne who was one of the principal cartoonists for Punch magazine and who lived in the house for 35 years between 1875 and 1910 with his wife Marion from the time he married her and bought it to the time he died at the age of 66.

If the name Linley appears familiar to you, you would be right in associating it with Viscount Linley, now a famous designer of bespoke wooden furniture and son of the late Princess Margaret, sister of the present Queen of England whose husband Lord Snowdon was born Anthony (Tony) Armstrong-Jones and who was related to the original owner of the house, Lord Linley-Samborne.

The reason the house is on public display today is because ‘Lin’ (as he was known) and Marion spent their lifetime creating a very special family home by making every manner of purchase you can imagine in contemporary decorative arts. The home is, therefore, a fine receptacle of Victoriana as it flourished in the reign of the erstwhile Queen who gave the age its name. Lin and Marion had two children: a son, Roy (who remained unmarried and, therefore, childless) and a daughter Maude who eventually inherited the house and then passed it on to her daughter Rose who married the Irish Count of Rosse. It was she, eventually, who decided to preserve her parents’ immense collection of art and artifacts by turning it over to the nation by involving people like Sir John Betjeman, Sir Nicholas Pevsner, Hugh Casson and others who gathered in the house in 1956 to found the Victorian Society for the conservation and preservation of such items at a time when they had fallen out of fashion and people were getting rid of them by the ton. Today, the house is in the possession of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea who manage it well and keep it maintained through the running of tours. I had first read about this home through the writings of one of my favorite British architects and illustrators,     Sir Hugh Casson, one-time President of the Royal Academy whose beautifully-illustrated book entitled Hugh Casson’s London has led me to some of London’s most secret corners and offered me untold delights through the decades.

            The tour began on the lower level, the basement, what was then the kitchen (although it is not a kitchen today) and a pantry (which, I learned, was not the kitchen storeroom but, in fact, the room used for sleeping by all the servants of which, at that time, there were four: a cook, a nurse/governess for the children, a housekeeper to supervise the running of the house and a housemaid to clean, fetch and open front doors). A 15 minute film introduced us to the principal characters in this drama and to the artistic work of Linley-Sambourne who, apart from producing cartoons for Punch, also illustrated contemporary novels (his best-known work is for The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley), and a photographer (he used photography quite effectively to perfect the poses of the characters in his cartoons and to produce art). The short film was a fine introduction to the dramatis personae in this story.

            Our tour then began in earnest. It was given by a little old lady whose knowledge of the house, the objects in it and its inhabitants was prodigious, to say the least. No matter what question she was asked, she could answer it and in detail. I was terribly impressed by the extent and the depth of her knowledge. As we went through the Dining Room, the Morning Room, the spectacular Drawing Room (the principal room in the house and the one most crammed with objets d’art), the bedrooms, the childrens’ bedroom and the nursery on five levels till we reached the very top, we got the sense that, for the Victorians, less was certainly not more. In fact, for them, more was never enough! Layer upon layer of decoration overwhelmed the eye from the original wallpapers by famed contemporary William Morris (of course!) to the vases, ceramic bowls, lamps and figurines of the Arts and Crafts Movement (also known as the Aesthetic Movement)—they were all there. Furthermore, the Victorians were known to have a great love-affair with foreign lands and the home is cluttered with items from the Far East: Japanese wood block prints, chinoisserie, etc.

Plus, rather unusually, this home is simply filled to the rafters with framed prints such as I have never seen anywhere before. When I asked the guide about them, she said that the couple could not afford to buy real contemporary art so they contended themselves by buying black and white prints of famous paintings and then framing them to fill every bit of wall. There isn’t anything particularly Pre-Raphaelite in here except for some prints of paintings by Millais who was actually known to Lin. He wasn’t friends with any of the other names associated with the movement either. While this house is not as grand at Lord Leighton’s, it is a great example of a Victorian-Edwardian home of a normal middle class family, similar I would say to the home of Thomas Carlyle at Chelsea (which has far fewer objects in it) or even Charles Dickens’ home at 48 Doughty Street that I re-visited on this trip. Do go and see it to get a glimpse into the lifestyle of Kensington folks of 150 years ago at a time when tony Kensington was a brand-new ‘suburb’ of London and when ordinary folk were buying modestly-priced property there to create family homes for themselves. The Linley-Sambournes did not have an alternative place in the country but they did often rent a home in the south of France for three months each winter to escape the cold. As such, this is the only home they ever owned and the only place where their passion for collecting was made known.

The tour lasted one hour so that by 12.30, I was on the Tube again headed for the Theater District in the West End as I was keen to obtain a ticket to see a matinee show. I could not believe that I had actually been in London for a whole week and had not yet been to the theater! But not before I found the time to nip into several of the thrift shops on Kensington High Street from which you can find real treasures such as the lovely pair of vintage ear-rings that I snagged for a mere five pounds from Oxfam!

 

A Matinee on The Strand:

            I was delighted, therefore, to score a ticket to see Di and Viv and Rose, a new tragi-comedy that has recently opened in the West End to good reviews. I guess I could have seen a musical right across the street; but I was keen to see this first work by playwright Amelia Bullmore with whose work I am familiar through a British TV series called Scott and Bailey (currently showing on PBS in America). Bullmore, who is also an actress, plays a police inspector on the series of which she has written a couple of episodes herself. I find her multiple talents endlessly fascinating and was keen to support her work by seeing the play.

            Finding a branch of EAT nearby, I got myself a Singapore Laksa soup which was thick with noodles and coconut milk and made a very filling, if late lunch indeed. Then I hurried off towards the theater.

            The 3.00 pm show allowed me to take in some of the delights of Covent Garden on a particularly crowded morning. The sun was out, people had descended upon London’s sights and from Trafalgar Square to Covent Garden, tourists were swarming. I walked through the lovely colonnaded arches of this magnificent structure by Inigo Jones, visited the Jubilee Market to inspect its wares and then hurried to the Strand to pick up a ticket for just 15 pounds. As it turned out, although the acting was very good and the play did tear at my heart strings, the writing was not as tight as it could have been although the concept was great. The plot followed the fortunes of three women who had met in college at the age of 18 to become roommates and whose friendship was cemented during those heady days. One of them (Di) is a lesbian, one is focused and career-driven (Viv) and one is carelessly promiscuous (Rose). As the next forty years in their lives are documented through their personal ups and downs, the drama swings from funny to sad. Their highs and their lows bring them closer together until one of them dies and the other two are left to mourn not just their friend but the death of their friendship as a threesome. Good acting redeemed a rather thin plot and I guess I was too tired after a whole week’s traipsing around London to really enjoy it. It was with relief that we reached the end of the play  

 

Back Home for a Very Restful Last Evening:

            It was 5. 30 pm and quite dark when I left the theater to spy Paul’s, my favorite French patisserie on the opposite side of The Strand. It was the perfect time for two of my best-loved treats—Paul’s lovely hot chocolate and an almond croissant (filled with gooey marzipan and studded with flaked almonds). I sat down in the cozy interior and enjoyed my goodies before hopping into a 91 bus across the street (what would I ever do without my Central London bus map?) that took me to Aldwych and then down Kingsway to Holborn station from where I picked up by bags of groceries at Sainsburyand made my way back home to St. John’s Wood on the Tube.

            It was about 6. 45 pm when I walked in the door. My friends Raquel and Chris were leaving soon to see the movie A Most Violent Year and asked if I wished to join them. I declined as I had a load of packing to do in readiness of my early-morning departure. I was, in fact, all set to call a cab to pick me up on the morrow, when I discovered that Chris was headed to Heathrow airport too for a business trip to Athens. Naturally, we decided to share a cab and I was so pleased to have both his company and his help in handling my heavy baggage—for on this return journey, I have two full suitcases as I had brought one suitcase inside the other when I had arrived from India! Yes, these are the tricks one picks up from years of experienced travel!

            I spent the next couple of hours organizing my packing, dividing weight between two suitcases, carefully weighing my loads on Raquel’s scale, taking a shower, having a small glass of white wine and fixing myself a sandwich dinner with the last of my bits and bobs in the fridge—walnut bread and cold ox tongue—as I sat with my laptop to watch the BBC’s Wolf Hall on I-Player based on the novels by Hilary Mantel. It was deeply absorbing especially as Mark Rylance is playing the principal role of Thomas Cromwell and Damien Lewis is playing King Henry VIII. Having read both of Mantel’s novels (Wolf Hall and its sequel Bring Up The Bodies), I found the series enthralling and easy to follow. But by 10.30 pm, I set my alarm, took a few last pictures with Jonas and was out like a light.

            My last full day in London had been just as full as my first one and I was ready to hit the sack while thanking the Lord for another really splendid time in my favorite city.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio!

Exploring the East End–and Dinner in Chelsea with an Old Bailey Judge

Jan24

Friday, January 23, 2015

London

Today was all about the East End of London–admittedly, it is not a part of the city that I particularly like or feel connected to; so it was partly to see what lies so well concealed in its corners that I set out, at 9. 30 am, after a shower and a big breakfast of toasted walnut bread and peanut butter, hazelnut yoghurt and coffee. The Jubilee Line Tube from St. John’s Wood took me, on a lovely sunny but still very cold morning, to Liverpool Street Station from where I hopped into a Number 26 bus to get started.

Columbia Road Flower Market:

First stop was Columbia Road–site, only on Sundays, of a dazzling flower market that has become highly touristic. I had never been there but wanted to stroll through the street–because although there are no flowers to be seen on weekdays, there are some lovely shops selling unique merchandise and I wanted to browse through them. Only, I did not realize that the shops also open only on Saturdays and Sundays! It was a wasted journey but at least I did get to see the general gentrification of the neighborhood, the pretty shop fronts all painted in vivid colors and to stroll through really quiet parts of the city–it is impossible to believe that a bustling city like London still conceals areas like these in which one can scarcely hear a sound. The shops are truly lovely and do offer very unique gift items–the sort of shop for someone who has everything. Do go on a Sunday. It is a treat I shall have to postpone until my next visit–as I will be airborne Stateside, come Sunday.

Whitechapel Art Gallery:

Next stop on my agenda was the Whitechapel Art Gallery which I then reached by a rather convoluted route–10 minute walk to Shoreditch, then 254 bus towards Aldgate.  This is Muslim London and from the top deck of my bus, I took in the stores selling all manner of Islamic garb, halal food, etc. People entered the bus in ethnic outfits–bearded men, veiled women. We passed by the East London Mosque–a lovely pink building with domes and minarets and then we were arriving at my stop.

My friend Murali, an Abstract Art enthusiast, had recommended a special exhibition called The Adventures of the Black Square that features 150 years of abstract art built around the black square of  Malevich that served as inspiration to generations of artists. The website of the gallery and the banners flying outside it proudly announce that  admission is free. When I was last at this gallery–about three years ago–it had been under renovation. So, I was pleased to peruse its collections (nothing permanent, always changing). Imagine my annoyance then on discovering that there was a ticket for the special exhibition–12 pounds! I decided that I was not that crazy about abstract art to begin with and would rather put my money on the Moroni portraits at the Royal Academy of Art.

So, I hiked to the upper floors to look at some of their current exhibitions and very rewarding it was too! There is one on papers from the Henry Moore Archives that document the commissioning of some of London’s public sculptures such as the Jacob Epstein ones, Lawrence Bradshaw’s famous bust of Karl Marx for Highgate Cemetery, etc. It was very interesting to read the correspondence that went into these commissions and take a look at some marquettes. It was certainly a good place in which to take a call from Llew and to catch him up on my plans for the day.

Whitechapel Bell Foundry:

It was time to move on to yet another Whitechapel attraction that lies right across the street behind an extremely nondescript  shop front: the Whitechapel Bell Foundry. This place, at the corner of a street has been making bells continually since 1520. A bell historian has actually established that a bell-making outfit stood on these premises since 1470–so it is rich in history and, as a listed home, its facade cannot be changed or touched. Not that I would want it to be any different.

Inside, there are three small rooms exhibiting items associated with the foundry’s history. Most famous for having cast Big Ben (whose template in a cross section is draped over the inside front door) as well as the twin bells of Westminster Abbey, this place has also created some of the most significant bells in the USA–such as the Liberty Bell of Philadelphia and a Bicentenary Bell that was presented by Queen Elizabeth II to America in 1976 to celebrate two centuries of American independence. It certainly is a great place to visit and one I would heartily recommend. Again, tours are given only on Saturdays and Sunday and cost 14 pounds each. These tours take you deep into the foundry (still a working foundry, still casting bells of all kind for the global market) to see the various steps involved in the making of bells–from small hand hell ringers to the giants that acquire names–such as Big Ben or Old Tom (in Tom Tower, Christ Church College, Oxford). In a tiny back room, overlooking the tinier yard, where bells in various unfinished stages repose, you can watch a series of slides that take you through the history of the establishment that has frequently been visited by royalty.

A Stroll through Spitalfields:

It was time to take a stroll–a very long one–all along Commercial Street and towards Spitalfields, another very colorful and ethnically diverse part of London. Along the way I passed by Petticoat Lane, famed for a weekly market held there since Victorian times. Today, it is mainly a market for clothes–rejects from the designer shops are offloaded here for a song. Had I more of a weight allowance, I might have indulged. But I decided to pass on to the next item on my agenda–a visit to Old Spitalfields Market which I reached in another five minutes.

Old Spitalfields Market is another one of those London Covered Markets that offer different merchandise daily–vintage and antique items one day, arts and crafts on another. Today, there was a melange of all sorts of things from old vinyl records to artisinal bread. I took a quick look through the stalls, found absolutely nothing to strike my fancy and exited right in front of the area’s most spectacular building–the edifice of Christ Church, Spitalfields–the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pupil of Christopher Wren, it is simply majestic.

Buying a Barbour:

As I continued walking towards Bishopsgate, I passed right by a Barbour shop selling its signature outdoor wear. Now I had always coveted a Barbour jacket and I decided I would pop in to purchase something especially since loud signs on the door proclaimed 50-70% Off Sale!  So imagine my delight when I came upon a lovely quilted jacket on sale in just my size in a lovely satiny burgundy fabric with tweed collar and accents on spacious pockets! It could not have been more Me! Knowing that Barbour usually costs an arm and a leg, I made the impulsive decision to buy it–and at under 100 pounds, I know it is a steal! Armed with my unexpected buy, I strode down the street to the bus stop to catch a bus towards Bishopsgate.

Guildhall Art Gallery:

I was going on another recommendation to the next item on my agenda–one from my friend Barbara: a visit to the newly-reopened Guildhall Art Gallery deep in the heart of commercial London. Surrounded by banks and financial institutions, the Guildhall is a stunning building that dates from medieval times when guilds still controlled all London business. Adjoining it is the Art Gallery that has a huge collection of significant art mostly acquired through one of the Lord Mayors of London called Alfred Temple who wished to acquire a collection for the City of London. I arrived at 2. 00 pm, just in time to take one of the guided tours that began at 2. 15 pm and offered an introduction to the gallery. There was enough time for me to use the very plush loos in the basement before arriving at the main deck for the tour. Admission is free and it is certainly worth a visit.

As the guide explained, the refurbishment that cost millions of pounds, did not add to the collection but was spent on essentials such as heating, lighting, making ceilings leak-proof, etc. Still, her one hour tour was a fine introduction to the history of the Lord Mayors of London (not to be confused with the Boris Johnson type). These are elected by the City (which is a tiny part of London that goes roughly from Holborn Circus to just beyond St. Paul’s Cathedral and comprises one square mile. You might spy silvered dragon sculptures occasionally that mark out the boundaries of The City). The really important event surrounding the Lord Mayor who lives in nearby Mansion House is participating in an annual procession called the Lord Mayor’s Parade that includes all the pomp and pageantry of a golden coach that is usually housed in the Museum of London.

The guide showed us three paintings–the gigantic one, supposedly the largest painting in the UK–by the American artist John Singleton Copley depicting the Siege of Gibraltar, The Wounded Cavalier by William Shakespeare Burton and William Lockdale’s depiction of one of the parades. We then moved to one of the special exhibits–the Magna Carta that is on display as this is the 500th anniversary of its creation. All of us know the famous episode of 1215 when the barons rode to Runnymede to present King John with their list of demands to ensure their autonomy. Well, known as the document that gave the world the concept of jurisprudence, there are only 4 original Magna Cartas–two in the British Libraries, one each in Salisbury and Lincoln Cathedrals. I have seen them before, on many various occasions–in the British Library and in Salisbury Cathedral, but it is always fun to look at it again, to see how small and illegible it is and to think that a hand in the 13th century wrote it. This one is especially important as it contains the entire seal that hangs from the bottom of the document to make it truly official. On display only until the end of the month, I would heartily recommend that if you haven’t seen it before, you beat a hasty track to the Guildhall Art Gallery to do so.

Finally, our tour guide took us to the basement to see London’s best-kept secret–the Roman Amphitheater that was discovered quite by chance when the art gallery was being built. Now, of course, we all know that Lodinium was an important Roman settlement and that fragments from gladiatorial days are still be found whenever any digging is done. But to see this sort of thing in the heart of London is still pretty awesome. It has been beautifully staged for the modern visitor to give an idea of actually entering the arena. Again, worth seeing.

The tour ended here, but I decided to return upstairs to look more closely at some of the highlights of the collection: Frederick Lord Leighton’s Two Musicians is one of my favorite paintings and it is here! I had last seen it in Lord Leighton’s House in Holland Park, a few years ago. There are beautiful works by the Pre-Raphaelites too and one I particularly liked from Dorset–Men Quarrying Stone. In the basement, there is a lovely special exhibition on paintings about Tower Bridge through the ages. It is wonderful to see the varied ways in which artists have represented this iconic structure. But with light fading quickly, it was time for me to move to the next item on my list.

The Old Operating Theater in Southwark:

I am amazed how few Londoners have heard of The Old Operating Theater and Herb Garret that are so easily accessible. Attached to Guy’s Hospital and St. George’s Hospital on the South Bank of London, this was the place in which Florence Nightingale did most of her work and made her mark upon the nursing world. Now I have seen a really spectacular Operating Theater in Padua in Italy, so I knew, more or less, what to expect. But that one was grand and beautifully carved. This one was far more utilitarian and, therefore, so much more stark.

The concept of an Operating Theater derives from an educational space in which a surgeon performs an operation which observed by student doctors. It is, therefore, always based around the plan of an amphitheater with rows of stands in semi-circular shape to allow for close observation and study of the proceedings. The ‘bed’ in the center is a primitive wooden bench to which a patient was strapped and operated upon without the aid of anasthesia. Shudder! It was not until Joseph Lister invented anasthesia that such operations became more humane. Patients were brought in from the adjoining hospitals (still working hospitals) but because so little was known about infections, many had successful operations but still died.

Before getting into the Operating Theater, the visitor passes through a large attic filled with all manner of items associated with the practice of Western medicine–some items as weird as powdered snake skins and alligator teeth! There is a plethora of herbs, spices and fruit in various forms (dried, powered, ground to a paste with a pestle in a mortar, etc). Bottles, jars, bowls are part of the museum and, most gruesome, of all, sets of instruments used in surgical practice through the years, from scary looking forceps to saws! Needless to say, I was weak-kneed by the end of it and although I found all of it fascinating, it really is not my cup of tea. Visitors pay 6.50 pounds to enter up a long and very narrow flight of spiral wooden stairs that used to be the original bell tower of St. George’s Church and used by the bell ringers. You can spend more than two hours in this space if you wish to read and examine everything closely. I could only stand being there for an hour. But if you are made of sterner stuff, I would certainly recommend a visit.

By this time it was almost 4.00 pm and I had eaten nothing simply because my big breakfast had kept me going. So I stepped into EAT, bought myself a New England Chicken Pot Pie (one of my favorite things in the world world to eat), then disappeared into the Marks and Sparks across the road to look for a specific item that Llew desired. Unfortunately, they had discontinued their manufacture and it is now only available online–so that is how we shall purchase it. It was time to head off to my last appointment of the day–dinner at the home of my friends in Chelsea.

Dinner with a Judge, a Bishop and His Wife:

A long ride on the Circle Line took me from Moorgate to Sloan Square in the heart of ritzy Chelsea where I was invited to dinner at the home of my friends Michael and Cynthia. It was the first time they were entertaining me in their little flat (actually not so little) after their big move from Amen Court on Ludgate Hill. Although I had seen their flat before, it was before they had officially moved in. It was great to see it looking all lived in and cozy.

Michael and Cynthia had also invited a physician (who had to cancel at the last minute due to an unexpected occurrence) and a judge named Tim from the Old Bailey who happened to be hugely personable and very entertaining. We hit it off immediately as we began to discuss British courtroom drama from Rumpole of the Bailey to the more contemporary ones–such as Judge John Deed who, Tim informs me, is not realistic at all for no judge would ever behave the way he does!  Tim is also a great lover of New York in general and of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in particular–his favorite bit is the American silver collection (it is endlessly fascinating to me what strikes peoples’ fancy). Needless to say, I promised him a private tour the next time he is in the Big Apple. He strongly recommended that I see the Moroni portraits but I am half inclined to believe that they will come to the Met sometime soon. Paucity of time might not make it possible for me to cover it on this trip.

My friend Cynthia’s dinner was simply delicious–a single malt whetted my appetite and then we moved to the table for chicken in a white sauce served with brocolli and carrots and boiled potatoes. Cheese and crackers followed and then came pudding: American-style cheesecake served with fresh stewed blueberries and cream. So simple and yet so good! I was so sorry to have missed seeing Cynthia’s sons who, being hotshot lawyers, keep horrific hours–but I certainly thought of them all evening long.

As a lovely claret had flowed all evening, I was well and truly sleepy and ready for my bed. Michael dropped me to the bus stop by 9. 30 and at 10. 15, I was putting the key through the door of my place in St. John’s Wood.

What a wonderful day I had spent–with art and culture, with shops that lent an unexpected buy, with history and finally with some of the best pals for which a gal can ask! I feel truly blessed every time  I am in London.

As I hit my pillow, I found it hard to believe that my week had almost come to an end–just one day left to make the most of …and I intend to do just that.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exploring the East End and Dinner in Chelsea with a Judge from the Old Bailey

Jan24

Friday, January 23, 2015

London

Today was all about the East End of London–admittedly, it is not a part of the city that I particularly like or feel connected to; so it was partly to see what lies so well concealed in its corners that I set out, at 9. 30 am, after a shower and a big breakfast of toasted walnut bread and peanut butter, hazelnut yoghurt and coffee. The Jubilee Line Tube from St. John’s Wood took me, on a lovely sunny but still very cold morning, to Liverpool Street Station from where I hopped into a Number 26 bus to get started.

Columbia Road Flower Market:

First stop was Columbia Road–site, only on Sundays, of a dazzling flower market that has become highly touristic. I had never been there but wanted to stroll through the street–because although there are no flowers to be seen on weekdays, there are some lovely shops selling unique merchandise and I wanted to browse through them. Only, I did not realize that the shops also open only on Saturdays and Sundays! It was a wasted journey but at least I did get to see the general gentrification of the neighborhood, the pretty shop fronts all painted in vivid colors and to stroll through really quiet parts of the city–it is impossible to believe that a bustling city like London still conceals areas like these in which one can scarcely hear a sound. The shops are truly lovely and do offer very unique gift items–the sort of shop for someone who has everything. Do go on a Sunday. It is a treat I shall have to postpone until my next visit–as I will be airborne Stateside, come Sunday.

Whitechapel Art Gallery:

Next stop on my agenda was the Whitechapel Art Gallery which I then reached by a rather convoluted route–10 minute walk to Shoreditch, then 254 bus towards Aldgate.  This is Muslim London and from the top deck of my bus, I took in the stores selling all manner of Islamic garb, halal food, etc. People entered the bus in ethnic outfits–bearded men, veiled women. We passed by the East London Mosque–a lovely pink building with domes and minarets and then we were arriving at my stop.

My friend Murali, an Abstract Art enthusiast, had recommended a special exhibition called The Adventures of the Black Square that features 150 years of abstract art built around the black square of  Malevich that served as inspiration to generations of artists. The website of the gallery and the banners flying outside it proudly announce that  admission is free. When I was last at this gallery–about three years ago–it had been under renovation. So, I was pleased to peruse its collections (nothing permanent, always changing). Imagine my annoyance then on discovering that there was a ticket for the special exhibition–12 pounds! I decided that I was not that crazy about abstract art to begin with and would rather put my money on the Moroni portraits at the Royal Academy of Art.

So, I hiked to the upper floors to look at some of their current exhibitions and very rewarding it was too! There is one on papers from the Henry Moore Archives that document the commissioning of some of London’s public sculptures such as the Jacob Epstein ones, Lawrence Bradshaw’s famous bust of Karl Marx for Highgate Cemetery, etc. It was very interesting to read the correspondence that went into these commissions and take a look at some marquettes. It was certainly a good place in which to take a call from Llew and to catch him up on my plans for the day.

Whitechapel Bell Foundry:

It was time to move on to yet another Whitechapel attraction that lies right across the street behind an extremely nondescript  shop front: the Whitechapel Bell Foundry. This place, at the corner of a street has been making bells continually since 1520. A bell historian has actually established that a bell-making outfit stood on these premises since 1470–so it is rich in history and, as a listed home, its facade cannot be changed or touched. Not that I would want it to be any different.

Inside, there are three small rooms exhibiting items associated with the foundry’s history. Most famous for having cast Big Ben (whose template in a cross section is draped over the inside front door) as well as the twin bells of Westminster Abbey, this place has also created some of the most significant bells in the USA–such as the Liberty Bell of Philadelphia and a Bicentenary Bell that was presented by Queen Elizabeth II to America in 1976 to celebrate two centuries of American independence. It certainly is a great place to visit and one I would heartily recommend. Again, tours are given only on Saturdays and Sunday and cost 14 pounds each. These tours take you deep into the foundry (still a working foundry, still casting bells of all kind for the global market) to see the various steps involved in the making of bells–from small hand hell ringers to the giants that acquire names–such as Big Ben or Old Tom (in Tom Tower, Christ Church College, Oxford). In a tiny back room, overlooking the tinier yard, where bells in various unfinished stages repose, you can watch a series of slides that take you through the history of the establishment that has frequently been visited by royalty.

A Stroll through Spitalfields:

It was time to take a stroll–a very long one–all along Commercial Street and towards Spitalfields, another very colorful and ethnically diverse part of London. Along the way I passed by Petticoat Lane, famed for a weekly market held there since Victorian times. Today, it is mainly a market for clothes–rejects from the designer shops are offloaded here for a song. Had I more of a weight allowance, I might have indulged. But I decided to pass on to the next item on my agenda–a visit to Old Spitalfields Market which I reached in another five minutes.

Old Spitalfields Market is another one of those London Covered Markets that offer different merchandise daily–vintage and antique items one day, arts and crafts on another. Today, there was a melange of all sorts of things from old vinyl records to artisinal bread. I took a quick look through the stalls, found absolutely nothing to strike my fancy and exited right in front of the area’s most spectacular building–the edifice of Christ Church, Spitalfields–the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pupil of Christopher Wren, it is simply majestic.

Buying a Barbour:

As I continued walking towards Bishopsgate, I passed right by a Barbour shop selling its signature outdoor wear. Now I had always coveted a Barbour jacket and I decided I would pop in to purchase something especially since loud signs on the door proclaimed 50-70% Off Sale!  So imagine my delight when I came upon a lovely quilted jacket on sale in just my size in a lovely satiny burgundy fabric with tweed collar and accents on spacious pockets! It could not have been more Me! Knowing that Barbour usually costs an arm and a leg, I made the impulsive decision to buy it–and at under 100 pounds, I know it is a steal! Armed with my unexpected buy, I strode down the street to the bus stop to catch a bus towards Bishopsgate.

Guildhall Art Gallery:

I was going on another recommendation to the next item on my agenda–one from my friend Barbara: a visit to the newly-reopened Guildhall Art Gallery deep in the heart of commercial London. Surrounded by banks and financial institutions, the Guildhall is a stunning building that dates from medieval times when guilds still controlled all London business. Adjoining it is the Art Gallery that has a huge collection of significant art mostly acquired through one of the Lord Mayors of London called Alfred Temple who wished to acquire a collection for the City of London. I arrived at 2. 00 pm, just in time to take one of the guided tours that began at 2. 15 pm and offered an introduction to the gallery. There was enough time for me to use the very plush loos in the basement before arriving at the main deck for the tour. Admission is free and it is certainly worth a visit.

As the guide explained, the refurbishment that cost millions of pounds, did not add to the collection but was spent on essentials such as heating, lighting, making ceilings leak-proof, etc. Still, her one hour tour was a fine introduction to the history of the Lord Mayors of London (not to be confused with the Boris Johnson type). These are elected by the City (which is a tiny part of London that goes roughly from Holborn Circus to just beyond St. Paul’s Cathedral and comprises one square mile. You might spy silvered dragon sculptures occasionally that mark out the boundaries of The City). The really important event surrounding the Lord Mayor who lives in nearby Mansion House is participating in an annual procession called the Lord Mayor’s Parade that includes all the pomp and pageantry of a golden coach that is usually housed in the Museum of London.

The guide showed us three paintings–the gigantic one, supposedly the largest painting in the UK–by the American artist John Singleton Copley depicting the Siege of Gibraltar, The Wounded Cavalier by William Shakespeare Burton and William Lockdale’s depiction of one of the parades. We then moved to one of the special exhibits–the Magna Carta that is on display as this is the 500th anniversary of its creation. All of us know the famous episode of 1215 when the barons rode to Runnymede to present King John with their list of demands to ensure their autonomy. Well, known as the document that gave the world the concept of jurisprudence, there are only 4 original Magna Cartas–two in the British Libraries, one each in Salisbury and Lincoln Cathedrals. I have seen them before, on many various occasions–in the British Library and in Salisbury Cathedral, but it is always fun to look at it again, to see how small and illegible it is and to think that a hand in the 13th century wrote it. This one is especially important as it contains the entire seal that hangs from the bottom of the document to make it truly official. On display only until the end of the month, I would heartily recommend that if you haven’t seen it before, you beat a hasty track to the Guildhall Art Gallery to do so.

Finally, our tour guide took us to the basement to see London’s best-kept secret–the Roman Amphitheater that was discovered quite by chance when the art gallery was being built. Now, of course, we all know that Lodinium was an important Roman settlement and that fragments from gladiatorial days are still be found whenever any digging is done. But to see this sort of thing in the heart of London is still pretty awesome. It has been beautifully staged for the modern visitor to give an idea of actually entering the arena. Again, worth seeing.

The tour ended here, but I decided to return upstairs to look more closely at some of the highlights of the collection: Frederick Lord Leighton’s Two Musicians is one of my favorite paintings and it is here! I had last seen it in Lord Leighton’s House in Holland Park, a few years ago. There are beautiful works by the Pre-Raphaelites too and one I particularly liked from Dorset–Men Quarrying Stone. In the basement, there is a lovely special exhibition on paintings about Tower Bridge through the ages. It is wonderful to see the varied ways in which artists have represented this iconic structure. But with light fading quickly, it was time for me to move to the next item on my list.

The Old Operating Theater in Southwark:

I am amazed how few Londoners have heard of The Old Operating Theater and Herb Garret that are so easily accessible. Attached to Guy’s Hospital and St. George’s Hospital on the South Bank of London, this was the place in which Florence Nightingale did most of her work and made her mark upon the nursing world. Now I have seen a really spectacular Operating Theater in Padua in Italy, so I knew, more or less, what to expect. But that one was grand and beautifully carved. This one was far more utilitarian and, therefore, so much more stark.

The concept of an Operating Theater derives from an educational space in which a surgeon performs an operation which observed by student doctors. It is, therefore, always based around the plan of an amphitheater with rows of stands in semi-circular shape to allow for close observation and study of the proceedings. The ‘bed’ in the center is a primitive wooden bench to which a patient was strapped and operated upon without the aid of anasthesia. Shudder! It was not until Joseph Lister invented anasthesia that such operations became more humane. Patients were brought in from the adjoining hospitals (still working hospitals) but because so little was known about infections, many had successful operations but still died.

Before getting into the Operating Theater, the visitor passes through a large attic filled with all manner of items associated with the practice of Western medicine–some items as weird as powdered snake skins and alligator teeth! There is a plethora of herbs, spices and fruit in various forms (dried, powered, ground to a paste with a pestle in a mortar, etc). Bottles, jars, bowls are part of the museum and, most gruesome, of all, sets of instruments used in surgical practice through the years, from scary looking forceps to saws! Needless to say, I was weak-kneed by the end of it and although I found all of it fascinating, it really is not my cup of tea. Visitors pay 6.50 pounds to enter up a long and very narrow flight of spiral wooden stairs that used to be the original bell tower of St. George’s Church and used by the bell ringers. You can spend more than two hours in this space if you wish to read and examine everything closely. I could only stand being there for an hour. But if you are made of sterner stuff, I would certainly recommend a visit.

By this time it was almost 4.00 pm and I had eaten nothing simply because my big breakfast had kept me going. So I stepped into EAT, bought myself a New England Chicken Pot Pie (one of my favorite things in the world world to eat), then disappeared into the Marks and Sparks across the road to look for a specific item that Llew desired. Unfortunately, they had discontinued their manufacture and it is now only available online–so that is how we shall purchase it. It was time to head off to my last appointment of the day–dinner at the home of my friends in Chelsea.

Dinner with a Judge, a Bishop and His Wife:

A long ride on the Circle Line took me from Moorgate to Sloan Square in the heart of ritzy Chelsea where I was invited to dinner at the home of my friends Michael and Cynthia. It was the first time they were entertaining me in their little flat (actually not so little) after their big move from Amen Court on Ludgate Hill. Although I had seen their flat before, it was before they had officially moved in. It was great to see it looking all lived in and cozy.

Michael and Cynthia had also invited a physician (who had to cancel at the last minute due to an unexpected occurrence) and a judge named Tim from the Old Bailey who happened to be hugely personable and very entertaining. We hit it off immediately as we began to discuss British courtroom drama from Rumpole of the Bailey to the more contemporary ones–such as Judge John Deed who, Tim informs me, is not realistic at all for no judge would ever behave the way he does!  Tim is also a great lover of New York in general and of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in particular–his favorite bit is the American silver collection (it is endlessly fascinating to me what strikes peoples’ fancy). Needless to say, I promised him a private tour the next time he is in the Big Apple. He strongly recommended that I see the Moroni portraits but I am half inclined to believe that they will come to the Met sometime soon. Paucity of time might not make it possible for me to cover it on this trip.

My friend Cynthia’s dinner was simply delicious–a single malt whetted my appetite and then we moved to the table for chicken in a white sauce served with brocolli and carrots and boiled potatoes. Cheese and crackers followed and then came pudding: American-style cheesecake served with fresh stewed blueberries and cream. So simple and yet so good! I was so sorry to have missed seeing Cynthia’s sons who, being hotshot lawyers, keep horrific hours–but I certainly thought of them all evening long.

As a lovely claret had flowed all evening, I was well and truly sleepy and ready for my bed. Michael dropped me to the bus stop by 9. 30 and at 10. 15, I was putting the key through the door of my place in St. John’s Wood.

What a wonderful day I had spent–with art and culture, with shops that lent an unexpected buy, with history and finally with some of the best pals for which a gal can ask! I feel truly blessed every time  I am in London.

As I hit my pillow, I found it hard to believe that my week had almost come to an end–just one day left to make the most of …and I intend to do just that.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!   

Scaling the Dreaming Spires of Oxford & Dinner at Smithfield

Jan23

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Oxford

Today was all about spending an indulgent day in one of my most beloved places in the world with some of my favorite people in London.  I had arranged a tour of what Matthew Arnold had called “the dreaming spires of Oxford” for friends who had never been there. It had been all arranged–for weeks. Raquel and I were going to take the Oxford Tube (read coach) to the university city. Then, I invited my friend Bash and his girl friend Kim to join us. He volunteered to drive us there. My friend Susan who lives in Oxford was going to join us there and together, we intended to have a lovely day.

Only all sorts of things went wrong as Murphy’s Law decrees: Although Raquel and I were ready to roll by 8.00 am after Jonas was dropped off to school, we realized we still had 45 minutes to play with as it takes only about 40 minutes on the Tube to get to Northholt where Bash was  awaiting us with his car. When we got there, we found a terribly repentant Bash (no Kim) informing us that there were major alterations in our plans. Kim had sciatica and was home bound. He had domestic commitments that had cropped up overnight that made it impossible to spend the day with us. However, and get this, he had decided that, in true British tradition, he “wasn’t going to let us down”–and so the trooper was driving us to Oxford as planned, would have a quick coffee with us and would turn right back to return to London. Although we protested, he was having none of it–and off we went, with Bash behind the wheel on to the M40 for the 90 minute ride into the city.

Arrival at Oxford:

The journey was truly pleasant as we caught up on so much. Raquel and Bash–both being outgoing types–hit it off well and before I knew it, were discussed the job market, tried and tested job-hunting techniques on Linked-In, etc. and then we were pulling into Grandpont where my friend Susan lives. We parked Bash’s car in one of the side streets adjoining Marlborough Road to make our way into a very quiet, isolated Delicatessen Cafe on Whitehorse Road where we settled down with hot drinks–coffees, lattes, hot chocolates–and eats–quiches, rocky road, coffee cake–and chatted some more as we awaited Susan’s arrival. She turned up really soon and after one more raucous reunion and some more introductions and much chatting later, Bash bid us goodbye, returned to London and left us to our own devices.

A Walking Tour of Oxford:

It was time to begin our exploration of Oxford for it was already noon and light fades by 4. 30 pm. Being that we were just a few minutes from Foley Bridge, we started our tour at Christ Church College after taking in the lovely vista of the college across the Meadows and spying the balcony from the famous scene in Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited in which a drunken friend of Charles and Sebastian threatens to throw himself off to the ground!

Our tour cost 5. 50 pounds (normally 7) because the famous Dining Hall which had provided the model for the Dining Hall in Harry Potter’s Hogwart’s School was closed for renovation. Part of the ceiling had caved in, a few months ago, and the place was under refurbishment. Still, we could see the grand staircase which actually features in the film and where the students are introduced to Prof. Mcgonnagal for the very first time as she stands at the top of the staircase with its lovely fan vaulted ceiling and invites the students inside in the first Harry Potter movie.

We could also visit the Cathedral (the only place in the world where a cathedral sits in the midst of a college) and the vast quadrangles. And we had the added benefit of getting a short tour from one of the bowlder-hatted porters named Mark Hathaway (how many comments does he get about his association with the TV detective James Hathaway–now an Inspector himself–in the Inspector Lewis series set in Oxford, I wonder?). Through the brief walking tour, we discovered the basics: Christ Church College was originally meant to be named Cardinal College after the wealthy and corrupt prelate Cardinal Wolsey who founded it–hence, the symbols of the college are the Cardinal’s Hat with their streaming tassels. When Wolsey fell out of favor with King Henry VIII for not being able to procure his divorce from Katherine of Aragon, the ownership and running of the college fell into the hands of the King who renamed it and actually created a set of rooms for himself to live in it.

After the Reformation, Christ Church became significant once again during the Civil War when King Charles I moved his court from London to Royalist Oxford and occupied rooms designed originally for Henry. Needless to say, this did not eventually prevent him from being beheaded. We strolled through the lovely grounds of the college on another especially cold day cursing the weather and commenting on our poor frozen toes.

Once at the Main Quad (short for Quadrangle), the largest of any Oxford College and known as Tom Quad because it is dominated by Tom Tower that is named for the bell, Old Tom, that religiously tolls each hour, and after admiring the lovely Fountain of Mercury in the center and commenting on the unfinished cloisters –evident in the fact that the plinths still surround the quad–we made our way into the adjoining Cathedral. A Cathedral gets its ‘status’ from the Cathedra (Latin for Chair) that is meant for the use of a cardinal who is usually resident there. In this case, Cardinal Wolsey’s original association with Christ Church gave its chapel the distinction of becoming a Cathedral–and you can still see the Cathedra on the altar.

Although on several past occasions, I have visited the Cathedral (once to listen to candlelit Evensong), it made sense to visit it again with my friends and to use the handy pamphlet to discover its treasures, among which are: the gigantic keyhole in one of the wooden doors that inspired Lewis Carol (aka Charles Dodgson who was a professor of Mathematics at Christ Church) to include it in his story of Alice in Wonderland (narrated spontaneously to his little friend Alice Liddel, daughter of the Master of Christ Church whom he knew well and with whom he would sail in summer on the adjoining Cherwell). It was through this key hold that Alice fell in the story! Other aspects worth noticing were the stained glass window featuring Jonah and Nineveh, the windows designed by Edward Burne-Jones (one of the Pre-Raphaelites who studied at neighboring Exeter College), the St. Friteswide widow that features her entire story and includes, of all things, the first ever flushing loo invented by one Thomas Crapper in Oxford–now you know where all words associated with ‘crap’ come from!) Indeed, there is a loo by her death bed in the stained glass window and it makes for a real curiosity in one’s study of it (the window, I mean, not the loo).

We also saw the original 12th century carved stone altar of St. Friteswide who is the patron saint of Oxford and the new very solid altar carved in black balsa wood. At the main altar, we exclaimed at its beauty  before we exited the cathedral to browse in the gift store and pick up souvenirs of our visit. Raquel picked out a Diamond Jubilee porcelain plate with the year 2012 featured on it–she had moved to the UK in 2012. It was a very good buy that I converted into a gift for her.

Continuing our Walking Tour:

Exiting Christ Church College from the back, we arrived at Oriel Square (an opportunity to see the rather unusual facade of Oriel College) before making our way to The High (as High Street is known in Oxford) to cross into Radcliff Square to arrive at the Radcliff Camera–a rotunda topped by a dome designed by James Gibb (and not Wren as I had mistakenly assumed) and named for John Radcliff whose estate had endowed the creation of a library inside. The University prides itself on the fact that once you request a book, they can haul it up from the bowels of the earth, if need be, in under an hour. Mind you, the University receives, by royal decree, a copy of every book every published in the UK–that means literally millions of books. That they still find the room to accommodate them all simply boggles my mind. And, get this, today, a valiant attempt is being made to scan every single book in the collection and make it digitally available to the public! Soon, you will not need to be a registered student at Oxford to access its printed collection.

The Camera makes a real architectural statement in the Square which also features the Church of St. Mary The Virgin (you can climb to its spire for a fee for extraordinary views of the city) and All Souls College whose twin spires are unmistakeable. We skirted these magnificent buildings, took in the sights of railings lined with bicycles, saw students mill in and out of classes and residential rooms in colleges, all bundled against the freeze, and arrived at Catte Street to show Raquel the famous Bridge of Sighs that joins Hertford and New Colleges in imitation of the one across the canals of Venice. At this point, it was only right to make a detour and walk along the narrowed alley in the city to arrive at the home once occupied by Jane Morris who became the wife of artist William Morris (also one of the Pre-Raphaelites, also at Exeter) who was a humble embroiderer until these artists discovered her and used her as the model for their work). This led us to the well-known Turf Tavern that has been associated with many Oxford luminaries including, and significant for us Americans, Bill Clinton! Inspector Morse was also known to have downed many a pint in these lovely premises with their beer gardens and cozy interiors.

Back on ‘The Broad’ (Broad Street), we popped into the unusual Norrington Room attached to Blackwell’s Bookstore (another Oxford institution) which lies underground in four tiers right below Broad Street–it is the only bookstore in the world that is sunken so deeply. It makes for a wonderful peek into another treasure house of books. This vantage point permitted us to pass through the Clarendon Building to view Christopher Wren’s masterpiece, the rather-funnily shaped Sheldonian Theater where graduation ceremonies take place and where, throughout the year, there are musical concerts under its spectacular painted ceiling. We did not pay the entry fee to see it, but moved into the ornate quadrangle of the Bodleian Library with its lovely sculpture of Thomas Bodley who endowed the creation of this store house of knowledge. We stepped into the Divinity School but could not enter unless we paid–it would be interesting to calculate just how much a really thorough visit to Oxford would cost if one indulged in a close look at all its highlights.

It was time to return to The Broad to spy the sculpture by Anthony Gormley on the building at the corner of Turl Street and directly above the set of rooms I had once occupied in the Margary Quadrangle of Exeter College which we next entered. There I took my friends to the exceedingly beautiful chapel where the beautiful stained glass windows and the Byzantine mosaics combine to create a really lovely space filled with Pre-Raphaelite treasures–there is a majestic tapestry by Edward Burne-Jones featuring the Adoration of the Magi which I truly love.

Out in the Margary Quadrangle, I showed them my room which still brings back such lovely memories for me and then we were going past the Junior Common Room to get to Exeter Library and the Fellows Garden to climb upon the terrace that overlooks Radcliff Square and that provides some of the most beautiful views of the square. It was there that Raquel taught me how to use the Panoramic feature of my I-Phone to enable me to get these incredible 180 degree shots of the Gothic architecture that I so adore! She has changed my photographic life forever!

It was time to get some sustenance–and Susan led us to the Rooftop of the Covered Market–it is a place that has newly opened for drinks and snacks and offers views and heights similar to those of the spire of St. Mary’s Church. It takes a ‘local’ to help one make such discoveries and we were glad to have Susan as our guide! We made a quick round of the actual Covered Market itself, then climbed several floors up, stopped midway to order our hot drinks (it was too cold a day to sip anything else) and up we went to kiss those dreaming spires that were all around us as we turned and made 360 degree pirouettes. How marvelous it all was! Back downstairs, we sat for a long time and nursed our drinks and caught up on all sorts of news–it was good to chat at length with Susan in whose home I had once spent a few days while staying in Oxford.

Then, it was time to move on. It was almost 4 pm by then and light would soon fade. Susan needed to get on home to do some work and I swung Raquel into St. Giles, first to see the very spot at which the Bishops Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley were burned at the stake by Queen Mary Tudor and then to admire the medieval cross raised at The Martyrs Memorial. Across the street we went, to walk by the Randolf Hotel and the Ashmolean Museum, for which, alas, we had no time, and then we swung on to the Jericho area of city as I was keen to arrive at the Oxford Canal where I had never been before–but which is the site of so many murders in the Oxford mystery series that I watch. Off Combe Sttreet, we squeezed through the gates and arrived at the exact spot that I wanted to see. We took pictures of it and then retraced our steps to the Woodstock Road–but not before finding a framed needlepoint treasure in a thrift store!

Walking south on Woodstock Road, we arrived at the Eagle and Child Pub, popularized by The Inklings, the Exeter College pals that had comprised JRR Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and their friends. We entered the quaint pub, took in its unique ambiance with its little wooden cubby holes, black boards announcing food specials and then used the loo. There was time only to nip into Waterstones so that Raquel could buy some books and then off we went to the Gloucester Green bus stop to find the coach to take us back to London.And thus ended a most amazing day!

Back in London for Dinner at Snithfield Market:

The coach journey in the pitch darkness was not a lot of fun as there wasn’t much we could see outside. But we did catch up, Raquel and I, as we chatted about this and that and accessed our email through the free wifi. Hoping off at Baker Street, we hurried into the Tube to take the Metropolitan Line to Farringdon as I was taking Raquel and her husband Chris out for dinner. She had made reservations at Smith’s, a well-known steak house right opposite the grand Victorian lines of the famed Smithfield Meat Market–and it was there, on the third floor, overlooking the lovely new spires of The City , including the Shard, and Wren’s magnificent dome of St. Paul’s, that we ate a fabulous steak dinner with chips and a glass of Merlot. It was quite magnificently done–medium rare for all of us–and absolutely butter soft and succulent. For dessert, we picked at a Clementine Cheesecake–not the best of things in the world but different. How marvelous it was to have extended time with Chris who has been off to work each  morning leaving us little time for interaction and to find out about his work in finance and investments.

But by 10.00 pm, we made our way back to the Tube, past Denmark House in which I had once stayed on Cowcross Lane with its spacious, art-filled loft–a thought that seems like a dream to me today as I look back on my year in London.

We reached home just past 10. 30 pm and fell right into bed, really pleased at what had been a most satisfying day.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!