Making Dreams Come True–Thames Barrier & Greenwich

Jul27


     
Friday, July 26, 2013
London-Greenwich-London
            Today I went to one of my favorite parts of London—Greenwich. It is an opportunity to cruise on the River Thames, to take in the grand architecture of Sir Christopher Wren (which, in the case of Greenwich, was actually inspired by India’s Taj Mahal) and to stroll through antiques’ stalls to pick up bricabrac. This time, I made a few more dreams come true—small ones, but dreams, nonetheless.
            I worked for about three hours in the morning—awaking early really does help me accomplish substantial work and leaves me guiltless about goofing off for the rest of the day in this distracting city. Brekkie done (walnut bread toast with peanut butter and goat cheese, tea) I showered, got myself organized and set off for Westminster Pier to pick up the ferry to Greenwich. Being a bit early for the 12. 30 ferry, however, I got off one stop later—at Waterloo—and began the South Bank Walk, according to DK Eyewitness Guides.
Strolling on the South Bank:
           Scores of shots of this part of London (from watching too many BBC TV shows—MI5, Sherlock Holmes—made me feel as if I were in a movie. Alighting from the Tube at Waterloo, I had the good sense to jump into a bus that was crossing Waterloo Bridge (as I knew I needed to conserve energy for all the walking I would do during the rest of the day), and alighted at the National Theater—that poor controversial building that Prince Charles described as “a carbuncle on the face of London”.  Others described it as a “war bunker”, yet others as a “power station”. So, no, visually appealing it is not. But it is practical and functional and I have quite grown to like it.
           I crossed the busy dual carriageway street (whoa, careful there!) and reached the other side: the Hayward Gallery has a huge topiary display depicting two people gardening. In the forecourt, I saw a multitude of potted plants and flowers and in the gallery itself it a special exhibition on Nek Chand, an Indian sculptor based in Chandigarh, Punjab, who designed the famous Rock Garden there to blend in with the brilliant architecture of the city by Le Corbusier. Years ago, I had visited Chandigarh with my late mother Edith who was a great admirer of the work of Le Corbusier and had motivated my Dad to arrange a family holiday of North India that would include Chandigarh. Looking at Nek Chand’s work took me back to amazing holidays with my parents during which my Mum had communicated and passed on her zeal for discovering new parts of the world. She was, when I look back now, indeed a ‘studied’ traveler—although, at that time, I was too young to realize it. It is exactly what I have become.
       Resolving to visit the Nek Chand exhibition on another day, I walked towards the BFI (British Film Institute) and browsed in the second-hand book stalls set up under the bridge by makeshift salesmen. Heading forward, I walked past the skate boarding rink that is heavily graffitied and which usually sports a bunch of young chaps flaunting their skills. This morning, it was empty. On I pressed towards Hungerford Bridge past the many riverside restaurants—I have eaten twice at the Wagamama there—before I received a call from Llew that I took sitting quayside. I also spoke to our friend Ira who is visiting Southport from Maine for the annual Pequot Library Sale which is going on this weekend.
Booking a Thames River Cruise:
           It was time for me to get on if I wished to board the 12. 30 pm ferry, so I crossed Hungerford Bridge on foot and arrived at the Embankment Tube station from where I took the train for one stop to Westminster. I easily found my way to the booking offices where there were about 8 people ahead of me buying tickets to board the ferries. Most folks go only as far as Greenwich which is a popular spot for a daytrip. But, as I said, this time round, I was making long-held dreams come true.
             Years ago, I had read a series of books on traveling in the UK and in London by Susan Allen Tott—books that were such pleasurable reading and that rang so many bells in my mind that I actually prescribed them for a Writing course I had taught while living and teaching in London. It was from Tott’s books that I had become aware of the Thames Flood Barrier and ever since then I was determined to go there and see it for myself. Unfortunately, it is only open to visitors for a limited time in the year—three months of summer—and since I have visited the UK usually in the winter, in recent years, I have been deprived of the opportunity to see it. Meanwhile, on more than one landing into Heathrow airport, I have seen the Barrier from the air, and it has only whetted my appetite to be present in person on the ground.
This was my big opportunity. Thames River Services (TRS) operates ferry trips all the way to the Thames Barrier (which is half an hour by boat beyond Greenwich). The return trip is pricey—18 pounds, but I was astute enough to go online and I found a 50% discount coupon which I printed out, presented at the counter and was given a return ticket for just 8. 75 pounds! A true bargain considering that I had paid 8 pounds for just one way on the Regent’s Canal Cruise from Camden Lock to Little Venice which was a much shorter trip!
Cruising the River Thames:
            No matter how often I do this, a cruise on the River Thames is an exciting adventure for me. It offers views of the city of the London from a unique perspective and you get to see bits of it that you could never see from any other angle. I have cruised to Greenwich on innumerable occasions and each time, I have discovered something more about this fabulous city.
            The cruise leaves from Westminster Pier which offers incomparable views of St. Steven’s Tower which is commonly known as “Big Ben” (which is really the name of the bell that is concealed in the uppermost compartment—not the clock, as many believe). The ferry turns around to bring the London Eye and the Aquariuminto focus. And then we were off: the sights from the river that stay with me are Shakespeare’s Globe Theater—this is exactly the perspective Queen Elizabeth I would have received when she came theater-visiting by boat from Hampton Court Palace or Richmond Palace. The Tate Modern, St. Paul’s Cathedralwith its imposing dome and twin spires, colorful Blackfriars Bridge, The Gerkin and now the Shard and further on, the magnificent Tower Bridge flanked on one side by the historic Tower of London (you can see the ominous entrance to Traitor’s Gate from the water) and on the other by Sir Norman Foster’s “collapsed pudding” of a building that is City Hall. St. Katherine’s Dock comes next with Dickens’ Pub close by. More pubs dot the bank: The Mayflower (denoting the spot from which the Pilgrims set out in a boat of the same name to colonize the New World), The Prospect of Whitbywhich has a noose hanging over the river (from which gangsters/pirates were once hung) and closer to Greenwich, the Trafalgar Tavern (about which more later). The shabby warehouses of Wapping and the wharfs (West India Wharf, Butler’s Wharf, etc.) that once lined the riverfront (and did brisk trade at a time, for centuries really, when the Thames was the commercial lifeblood of the country)  have all been converted into luxury flats whose prices present sticker shock or into fancy malls (gallerias) before the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf come into view—the major newspaper/press offices and all the big banks moved here from The City to create a small financial township on what is called The Isle of Dogs. The domes of Wren’s National Maritime College then come into view as do the dome-like structures that mark the entrance to the amazing Greenwich Foot Tunnel that offers a footpath under the river in another brilliant feat of Victorian engineering—and which I had once crossed—to denote that most people had reached their destination. They disembarked and our boat sailed on.
Approaching the Thames Flood Barrier:
            Once the bulk of the boat’s human cargo was released at Greenwich, the boat rounded the prominent hairpin bend in the river that is marked by the great white dome of the O2, known as the Millennium Dome. It resembles a gigantic white tent with gold prongs sticking out of it. Used for concerts and being full of restaurants and amusement arcades, there is a lot to keep one occupied inside. I had once attended an exhibition there on the Treasures of Tutankhamunthat had traveled from Cairo to London. A new contraption in a walkway along the circumference which, for a hefty price, allows visitors to climb over the outside of the dome—the bottom is very steep and most challenging.
            Once we left the Millemmium Dome behind, I knew it would not be long before I could catch my first glimpse of the Thames Flood Barrier. And indeed, in a few minutes, there it was. Now I am no engineer so I am afraid I cannot comprehend the complicated design and the operation of this incredible device. But this much I know: From time to time, the Thames has flooded her banks so badly that water has rushed into the Houses of Parliament and destroyed significant parts of the city. When this last happened (in the mid-1960s, I believe), it was decided to do something permanent to effectively prevent any such disaster from occurring, The result is the Thames Flood Barrier which consists of about 8 or 9 structures that were constructed across the width of the river. They look like giant stainless steel domes but they open out and close like the petals of a flower. Underneath each of them are massive flood gates. These are opened or closed to regulate the amount of water in the river. If there are heavy rains or too much melting snow entering the river to threaten floods, the gates are closed. If there is too little (which can threaten to stall river craft at the banks), they are opened. As a result of this manipulation of the volume of water, London has never been flooded and the device has been hailed as revolutionary.
            Visitors to the Thames Barrier by boat can merely encircle it in their craft. I do not believe there is a landing pier for if there was, we’d have disembarked to visit the Information Center. I believe that one can get to the center by land through Woolwich—but I am not certain.
At any rate, by boat, you get really up close and personal to the barrier and you are dwarfed by it. I was thrilled, absolutely thrilled, to be there and you had to pinch me to get me to believe that, after all these years, I was actually at the spot. The boat made a slow loop around one of the pillar-posts and started its return journey towards London. As for me, one of my dreams came true and I was simply beside myself.
Getting to Know Greenwich Again:
            Half an hour later, we were at Greenwich. I disembarked and began my walk using the DK Eyewitness Guide. It was 2. 30 pm and I had until 6.00 pm to catch the last ferry back to London. I had no intention of entering any of the historic buildings or museums for which the city is known as I had seen all the major ones. Still, it is a joy to wander around Wren’s great creations and I never miss the opportunity to do so.
            I fist passed by the Cutty Sark—this was a Victorian tea clipper (sailing ship) that was commissioned in 1868. For almost the next 100 years, during the golden years of the Raj, it had carried tea back from China and India to England to make it the world’s greatest nation of tea drinkers. It fell out of commission after World War II and lay in dry dock at Greenwich for decades until a recent fire on board destroyed most of it. It was closed for years while refurbishment and reconstruction went on and was only very recently reopened to the public (sometime after January 2012 which is when I was last in Greenwich).
            I had visited the Cutty Sark (after which the famous Scotch Whiskey is named) in 1989 on my first visit to the UK and had been fascinated by everything I had seen in the museum down below: the tea chests that held the merchandise, the smaller tea caddies, the collection of wonderful figureheads from various ships, etc. Hence, I did not visit it again this time round. It looks spanking new and gorgeous and if you are a kid, I would imagine, it would be a great thing to do.                 
            I should add, as an aside, that when I was in Greenwich in 1989, I had also seen the Gypsy Moth II which has been moved to Cowes on the Isle of Wight.
            My walk took me quite suddenly into Greenwich Market which offers a combination of things: arts and crafts, clothing, food and bricabrac. And here’s where my next dream came true. In these stalls set up in a giant indoor market, I came upon something I have been hunting for years—a ceramic Dundee Marmalade jar from the 1900s. These have become ever so rare and so sell for very heavy prices. The last one I saw was in a small antiques’ shop in Windsor, a few years ago, but when I had inquired, I was informed by the salesman that it was not for sale—he used it to stash his pens (which is what I plan to do with it). The grumpy old saleswoman had priced it at 8 pounds—a real steal, believe me—but embarrassingly, I had forgotten to replenish my stock of British cash and since I rely mainly on my credit card, I am often caught short. When this happened, I asked the lady if she could do better on the price. She firmly refused and informed me that such objects are now really hard to come by (as if I did not know this!). I literally counted out the last pennies in my purse and found that I was short of 10p! I asked her if she would give me a 10p discount and she said, “Well, I suppose so”. I was just thrilled (small pleasures, right?).
           
Lunch in a Traditional Eel House:
Yes, you read right—eel house! My walk led me to Godard’s of Greenwich, an old-fashioned eel house dating from the late 1880s where traditional British food has been served for well over a hundred years. Jellied eels were sold mainly to the Cockney population for whom it was a staple food. Today, few shops sell this delicacy and Godard’sis still one of them. I have to admit that I did not have the courage to try them but the shop does sell other traditional food such as Pie and Mash which is what I ordered: the counter is equally ancient as was the saleswoman (who refused to give me a taste of the eels as she said they are very expensive!) My Beef Pie was tasty but it needed a lot of salt and pepper sprinkled on it. The Mash was served with what she called “liquor”—she told me it is traditional—it was a whiteish gravy flecked with parsley (and it needed a lot of more salt too). It was a good meal, very filling and very welcome as I was starving by 3. 00 pm, when I was eating it and I felt well fuelled to continue my exploration of the area.

Greenwich Walk Continued:

My next stop was St. Alfrege’s Churchwhich was built by Nicholas Hawksmoor, Wren’s pupil, in the late 18thcentury but a church has stood on this spot for nearly a thousand years and is very historic. Henry VIII who was born at Greenwich Palace (no longer standing) was baptized here and poor Thomas Tallis, a musician and composer in Henry VIII’s reign who was falsely accused of adultery with Henry’s second wife, Anne Boleyn, was executed and buried in this churchyard. Unfortunately, it was closed but I managed to walk around the burial stones before I emerged out on the street again.
            I crossed Stockwell Road and at the corner of Nevada Road, I spied the Spread Eagle Pub which was once the watering post for tage coach horses of a past era. Opposite is the Tudor Rose Pubthat was established in the reign of Elizabeth I. I walked towards King William Road which is full of enticing shops offering souvenirs and historical memorabilia. And then I was at the gates of the National Maritime Museum which I have visited on a past occasion. I then walked towards the exquisite Queen’s House designed by Inigo Jones— which I have also visited before–a simple cube of a building in front of the famous Royal Observatory where one can stand astride the prime Meridian—it involves climbing up a steep hill which was not part of my walk but which I have straddled on a past visit as well. Across the Queen’s House are the gates of the National Maritime College and I could see that a graduation ceremony was in progress as varied cloaked young folks were walking all over the place. Right enough, it turned but to be Graduation Day at the University of Greenwich which now occupies these majestic buildings. This meant that, irritatingly, I was not able to go beyond the entrance of the amazing Chapel with its glorious altarpiece by Benjamin West and its elaborate Neo-Classical plasterwork ceiling, walls and balcony (location of one of the most memorable scenes in MI5). I crossed the yard to get to the Painted Hall, one of the masterpieces of British architecture, painted by James Thornhill, who also painted the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. It shows George III in great glory, but here too, I was unable to get too far inside as it was closed except for graduation ticket holders. However, having seen it in years gone by, on many occasions, I was not too disappointed.           
            Getting out of the area of Wren’s handiwork, I walked to the riverfront to the Trafalgar Tavern which has stood on this site since the time of Nelson who was a frequent visitor—as were Wren and Charles Dickens. Inside, it is a collection of lovely rooms filled with painting, photographs, engravings, etc. that depict Greenwich in various guises. There is a great deal of history in this area and I am constantly fascinated by the allusions to the great names from the past.
I walked along the Thames Path then by the river and took in the sights of a number of water fowl—including a family of ducks swimming all in a row! It was only 4. 30 pm and I felt I had the time to go out and see one place that I had never seen before—the Fan Museum on Croom’s Hill.   
A Fan of the Fan Museum:
            By the time I climbed Croom’s Hill and arrived at the unusual Fan Museum, it was already 4. 45 pm. Although it costs 4 pounds to get into the museum, they let me get in for free since it was closing in 15 minutes. I made a beeline for the top floor to see the collection of fans of Helene Alexander that numbered 2,000. Over the years, the museum has added to its collection and today there are really unusual fans in the cases. There are traditional ladies hand held fans that are painted elaborately. I saw the use of ivory, tortoiseshell and wood in the creation of fan frames and all of it was wonderful. There was a short film that features the museum’s highlights—from fans that concealed pistols and hearing aids and mirrors to touch up make up. Everything was amazing and I loved it.
            On the walk back, I spied the home of Cecil Day-Lewis, Britain’s Poet Laureate at one time and the father of the famous actor Daniel Day-Lewis. This was where Daniel grew up and it tickled me to think that the riches of Greenwich were in his backyard. Croom’s Hill is filled with very well maintained old homes that are much sought-after real estate today.   
            It was time to get back to the Landing Pier and at 5. 30pm, I was on a boat, really fatigued, as I sailed back to London.
Dining a Deux with Michelle:
            At Westminster Pier, I took the Tube to get to the next place—Regent’s Street to the Ten Café at Café Royal, a very snazzy, very upscale space, where I had been invited to have dinner with my Bombay college classmate Michelle who is a lawyer specializing in European Law with the British government. We have remained close friends over the years and I always make sure I meet her when I am in London. Seeing her again was a real pleasure and, as always, we spent the next two hours just talking nineteen to the dozen as we caught up.
            As for the meal, it was wondrous. We both started with a cocktail—a Picador—that was reminiscent of a margarita. For starters, we had a Tomato Salad full of heirloom tomatoes, a marinara sauce and a garnish of parmesan flakes. For a main, Michelle chose the Salmon while I went with a Rump of Veal with a Bordelaise Sauce served with parmesan crisp on a bed of spinach. It was really very good and we enjoyed it thoroughly before we perused the desserts menu and decided to share the Cherry and Chocolate (a deconstructed Black Forest Cake) and a composition of puddings with Apricot—sorbet, soufflés, cream, candied. They were all fab. We had excellent service from our French waiter named Emericque and were just charmed by the lovely flower arrangements everywhere in the hotel which was truly gracious. He even took us to the Caviar and Champagne Tasting Bar which was a revelation—a room more reminiscent of the Palace of Versailles or Fontainbleu rather than a room on Regent’s.
            It was about 10.15 pm when we decided to leave after what had been an excellent dining experience. As someone who lives mainly on sandwiches when I am occupying the homes of other folks, to have both the company and the opportunity to enjoy a meal with a good friend was a special treat and I felt deeply grateful for it.
            I got back home at 11.00 pm and skyped with Chriselle for half an hour. It was great to see her again and to catch up on everything that has happened to us since our Baltic Sea cruise—so I had a lot of news to share with her.
About midnight, I fell asleep ready to take on the weekend.
Until tomorrow, cheerio!                   

Tate and Theater

Jul26

Thursday, July 25, 2013

London

Tate and Theater:

Since a lot of exciting things have been happening in my London life, but not too much by way of work, I decided to knuckle down and get some done. Awaking at 7.00 am, I had a quick brekkie (toast w/peanut butter and apricot jam and tea) and started to work right away—I am editing one of the chapters of my book for inclusion in an anthology on Anglo-Indians in the World Today that is being edited by Robyn Andrews of New Zealand and Fr. Brent Otto (S.J.) of Boston. They had returned the chapter to me with some recommendations for change. Once I got working on it, time just flew and before I knew it, it was 2.00 pm! I jumped up because I was hungry again: more toast for lunch with Stilton Cheese and a Salad (I am loving Pizza Express’ Balsamic Vinaigrette with its mustard overdose—nice and spicy!) and then I was off to greet the city.

Traipsing Among the Tate’s Collection:
The trouble with going to a museum to see one set of works (the Turners) is that you realize what a wealth of art exists in the rest of the museum—and you simply must see it all! So I took the Tube to Pimlico, walked to the Tate Britain and began at the beginning—literally! I progressed chronologically from the 1500s to the present. It was a treat to go from the Tudor portraits to the work of the Bloomsbury Group. I was especially delighted to see David Hockney’s portrait of Mr and Mrs. Clark and Percy which is one of Marina Vaizey’s 100 Masterpieces of Art—and which I had never seen before. I was under the impression that it was at the Tate Modern where I have often looked for it. So coming upon it was not just a surprise but a delight.

I spent about two hours at the Tate, then hopped into the 88 bus and rode to Trafalgar Square—I caught a quick glimpse of Katherina Fritsch’s newest sculpture on the Fourth Plinth that Mayor Boris Johnson unveiled yesterday—it is called Hahn/Cock and is a bright blue cockerel in what looks like plaster of Paris. Already a great deal of humor is being generated about it in the press and on the internet, not the least having to do with the double entendre of its title.

I did want to get to a printer at NYU to print out some revisions of my chapter but there wasn’t enough time. Instead I took a bus from Trafalgar Square that was heading towards Covent Garden as my next appointment was for dinner with my friend Rosemary.

Dinner at Dishoom:
         I have mentioned Dishoom earlier in the week—the new(er) Indian restaurant on Upper St. Martins Lane in Covent Garden with a twist: this one serves Bombay street food which is really derived from several different cultures (Chaat and chicken tikka from North Indian, pau bhaji from Maharashtra). I was curious to see how good it was and Roz was game. We met at 6.00 pm, found a table inside (it was already packed) and ordered black daal, pau bhaji and chicken tikka with chai for her and a rose and cardamom lassi for me. I have to say that although the menu has been beautifully designed and is made very enticing by its unusual descriptions of very humble food, I was not impressed at all by the taste. Nothing really was exceptional. With a roomali roti that we split, we just about managed to finish everything (and were glad we did not take the advice of our waiter to order 6 dishes to be shared by two people—even at 3 dishes, our order was a tad too much). Not a place to which I will go again—that’s for sure. I will stick to Carluccio’s and Hare and Tortoise (where I can eat repeatedly and never get fed-up—pun intended!).

To The Duchess Theater:
      Our next port of call was the Duchess Theater on Catherine Street to see August Wilson’s Fences. Roz’s brother-in-law Colin McFarlane has a major role in it (Bono) and she suggested we go to see it. I did not realize that she had seen it twice previously—she gave nothing away by way of the plot, thank goodness. I had never seen or read the play, so all was a revelation to me.

Fences is set in the American South in the 1950s and consists of a bunch of African-Americans in a domestic environment tussling with their ‘issues’—most of which have to do with difficult childhoods through tough parents. The adage” The Abused becomes the Abuser” came home to me again in the main character of Troy Maxson, played by the comedian Lenny Henry (of Chef fame). As Roz said, it was startling to see him in a serious role (although last year, I had seen him play a double role in Much Ado About Nothing at the National Theater—in one role, he was rather serious, in the other, he was a joker).Needless to say, he did a great job but Colin as Bono was just amazing—in fact, I think he was a much better actor in a terrific role. The production was directed by Paulette Randall and has been on a nation-wide tour. I understand that on Broadway, the role of Troy was played by Denzel Washington and Gabe was played by James Earl Jones. Well, these West End actors might not have been stars (well, Lenny Henry is, I suppose), but they did a sterling job and the play was very well received.

Meeting Theater Royalty:
      Roz had told me that there would be an opportunity to meet the show’s actors at the Stage Door after the play—and sure enough, when we did congregate there after the curtain came down, it was only a 10 minute wait before the cast emerged to the warm congratulations of those of us who were privileged enough to meet them. I exchanged a quick few sentences with Lenny Henry and with the actress who played Rose (Tanya Moodie) and then Colin emerged and suggested we get a drink at PJ’s, a pub around the corner which is a common West End hangout. So if you want to spot stars, go there!

We spent the next hour gabbing. Colin has a beautiful voice and I was not surprised to hear that he makes the bulk of his income from voiceovers—tomorrow he has a gig with Disney. The unexpected surprise was the appearance of Costanza, playwright August Wilson’s widow, who happened to be in London (from Seattle where she lives) and came to see the show. She joined us at our table and we ended up having a very interesting discussion on the play’s rather strange and baffling end. Other cast members also popped by and soon I had exchanged a few words with most of them. They are pleased with the good reviews and reception the play has received but were clearly exhausted—mainly from the heat in the theater.

While I am reveling in all this great London theater, it is pure torture to sit in these ancient theaters that have no air-conditioning, indeed no circulation of air through any means whatsoever. I was afraid I would pass out—it was so uncomfortably hot and I was fanning myself like a lunatic throughout. During the intermission, I had to get a beer as I felt deeply dehydrated inside. It is simply my bad fortune that I am in London during its most brutal summer in years and although I am used to the harsh heat of New York and the humidity of Bombay, I no longer have the ability to withstand them.

It was about 11. 40 when Roz and I got up to leave. We walked to the Leicester Square Tube station together where we parted to take different trains. I got off at Marble Arch, switched to a bus and was at home by 12. 20–not bad at all. A few minutes later, I was in bed after what had been another productive day in London Town.

Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

A Day of Lovely Reunions with Friends:

Jul25
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
London
 
A Day of Lovely Reunions with Friends:
            These later get-ups are great for making me feel rested but they are not good for getting work done. I am a Morning Person and at my most productive between 5.00 am and 9.00 am. And I hate the thought of having to wake up to an alarm—so I shall just hope I will be rising at an earlier hour soon.
            My day began with brekkie—multi-seeded bread with peanut butter and Wensleydale cheese—with tea. It is delicious but carb heavy and although all the walking I have been doing (an average of 5 miles a day—going up to 8 plus miles on some days) has already led to the loss of my “cruise weight”, it will be a while before I can come down to my desired weight again—it will mean losing about 8 pounds. Not something I am going to worry about while traveling…
           
Off to the Tate Britain to see the Turners:
            Over the last few times when I have been in London, I have not had the chance to peruse the marvelous collection of works by Turner for which the Tate Britain is famed as the bulk of the collection has been traveling to various parts of the world. Now that they are all back to their home at the Tate, I figured I should lose no time going out to see them. I took the Tube to Pimlico and walked the six minutes to the museum—if you recall I had met my friend Murali there last week but our viewing of the Turners had been cut short by his kind offer to take a look at my laptop—he is an IT Man and he fixed it in a jiffy! But he is now very busy and I figure that if I wait to go with him, it will never happen—so I set out on my own and what a lovely morning I had.
            The Turner Bequest, as it is known, put thousands (and I mean, thousands) of works by Turner (the Tate owns 37,000 works on paper alone) into the hands of the Tate Britain. To best exhibit them, the Tate specially constructed the Clore Gallery which houses the collection and allows the viewer to see the progression of Turner’s craftsmanship. From largely realistic canvasses, his work became progressively impressionistic; from representations of mythical scenes, he delved into nature and experimented freely with attempts to capture light—for which he became best known in his later life. I had a lovely morning examining his works which are spread out over 10 galleries and grouped quite beautifully. The bonus was that I also saw a few canvasses by John Constable, his contemporary, who painted scenes from the Stour Valley, Dedham, East Bergholt and other places where I had once taken my students on a day-long field-trip. Constable’s View of Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows—a spot I had actually stood upon to peruse the scene when I was in Salisbury–is now in the Tate. It has been moved recently from the National Gallery where it was on loan for years.
            Once I finished seeing the Turners, I drifted into other parts of the museum and ended up perusing grand sculpture by Jacob Epstein (his alabaster sculpture Jacob and the Angel is outstanding) and massive works by Henry Moore.  I also saw a lot of interesting paintings by Lowry and by Lucien Freud and I realized that to see the older works, I will need to come on another day.
            Llew called while I was in the galleries and I had a long chat with him. It was then time for me to leave the museum for my next appointment at the National Gallery with a very dear and very old friend.
Meeting Firdaus at the National:
            Dr. Firdaus Gandavia is one of my dearest and oldest friends. We met for the first time about 30 years ago when we were both on British Council Scholarships at Oxford where we became inseparable. Over the years, we have stayed close friends. He is a true Renaissance man: a financial whiz (he is a qualified Chartered Accountant and now the Chief Financial Executive of a huge firm in Bombay) with a Ph.D. in English Literature—his dissertation was on Graham Greene. Extremely well-read and a wonderful conversationalist, I enjoy the best times with him and when he suggested that we meet at the National at 1.00 pm, I jumped at it as he is in London on a short visit and returns to Bombay tomorrow. Naturally we had an affectionate reunion and then decided to go far away from the tourist mele of Trafalgar Square to have something to eat. I recommended Blackfriar’s Pub—so off we went.
Light Lunch at Blackfriar’s Pub:
            Blackfriar’s Pub near Blackfriar’s Bridge is one of London’s most unusual pubs—the exterior sports a fat black friar at the entrance and inside there are wonderful friezes on the walls and on the ceiling that portray friars dressed in black robes also marching around the walls that are plastered with axioms. It is a truly fun place. The wall sconces and the andirons at the fireplace also feature hooded friars—so there is a lot of visual interest to keep the eye riveted as you enjoy a draught ale. Ihis part of London.  believe that Blackfriars is so-called because in the distant pre-Reformation past, an order of monastic friars who wore black robes were based in the area 
          Firdaus was having a later big meal with another friend so opted for apple crumble and a coffee. Since it was a hot morning, I chose Eton Mess (a combination of vanilla ice-cream, strawberry sauce, fresh strawberries and meringue) and a pint of ale. This pub is one that participates in The Ale Trail—a plan which marks your card for every pint of ale you consume and gives you the fifth one for free. You can then also purchase the “I Walked The Ale Trail” T-shirt. The pubs are in The City—that part of London that is mainly financial and during the last week of my stay in The City, I shall try to walk it—it is one of the items on my London To-Do List.
            “Dr. G” (as I affectionately call my friend) and I had a lovely hour together and then it was time for me to go on to the next item on my agenda for the day—a Cruise upon Regent’s Canal in a Narrow Boat. Four years ago, when Chriselle had visited London during my stay here, we had tried to do the canal cruise but had missed it by just a few minutes. This time, I was determined to do it. Unfortunately, Dr. G had done it years ago and had to keep his next appointment at Hampstead, so he escorted me as far as Camden Town where we said goodbye before he proceeded to his next appointment and I went into the madness of the market.
Combing Camden Town:
            Camden Town has grown into this incredibly colorful area with loads of shops catering to a very specific demographic—young, hip, edgy. I saw tons of heavy boots, leather studded garments, steel jewelry—you name it, they had it. The market has developed around what is known as Camden Lock—a Lock upon the Regent’s Canal which was once the industrial life-blood of the city. The locks regulate the amount of water in the canal; they prevent flooding and stalling of the narrow boats that ply it. Today, these boats have been turned into cruisers for the pleasure of tourists. The usual route goes from Little Venice to Camden Town, but I chose to do the journey in the opposite direction from Camden Town to Little Venice.
            I chose Jason’s Boats because the cruise is done in a boat that is 107 years old—so it really did see the Industrial Revolution. The return journey cost 9 pounds but I had time for only a one-way cruise—which costs a hefty 8 pounds. Doesn’t make much sense to me, but there you have it. The return journey is a better financial bargain; but I simply did not have the time as I had a packed evening ahead of me.
Cruising Down Regent’s Canal:
            Fortunately, I had picked the perfect afternoon to go cruising down Regent’s Canal. The temperature was perfect, there was low humidity and a lovely gentle breeze blew throughout. We left the craziness of Camden Lock and cruised quietly down the narrow canal lined on the right hand side by the paved tow path—this was the path that the horse walked on as the barge was pulled by horses in the days before engines and automobiles. All commercial traffic used the canals—London had the Regent’s Canal and across the country, there was the Grand Union Canal that joined it. Goods and passengers were transported on these canals through hard-working horses and their human caretakers right through the 1900s and into the 20th.
            We passed by London Zoo and caught a glimpse of the birds in their large cages. It brought to my mind the trip that Chriselle and I had made to the zoo and the way in which we had bent laughing at the antics of the chimpanzees. Around Regent’s Park, we saw grand mansions whose rears look out on to the canal with their impeccable private gardens. Further on, at St. John’s Woods, we were at the back of the famous Lord’s Cricket Ground and in front of a power station which was once a coal-loading station in the days of steam power. The canals were used for commercial purposes right until the 1950s and the narrow boats on which entire families once lived in cramped quarters, were converted to pleasure craft. Occasionally we passed by long stretches of greenery with willow trees trailing their foliage into the water. It was very calming to be in such an environment and hard to believe one was still in Central London.
Eventually we reached Little Venice which has developed into a very upscale neighborhood with celebrities such as Judi Dench having purchased houses there. They are beautiful terraces structures and are very pleasing to the eye. We disembarked at Little Venice after what had been a truly lovely afternoon’s excursion and one I would gladly recommend to anyone wishing to get away from the tourist bustle but still wanting to enjoy the pleasures that London can offer.
  I walked briskly up to Paddington Underground Station and rode the Tube home to St. John’s Wood. This left me enough time for a short nap before I showered and got dressed for my next appointment—dinner with a former student.
Dinner at Hyde Park with Elise and James:
            Yes, today turned out to be a day of happy reunions and at 7. 30 pm, I was ringing the doorbell of my former NYU student, Elise, who lives in a lovely flat right opposite Hyde Park on Kensington High Street. Elise is unforgettable as she was a star student who took two of my courses as an undergrad at NYU and then travelled with me to India and Nepal on a Summer Trip that I had led. She is married to an English barrister named James and is the mother of two kids (Thomas, almost two and 8 month old Elektra). It is a little strange for me to look upon these students as mothers with children and domestic responsibilities when I once knew them as mere kids. While I had met Thomas on a past visit, I was looking forward to the pleasure of meeting the gorgeous Elektra and, of course, James.
            Elise’s cousin Greer was at her place when I reached but she left soon after. James arrived in due course from his chambers at Pump Court (which, coincidentally, happens to be one of my favorite parts of legal London). Elise offered champagne which I had to refuse (too afraid of my suphite allergy). I opted instead for a beer (perfect on a muggy day) and enjoyed her marvelous steak dinner—the steak done just right, medium rare as I like it. Served with boiled potatoes and green beans, it was the simplest food but perfectly seasoned with just salt and pepper to allow the flavor of the meat and the vegetables to come through without being drowned by spice. I loved it.
            We had a wonderful conversation and a great opportunity to catch up once the kids were asleep. I learned a great deal about James’ impressive background (Eton, Cambridge) and his work in Commercial Law which seems closely related to what Llew is now doing in his own relationship with the SEC. James was a Classics major so we had much to discuss and overall, it turned out to be a scintillating evening in the company of young people of whom I am intensely fond. Their abundance of blessings is easily evident in their setting and their interaction with each other and I couldn’t help feel deeply grateful for them.
            It was 10. 00 pm when I jumped up to go back home by taking the bus from across the street to Marble Arch and then changing to the 139 bus from there which dropped me right opposite my building on Abbey Road. I did nothing more than brush and floss my teeth and change for bed before I was out like a light.    
           Until tomorrow, Cheerio!                    

Royal Excitement, Bloomsbury and a Barbecue

Jul24


                               
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
London
            I have finally been awaking at a decent hour—that is to say, about 7.45 am (as I did this morning). The upside is that I feel well rested; the down side is that I am not really getting much work done. Today, certainly, with the royal excitement over the birth of an heir, I did none. But even I can be permitted to take a day off to participate in the general international jubilation, right?
Participating in a Historic Happening at Bucks House:
            So when I switched on the telly and discovered that people had already begun congregating outside Bucks House, aka Buckingham Palace, to catch a personal glimpse of the official announcement of the birth of the Prince of Cambridge on the easel set in the front yard, I decided that, being in London at such a time, I needed to mark the event in some way myself. Juvenile? Of course. But, like I said, this is one of those times when you throw all sorts of post-colonial reservations about decorous behavior to the wind and adopt the mob mentality. I am an unashamed Anglophile and I am a tourist in London—I combined the worst of what those labels imply and set out, after brekkie (Walnut Bread with Peanut Butter and Wensleydale Cheese with Ginger with Tea) and off I went on the Tube to St. James’ Park to join the dizzy throngs.
            There was a very orderly queue when I got there—but within three minutes, something crazy happened. The police removed the barriers that were keeping the frenzied crowds at bay behind the Palace gates where a golden easel had been sent up with the birth announcement. And because I happened to be right at the barrier actually questioning a bobby to find out how long the wait in the line would be (to take a close-up picture of the easel), I was right in the front—standing right at the gates, really really close to the easel. It enabled me to take clear pictures of it both with my camera and my Iphone and to compose my shots so well that I was able to get the front façade of the Palace as well as the guards wearing their traditional bearskin hats and a bobby walking officiously up and down past the gates. It was a right royal crush trying to get out of there once I had finished taking my pictures, but it was so worthwhile. The crowds at the gate were at least eight deep by the time I managed to worm (literally) my way out.
            Not content with my pictures and wondering if there were people congregated around the statue of Queen Victoria for a reason, I asked a bobby for more information. He replied, “Sorry Madam, but your guess is as good as mine. We are never given any information”. I took a few more fun pictures at the statue of the crowds at the gates as well as of The Mall sporting colorful Union Jacks from every flagpole and I soon realized that they had massed there for the Ceremony of the Changing of the Guard. I had had my share of royal excitement for the day as well as personal participation in a historic moment. I had something worthwhile to tell my grand kids someday—so off I went.
A Walking Tour of Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia:
            I walked about 6 minutes to Green Park, took the Tube from there to Russel Square and began my walking tour of Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia (from DK Eyewitness Guides). These tours are simply amazing. Although I am pretty much stomping familiar ground, they are introducing me to elements of the city that I had not previously known and forcing me to take note of the littlest details that tickle the history and literary buff in me. For example, I soon realized that Russel Square is probably named after Bertrand Russel who lived in Bloomsbury and whose residence is marked with a blue plaque. Well, I could be mistaken, but I think not.
            Anyway…I arrived at Russel Square which is one of the largest London squares and is dominated by the red terracotta façade of the Russel Hotel which was designed and built by Charles Doll. It is a stunning confection of pillars, wrought-iron and collonaded balconies and friezes that represent cherubs prancing around. Inside, I was assured the magnificence continued—so, of course, in I went to the lobby with its lavish marble décor and trim, its chandeliered staircase—so wide it could easily accommodate a grand piano—and its lovely wall sconces. Needless to say, I used the loo there and continued on my exploration.
            Across the gardens of Russel Square I went, past the statue of Francis, Duke of Bedford, to whom this vast acreage once belonged (and after whom neighboring Bedford Square is named). He is depicted with a plow and sheep at his feet as he was a country fellow who reveled in such pursuits. I walked down Bedford Street and arrived at Bloomsbury Square that gave its name to the literary club of sorts that was formed in the early 20th century known as the Bloomsbury Group and numbering among its members such luminaries as Virginia Woolf and her sundry relatives—(siblings and in-laws) and philosophers such as Russel, biographers such as Lytton Strachey and artists such as Dora Carrington—although none of them lived around this square (most lived around neighboring Gordon Square). .     
            I sat on a garden bench for a while, then spied the flag and the sign of Le Cordon Bleu along one of the streets—in I went as I have been familiar with this name for decades (as a child I used to read my Mum’s issues of Woman and Home magazine that often mentioned the Cordon Bleu School of Cookery). I went inside and found it to be a cooking school indeed. Unfortunately, I will not be long enough in London to take one of their courses which go on for a few weeks (although I would dearly love to do so). Instead I contented myself buying some of the very reasonably priced goodies in their show cases and then walking out.
            The rain had begun—never thought I would be grateful for rain, but it immediately brought down the temperature in sizzling, humid London and made it much more bearable. I took shelter in a newsagents shop and ended up buying a copy of The Times in order to preserve its front page with the historic royal news. A few minutes later, I was at the entrance of the Church of St. George, Bloomsbury, which is one of the masterpieces of Nicholas Hawksmore who was a pupil of Christopher Wren. The church, alas, was closed, so I could not explore the inside—but I paused long enough to note the mausoleum-like tower and the gigantic sculpture of the lion and the unicorn at the very top. Visiting this church was on the top of my list and I was sorry I was unable to get inside.
            By this point, I was close to the British Museum—so I walked one road down and reached its impressive gates and railing. There were huge crowds in its forecourt but I could not linger as I had a meeting at New York University just next door with the Director there.
A Meeting at NYU:
            Since the leadership at NYU has changed since I taught there and since I am doing so much of my research and editing work on our campus where I am being ably assisted by the staff (especially Ruth), I thought it would be a good idea to meet the current Director Gary and thank him in person for enabling me to use the campus facilities. My meeting was at 12. 30 pm and on the dot, he came downstairs to the lobby to meet me and to graciously escort me into his office where he offered me a glass of sparkling cold water. I was very touched by his chivalry and his thoughtfulness.
            I had expected our meeting to me short—just a courtesy visit, really—so I was surprised and thrilled that it went on for over an hour because Gary was so interested in my research project about Britain’s Anglo-Indians and wanted to discuss it at length with me. I discovered that his background in British Law (he is a lawyer) made him familiar with the British Nationality Act of 1948 around which a great deal of my work in the UK is based. Our discussion was wonderfully productive—Gary is well-versed in Linguistics as well as we spent a great deal of time talking about the recent evolution of the English language through the influx of immigrants in the UK. We also talked about Global Migration (I teach a course on the subject at NYU) and the changing face of the UK since it joined the EU. Overall, I was simply delighted to have met a man who seemed genuinely interested in my areas of field research and contributed richly with his views and ideas.
Off to the British Museum:
     Of course, once our meeting was over, I simply had to spend a while at the British Museum re-visiting some of my favorite objects there. I headed straight to the Rosetta Stone, then to the Bust of Rameses II and on to the Lely Aphrodite which has only recently been loaned to the Museum’s collection through the Queen to whom it belongs.
       A few steps ahead, I entered the vast custom-built hall that was constructed to accommodate the Elgin Marbles—so-called because they came into the possession of Great Britain through Lord Elgin. They had once decorated the top of the Acropolis on the Parthenon mountain in Greece but after being struck down by an earthquake, they were found strewn around the base by Elgin. He arranged for their sale through the Turks who had then temporarily held Greece. There has been a long raging controversy between Greece and the UK—Greece wants the Marbles back, the UK has refused to part with them on grounds that the country does not possess the right space in which to keep them protected. Greece has responded by building the new Acropolis Museum in Athens especially designed to house the carvings. The UK continues to turn a blind eye and deaf eye to their pleas and has ignored Greece’s good faith attempts to preserve the Marbles for posterity. And so it goes on: the international impasse. 
          My own particular favorites are those of the pediment of which only a few fragments remain—but what amazing fragments they are! I swear that horse breathes out of those flared nostrils! Having actually been to Greece and stood on the Acropolis, I love imagining what these works might have looked like in situ.
          Downstairs, I visited the giant carving from Easter Island and then I made my way outside to the café of the Senate House Libraryof the University of London which was just across the road. I settled down with a mocha latte and a scone with butter (alas, they had no jam—and a scone without jam is like a day without sunshine, as far as I am concerned—in other words, pretty dull). Still, it filled me up and got me fuelled for the next lap of my rambles—a visit to two museums.
The Petrie Museum of Egyptology:
         I have heard a great deal about this museum for years—it is a part of the University of London (known as UCL), but somehow although I taught classes for a year in a building pretty close to it, I had never entered it. I spent more than an hour there focusing only on the Top Ten items that were pointed out to me by the friendly assistant. The museum is free and attempts are being made to give it more exposure and publicity and some guides asked me to participate in a survey after my visit—which I gladly did.
            The items that caught my eye were: The world’s oldest garment (a child’s blouse, made of linen, about 5,000 years old). Needless to say, it very fragile. I also saw two full-length tunics, also made of linen, not as old as the child’s blouse, but about 3,000 years old, all the same); a Nubian ebony wood carving (that happened to be the favorite item in the entire collection of Petrie who was an archeologist and Egyptologist and who brought back all the items in this collection from his various ‘digs’); a bead dress, designed for a pre-pubescent child that has acquired erotic innunendos; beads from a necklace made of semi-precious stones that might once have been worn by a pharaoh; a large bowl with an intact human skeleton in it (used for a ‘bowl burial’) and a few painted funerary masks. The great novelty aspect of these objects lies in their age and their manner of near-perfect preservation. To see all the thousands of items on display would take weeks—to see only the highlights is really the best way to make use of short stretches of time.
The Grant Museum of Zoology:
            I left the Petrie and looked for the Grant Museum of Zoology which is in the same general area and also belongs to UCL. Here too, in this wonderful place filled with natural history specimens most of which are preserved in formaldehyde in glass jars, I asked for a brochure giving Highlights. I was given a useful leaflet containing the Top Ten items and here is some of what I saw: a collection of preserved brains of a number of animals; a jar full of preserved moles (I had no idea moles were so small); glass creatures created in Czechoslovakia since real ones could not be preserved—they are truly exquisite and real works of art and craftsmanship; giant deer antlers, the entire skeleton of a real anaconda—the world’s largest snake that kills its victims by choking them to death. I found this place fascinating although science and zoology are not really my particular areas of interest. There were skeletons of every conceivable creature—the whole skeleton of a hippopotamus, for instance.
           
BT Tower Goes Festive:
        Outside, I got a great view of the British Telecom Tower. All day it has been beaming a message that went around the circumference of it saying “It’s a Boy”. There are also images of storms flying around it that bring a touch of whimsy to the royal birth. Because I was far from the Tower of London, I did not hear the Gun Salute but I have seen the fountains in front of the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square turn blue. It is a truly festive time to be in London and all the conversation on the Tube and in the buses has to do with this long-awaited baby. Long may he reign!
            I sat myself down then for half an hour in the front court of the main Neo-Classical Building of UCL with its imposing dome and its Greek columns and its vast plinth. I needed to rest my feet and while away some time before I moved on to my next appointment at St. Paul’s Cathedral.    
A Barbecue at St. Paul Cathedral:
            My friends Bishop Michael and his wife Cynthia had invited me to a barbecue for the staff of three major London churches: St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey and Southwark Cathedral. I had attended this event about two years ago and had enjoyed it immensely. I arrived at their place at 6.00 pm and in a few minutes, we made our way to the grounds of the Cathedral. This time too I made some lovely friends and had some absorbing conversations. I met British lawyers, a Classics teacher, an HR specialist, the cross bearer at the services, a French chanteuse (singer) from Paris. The food was plentiful and delicious—the British have completely embraced the concept of the barbecue which, I know, about 30 years ago, was not on. Globalization and Global Warming have contributed to the popularity of the Cook-Out and now it is not unusual to be invited to such an event.
            I started off with a cold beer because the weather is still pretty muggy and then moved towards the lines snaking around the food tables: burgers, goat cheese and leek patties (delicious), Cumberland sausages served with brown sauce, remoulade, green salad with balsamic vinaigrette and grilled corn on the cob. Everything was made more tasty by the fact that we were eating it outdoors under the great dome of Christopher Wren. Dessert was ice-cream doled out in many flavors by ice-cream men who manned ice-cream carts. It was cute and very old-fashioned. Of course, everyone ate too much and as the evening wore on, it was time for me to say goodbye to my friends and take the Tube back home to St. John’s where I reached about 9. 30 pm.
            I spent the rest of the evening taking a shower, writing this blog and planning out my work and sightseeing program for the next few days. It was a lovely day and all the excitement of the birth of the heir kept me wide awake long into the night. It was about 3. 45 am when I finally was able to get to sleep.     

Moving to Abbey Road On A Truly Historic Day!

Jul23


Monday July 22, 2013
London:
A Truly Historic Day!
What a historic day in London! And another dream-come-true for me! I always wanted to be in London during a historic occurrence—and I have always missed it.  But this time round, I was right on target: the birth of the heir to the Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is no small potatoes—and I am thrilled and absurdly happy to share in the joy of the British as they welcome the first born male child of William and Kate.   
            I wondered for days on end where I would be when I received the news—and through what medium I would hear it, considering that we are all now so wired. I expected it would be through Twitter—and indeed it was. I happened to be on the steps of Abbey Road Studios (which the Beatles immortalized) at 7.45 pm when the news was announced. Four hours previously, when the baby was actually born, I was sitting in my new digs—an unbelievably sprawling 3-bedroom, 3-bathroom Victorian flat which is 2,000 square feet if it is an inch—so huge, so complex that I am still getting lost in it. It belongs to my American friends Raquel and Chris who are currently on holiday in New York and who kindly offered me their place for my use in their absence. I have never been so lucky in my life! First the amazingly comfortable place in Holborn that belonged to my friends Tim and Barbara where I slowly broke into my London lifestyle again in an environment that was known and familiar and comforting as an old shoe and now this place here in St. John’s Wood. My balcony overlooks the zebra crossing that the Beatles immortalized on their Abbey Road album cover and every single day at any given hour, there are scores of tourists—young and old—crossing the street and taking pictures. Who would ever have thought that I would be living in this gracious old London building at such a historic location? I tell you…it boggles the mind. There is simply no end to the surprises that life can hurl at you—of that I am sure, and I am simply reveling in them.
            But I am getting ahead of myself—so I should begin at the start of my day. I awoke at 6 15, forced myself to sleep for another hour and then finally stirred at 7. 15 with the realization that today was Moving Day for me as Tim and Barbara were returning from their short stay away.  I had done most of my packing last night, so it was only last-minute things that needed to be completed. I ate the last of my scrambled eggs and chipolata sausages (as I did want to clear my food stuff from the fridge) and continued putting my belongings together. I then spend about half an hour cleaning the flat and making sure it looked welcoming enough for my friends. I also left them a Thank-you card and a few gifts and then I was all set to leave.
             By 11.00 am, I got out of the flat with one suitcase as it seemed best for me to make two trips—the idea was to take my back pack with my computer in it on a second trip. Fortunately, St. John’s Wood is only a half hour way—Lord’s Cricket Ground is only a block away and with the Ashes matches going on between the UK and Australia, it is very much the focus of sports lovers at the moment. I was at my new building called Neville Court at 11.05 am. I unpacked and took the empty suitcase back with me to Holborn again at 11. 45am. I reached Holborn at 12. 15 and by 12. 30, I was out for the last time. I left their keys for my friends and was gone. I have enjoyed the best first week there and in a week that was hideously hot during the day and even at nights and in a country in which people do not even possess fans, I was blessed with air-conditioning which did wonders for my comfort. I will ever be indebted to my friends for so generously leaving their place for my use. I said goodbye to the concierge Arben for the last time and was off. He too is a special friend who always greets me with the warmest welcome and offers his help constantly. It is amazing to me that I have created these connections in London—connections so warm and strong that they now make London feel to me like my second home.
Getting Acquainted with my New Digs:    
      The hottest, most humid day in the UK in decades (temperatures soared to 34 degrees Celsius which is almost 94 degrees Fahrenheit) would just happen to be my Moving Day! Go Figure! I was hot and exhausted and very grateful to find a portable fan in my bedroom. It is very easy for me to carry it around from room to room and make the place comfortable. I got connected with wifi, set up my computer so I can get some work done and caught up with email.
          The news that Kate had entered St. Mary’s Hospital in Paddington meant that everyone was on tenterhooks waiting for the arrival of the royal heir to the throne.  At 5.00 pm, after which I had accomplished a lot, unpacked and found places for all my things and made myself at home, I took a short 15 minute nap, woke up to make myself a cup of tea (when frankly a cold beer was what I craved). I ate it with cake and then at 6.00 pm by which time the worst of the day’s heat had passed, I decided to go out and explore Regent’s Park and Marylebone using the walking tour in DK Eyewitness Guides.
Exploring Regent’s Park and Marylebone:
           This was one of the shortest and quickest walks I have taken so far. I took the Tube to Regent’s Park Tube station (I love the old emerald green tiles and the embossed ones that form trimmings in these old stations that have seen no modernization) and arrived at John Nash’s magnificent Park Crescent. Those who have been to Bath will recognize the name of Nash as well as the word ‘Crescent’ for the two Nashes—Elder and Younger (Father and Son)–created the Georgian city of Bath and the Elder Nash is responsible for this portion of London around Regent’s Park at Marylebone.
          Park Crescentwas conceived along classical lines—it has double columns and is a series of private mansions (today mainly offices) constructed as an arc—beautiful hanging flower baskets accentuate its loveliness. Today’s walk was an opportunity for me to skim Regent’s Park (It did not take me inside although I have enjoyed this park on many previous occasions) but into the little lanes and roads that surround it. They are all part of Nash’s plan and they are marvelous. Old classical constructed mansions surround the park—some of them are prominent buildings such as the Royal Academy of Music founded in the 1700s but most of them are Victorian buildings and are suitably flamboyant with red brick and stucco and fanciful gables in the Dutch idiom. Had London nothing to offer but its architecture, it would still be my favorite city in the world. 
          This area is also the home of two beautiful old buildings with marvelous ornamental sculpture decorating their faces:  Wigmore Hall, a wonderful concert hall which still holds a great program of performances (there was a piano recital just about to begin when I popped my head in and had a look) and, right across the street, the original building constructed for Debenham’s, the department store that subsequently moved to Oxford Street. The building currently lies vacant–more’s the pity.
           This walk also took me to parts of London that are vaguely familiar to me but which I haven’t visited in a long time: for example, with regards to the familiar, I walked down Harley Street known for its physicians’ offices. Many moons ago, I had accompanied Llew to a Harley Street optometrist who had performed surgery on his eyes. As for the unknown, the walk took me to Wimpole Street—made famous by Elizabeth Barret who had lived there as a spinster when she had fallen in love with the poet Robert Browning. The couple eloped and were secretly married in St. Marylebone Parish Church which I also visited on my walk. It has a splendid cupola that is crowned with gilded figures holding hands. The inside of the church was closed but services are still held there regularly.
          Just next door is Ferguson House, where Charles Dickens had once lived and where he wrote several novels. There is a bas-relief sculpture on the wall of this building that portrays Dickens as well as several of the characters he created. The area was also home to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who has a blue plaque to mark the place where he lived and wrote. Indeed, there are several blue and green plaques dotting the area as several significant pioneers of British science and medicine once lived in this neighborhood where the country’s most successful doctors still have their clinics. 
          Finally, past Portland Place which is filled with wonderful sculpture. I arrived at All Souls Lapham Church, also the handiwork of Nash. It has a thin spindly spire and a circular base and was derided when first built. This church was also closed but is is open during services to which all are invited.
           Directly behind it is the BBC’s Broadcasting House from where all their radio programs are beamed out to the world (the TV programs are made in their studios in White City). I was quite taken by the sculptures by Samuel Gill on its faced featuring Prospero and Ariel from The Tempest. Inside the 1930s Art Deco interior has been very well refurbished.
           The third significant building in this corner of London is The Lapham, once London’s grandest hotel. The likes of Mark Twain once stayed in this hotel which boasts a fabulous marble lobby. I popped inside to have a look and was charmed by its décor although this is decidedly new.   
News of the Royal Baby—Finally!
            It was time to call it a day and since I spied a 189 bus, I followed it to its starting point just off Oxford Street and was home in half an hour. It was then about 8. 45 pm at which point the staff at the Abbey Road Studios permitted me to pose on the steps to take pictures—this was the exact moment when the world was getting to know that the royal birth had taken place four hours previously. I got home, switched on Twitter and got the news—about 20 minutes after it had occurred. As I said, I felt absurdly pleased for the young couple and the entire nation that had become so involved in this birth. Just imagine what it must be like to gaze at this infant child and know that one day he will be king! Must be an awesome feeling for its parents—of course, one of the parents (William) will be king himself and since this child is not likely to rule within my lifetime, I guess I should not be that excited! But for some reason, I am and I am sure it has more to do with the fact that I am actually here in London when this royal birth has occurred.
    It was 11. 30 pm when I finally went to bed after drinking a beer, eating a sandwich for dinner and watching Burton and Taylor on TV.
          Until tomorrow, Cheerio!              

Puccini, a Picnic (at Vintage Car Rally) and a Posh Party!

Jul22


Sunday, July 21, 2013
London:

 

My friend Bishop Michael of St. Paul’s Cathedral told me that he thought my Blog post of today would be especially interesting—and he was not mistaken! I had a most extraordinary day during most of which my phone was shut off and Llew, trying hard to reach for me a long weekend chat, was much disappointed.
Snagging A Day Ticket at the Royal Opera House:
I awoke early (by 6.00 am) and did some editing work before I ate scrambled eggs and chipolata sausages for breakfast and jumped on to the Tube. Needless to say, Holborn and the Tube were empty at that unearthly hour on a Sunday but by 8. 30 am, I was at Covent Garden joining the other Early Birds in the Day Ticket line. I must say I was delighted to discover how well-heeled they were. Distinguished elderly men and women joined Asian youngsters—many had brought portable stools on which to perch as they whiled away the time. I took one of the chapters of my book to edit and since I was concentrating on it so deeply, time flew and before I knew it, the doors opened and five minutes later, I was the proud owner of a ticket to see Giacomo Puccini’s La Rondine at the 1.00 pm matinee show It was deeply thrilling, to say the least. So it was really worth the wait.
Sunday Church Service in a Royal Venue:
            I have waited for years to attend Sunday Service at the Queen’s Chapel at St. James’ Palace. The trouble is that they have very selected times during the year when services are held there—next week, the Royal Family goes on holiday to Balmoral in Scotland, for instance…so services will be suspended until September. During the winter, services are held in the Chapel Royal of St. James’ Palace. (I was very pleased to attend service there this past March with my friend Cynthia and her son Aidan). So, I was excited to be received by the verger Katherine who saw me to my seat at the Queen’s Chapel, a space that is breathtakingly beautiful. But then, I am not surprised. It is, after all, the work of the exceptional Inigo Jones who learned everything he knew from the legendary Andrea Palladio of Italy and brought his Classical principles to British architecture to create an aesthetic that, in time, influenced Christopher Wren and his pupil Nicholas Hawksmoor. Built in 1663 for Portuguese Queen Henrietta Maria, the wife of Charles II, it was a Roman Catholic place of worship for a Roman Catholic queen. In course of time, it was, of course, taken over by the Church of England.
            The chapel has large Palladian windows—named after Palladio, of course. The style is strictly balanced and symmetrical. The colors are those of the French tea room, Laduree: Wedgwood Green with Gold Accents. And what accents they were! There was gold lavished everywhere—but subtly, never gaudily. On the plaster ceiling, on the side walls, on the altar where the added bonus was the most magnificent wood carving (and gilding) by my favorite 18th century craftsman, the superbly-named Grindling Gibbons. There were twin arc angles high up on the altar holding a lavish garland of flowers and fruit and lower down the altar too framing the beautiful painted altarpiece. I have not been able to find out who painted this Nativity scene but it is a lovely image and suits the classic subtlety of the interior.
            The service was equally wonderful and I felt excited and privileged to discover that the angelic choristers were going to sing a Jubilate in English composed by none other than Prince Albert, consort of Queen Victoria, who was a talented and passionate musician—he often played the violin with his good friend Mendelsohn on the piano at Buckingham Palace. In fact, coincidentally enough, tomorrow night is the start of a four-part BBC TV series entitled “Monarchs and Music” moderated by David Starkey which will discuss in detail the contribution of royal family members to the grand British tradition of music.
            I always think it is marvelous that the Anglican Church has kept alive the stirring music that was composed for the Church by some of the world’s greatest composers—indeed it is only in the UK that I get to hear this kind of music (there was a lot of Tomas and also some Handel) and it never fails to move me deeply and convince me that the Anglican Church is a far better place to worship than the Catholic ones when one is in the UK. (Although, having said that, most of the London Catholic Churches also do a sung Latin Mass on Sundays during which I have heard the most amazing music and the most impressive choirs). In America, it is only very rarely (only on high holy days) that one gets to hear such music in a Catholic church. The preacher was a visiting chaplain from the Isles of Scilly (pronounced Silly) off the coast of Cornwall and he did a competent job likening his islands to Bethel, the holy city named in the day’s reading. Overall, I had a most moving Sunday church experience—exactly the sort that will bring me eagerly to church again next Sunday in another historic house of worship.               
Puccini at the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden:        
            Just as the service ended, a No.9 (old Routemaster bus) came trundling down Pall Mall—I was so excited as I always try to ride a Routemaster once during each of my London stays. Although I was only taking it for one stop—up to the Tube Station at Green Park—it seemed worthwhile and I was excited. These rides never fail to remind me of my childhood in Bombay as we had double decker red buses there too and, as children, always clambered to the top deck hoping to get the front window seats for a bird’s eye view of the passing scene. These rides always bring out the kid in me and I love to return to my happy Indian childhood in this fashion.
            I reached Green Park station, hopped on to the Tube and got off at Covent Garden from where it was only a short stroll to the Royal Opera House. I was so excited to see an opera at the Royal Opera House that I could barely control myself. Doors had already opened, a half hour before the show began. This gave me the chance to stroll around the fabulous premises and to take in the glass and iron ceilinged bar-café where patrons were sipping pre-dinner drinks. I also went into the restaurant with its beautiful painted panels and its soft lighting. The entire effect is one of old-world opulence and class and I allowed all of it to sink in.
            Ten minutes before the show could begin, I found my seat—and what a great seat it was! The opera began and I gave myself up completely to the grand music of Puccini. What I love about opera in addition to the music are the lavish sets and costumes and this production had both. Set during the 1920 and early 30s, is the era of the flapper girl, the entire show reminded me a bit of the novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (think The Great Gatsby) and Paris of Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. La Rondine, which in Italian, means the swallow, centers on Magda (played brilliantly by soprano Angela Georghiou) who falls in love with Ruggero but despite his devotion finds herself unable to escape her past. The sets were strongly reminiscent of the work of Louis Comfort Tiffany particularly in the stained glass panels and the iridescent mosaic pillars of the first and second acts. The reproduction of Bullier’s, the Parisian jazz club of the Roaring Twenties, was also stunning. And the supporting cast did as good a job as possible to keep up with the demands of the plot and the score. Overall, it was a memorable afternoon at the opera and one that will stay in my own mind forever.    
Off to a Picnic and Vintage Car Show at Kensington Gardens:
            Back to the Tube station, I walked dodging the crowds that were thick and eager and found my way to Queensway station on the Central Line for the next appointment on my agenda: A Vintage Car Show at Kensington Gardens to see the 1936 vintage car owned by my friend John Harvey who had shipped it across the pond in order to participate in the Aston Martin Centenary Exhibition. There were over a hundred cars on display lining the Main Walk to create an avenue of cars just opposite the rear entrance of Kensington Palace.
           Needless to say, the cars that drew the most attention were in the section marked with a gigantic golden 007—they had been used in the James Bond films. Some of them were horribly battered from all the beating Bond took in trying to stay one step ahead of his enemies. Others featured the exciting gadgetry for which Bond is best known: skis attached to the sides, rifles that pop out of the headlights, etc. I joined my friends Cynthia and Michael at the venue and they, in turn, introduced me to a bunch of their friends—Susi and her mother Sabine and her husband Nicholas. We made a jolly lot, joined also by the younger members of the family, Edward and Aidan. Our friend’s green and black car got a great deal of attention from the public as he had just commissioned a local artist to paint it—and the painting was still drying upon an easel right by the car—which was the only one to sport New York state license plates.
            The Aston-Martin that also drew a lot of comments and was most photographed was the ink-blue one belonging to Prince Charles. He had loaned it to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and they had driven down The Mall in it to their honeymoon. It featured a small sterling silver dragon on its windshield. It occurred to me that here I was gazing upon their honeymoon vehicle while the world waits with bated breath for the birth of their first child. How time flies!      
              It was hot and it was humid and it was time for a Pimms—my first one of the summer. Nicholas bought us all a round of drinks: Pimms for most of us, beer for the boys, water for Cynthia! We cooled off under an umbrella at a wooden picnic table and shot the breeze for a while. It was a lovely afternoon and a great setting for a picnic in the park—the red-bricked rear façade of Kensington Palace looked down on us benignly. It occurred to me that I was thoroughly enjoying my time in London and that although I do love doing all sorts of things on my own in this city, it was my friends who were making it especially enjoyable for me.
Off to a Posh Party at the Belvedere:
            An hour later, when the car show ended at 5. 00 pm and the Aston Martins began to leave the park, we left the park too. Nicholas drove all the ladies to the next venue: the Belvedere Hotel at Holland Park (Michael and his sons gamely agreed to foot it out to the venue). We found the entrance that leads straight to the very posh environs of the Belvedere Restaurant where our American hosts, John and wife Kazie and daughters Kitty and Alex were waiting to greet us as we entered. The Harveys, who are Manhattan-based, invited a bunch of their London friends and business associates and a number of their NY friends who made the trip across the pond especially to attend the show. Passed hors’d’oeuvresfound their way into our fingers and our mouths as lovely cocktails were offered too: Watermelon martinis, Pimms, champagne, wines. We circulated, met new friends, said Hello to old ones, pecked many cheeks, made numerous trans-Atlantic contacts, exchanged contact details as we nibbled at the appetizers and then made our way to the many food stations. There was a variety of things to tickle the palate: from seafood served with delicious sauces to Thai curries, to Tex-Mex guacamole and chilli and tacos to a station named  “British Country Garden” which offered salads and quiches and scotch eggs and meat pies and Cornish pasties! How wonderful! For pudding, there were tiny strawberry tarts, even tinier ice-cream cones with rose-strawberry ice-cream and still tinier orange-polenta cakes. Everything was just delicious and I had a grand time. I never think that I am going to attend these posh parties in London but somehow I always do—and they are always fun because my friends always include me in them. I particularly enjoyed making friends with Manhattanites, the Anands: Vijay, a well-known ENT specialist is a good friend of my good friend, Cheri-Anne from Louisiana, also an ENT specialist, and his wife Nanda was friendly, warm and happy to meet a fellow-Indian from Connecticut in London. Of course, we have made plans to meet again when I get home. 
             The Belvedere overlooks the formal gardens of Holland Park–location of a famous scene from the BBC TV show As Time Goes By (one of my favorite shows of all time). It is the venue in which a young lieutenant Lionel Hardcastle (played by Geoffrey Palmer) meets the young nurse Jean Pargiter (played by Judi Dench) and comes up with the only pick-up line to enter his head: “Excuse me, but do you know the way to Curzon Street?” Not much has changed in the park: the red brick arches, the symmetrical flower beds, the sun dial in the middle, are still there and I feel stupid that I did not take a picture of the scene from the balcony of the restaurant which afforded a very pretty view of the setting. Holland Park is also the location of the Kyoto Garden or the Japanese Garden (filled with azaleas, cascading waterfalls and peacocks) which is one of my favorite parts of the city. I used to sit there and grade student papers when I was teaching in London.    
            At 11.00 pm, with everyone else having left, we who were having such a good time, were pretty much the last to leave. Michael and Cynthia hailed a cab and dropped me off at Holborn while Kitty, who was their house guest for the week, carried on with them. The boys again gamely decided to take public transport to get home! No, chivalry is not dead!
            It was about 11. 45 pm when I reached home and finally got to sleep on my last night in my Holborn flat. Tomorrow, I will awake and start packing for my move to Abbey Road where I will partake in Beatles’ history.
            Until tomorrow, Cheerio!   

A Walking Tour of Covent Garden and ‘Macbeth’ on Screen

Jul21


Saturday, July 20, 2013
London:
            I awoke about 6. 30 with a splitting headache and decided I needed to do something about it. Two hours and two Tylenols later, headache was history and I was able to get out of bed at 8.30 and start my day. Phew!
            Spent most of the morning doing errands—began packing for my move to my next lodgings at St. John’s Wood. This took about half an hour. Next, I made gift packs for all my friends here who have ‘lent’ me their homes in which to stay.  Then I got on the bus to St. Paul’s to my friend Cynthia’s home so that I could leave my large suitcase at her’s and travel about London from one week to the next with a much smaller case that she lent me last week. Unfortunately, she was in the shower, so I did not meet her. Left the suitcase outside her door and returned home on the bus. I caught up on email and did some steady work for a couple of hours. I breakfasted on the last of my muesli and honey yoghurt and then made a sandwich for lunch and got dressed. By the time I left the flat, it was close to 1.00 pm. I took the Tube to Covent Garden in order to start my walking tour of the area following the route in DK Eyewitness Guides.
A Walking Tour of Covent Garden:          
          Holborn, where I am currently based, is dead at the weekends—which is a good thing if you live here as it gives you some respite from the constant buzz of the area that is highly commercial and profoundly legal. (The Tube stop is called Chancery Lane which, if you are a fan of Charles Dickens, you will know was the setting for his novel Bleak Housefilled with lawyers and the case called ‘Jarndyce and Jarndyce’ which went on endlessly).
          So when I hit Covent Garden, the contrast was startling. The area was jam-packed with tourists. There were thousands everywhere I turned. Streaming out of the Tube station in droves, they choked Long Acre Road and spilled into the Piazza at Covent Garden in such numbers, you’d think London was the only place in the world to which a visitor could go!
          I followed the route which took me into Neal Street to the charming little courtyard called Neal’s Yard. Here, buildings painted in bright and vivid colors are clustered around a small space filled with health food stores and restaurants. Everyone seemed to be doing a thriving trade with people eating on the pavements in café trottoir settings a la Paris. These were once warehouses that have been jazzed up to become exorbitant real estate in which only the fanciest shops and boutiques have their glass fronts.
            Just across the street was Thomas Neal’s—another warehouse building that has been converted into an indoor mall. It has a restaurant on the basement level and an interesting light fixture replicating giant light bulbs on the main level. I popped in, took a few pictures and walked out towards Seven Dials which was also packed. It is like a miniature Eros statue (I mean the one at Piccadilly) in the number of people that had congregated around its base. It stands at an important crossroads that is marked by a column on top of which are six sundials—the seventh is the point of the column itself. Although the original column dated back to the 17th century, this is a more contemporary replica.
            On through Monmouth Street I proceeded, to arrive at colorful St. Martin’s Court (previously Ching Court) also filled with eateries, the main one belonging to Jamie Oliver. Outside, there is Dishoom, the Indian restaurant with a difference—it serves Bombay street food and lots of chaat. It was packed with Indians having brunch. I stepped inside (as my friend Murali had blogged about it and I was keen to see it for myself) and found Bollywood posters from the 1960s as well as magazine pages from Eve’s Weekly and Feminawhich took me down Nostalgia Lane double quick! A really interesting restaurant that is worth a visit, I think.
            On I went towards Rose Street and Garrick Street to find The Lamb and Flag pub that has stood on this spot in a hidden corner since the 16th century. Parts of the interior have been untouched since that time. I was encouraged to try their own brew—New Frontier ale–and it was welcome on another hot morning—although I have to say being cloudy and overcast, it offered relief from the heat and humidity of the past few days. John Dryden was once seriously wounded in a brawl outside its doors in the alley because he had lampooned the Duchess of Portsmouth (one of the mistresses of Charles II) and there is a plaque to commemorate this shady event.
            As I walked towards Covent Garden, I spied Carluccio’s, an Italian restaurant chain that I absolutely love. It carries some of my favorite eats: their caponata and their lemon tarts are to die for and I never leave London without partaking of the genius of the chain’s founder, Antonio Carluccio. I popped in to look around and was rewarded with a few nibbles—sample olive oil served with focaccia bread and parmesan cheese and salami. Nice!
            By this time, I was close to Covent Garden’s lively Piazza that was fairly jumping with humanity. There were buskers galore all over the place entertaining the public with magic shows and musical offerings. I found Laduree, the French confectioner, has set up a tea room right on the piazza! How multi-culturall it is all becoming—Carluccio’sand Laduree only steps from each other. I love Laduree’s melange de maisontea (house blend tea) to which I had become introduced in Paris and I buy loads of it (now available in New York). I introduced my friends Michael and Cynthia to it when they were visiting me in Connecticut and now they are huge fans too! I stepped into Apple Market and into the many shops that line the market—once a famous flower market (setting for Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion and its film version My Fair Lady), today it does a brisk trade in all sorts of crafts. In neighboring Jubilee Market, there were more arts and crafts although on some days of the week there is vintage bric a brac (no more antiques—for those one has to go to the posh shops at Notting Hill or on Church Street).
            Circling around, I came to the corner that was once a coffee shop called Boswell’s(today it houses Balthazar, a restaurant). Dr. Samuel Johnson met his biographer Boswell in this space in the 18th century and the fact is marked with a detailed plaque outside that tells the whole story. This area was well frequented by Dickens who was a dedicated theater buff and who spent most of his evenings watching dramatic performances in them. There was once a Theater Museum here but today it is a Film Museum. The Theater Royal is not too far away on Drury Lane (where the Muffin Man once did a roaring trade, according to the old nursery rhyme).
            Past Bow Lane I went and into Floral Lane (there was once a big flower market here, hence the name) to arrive at the Royal Opera House which, I am ashamed to say, after so many visits to London and after having lived here, I had never been inside! Of course, that had to be remedied, so in I went with the idea of taking a tour—only to discover that they had just closed tours down as the afternoon’s matinee performance was about to begin. I browsed around the crowded gift store before venturing to the Box Office myself to find out about Day Tickets. I discovered that they do sell those—so I will be back tomorrow to try and get one for Puccini’s La Rondine. However, what I did manage to get was Cultural Gold:  a ticket to see the Bolshoi Ballet later in August. Although it is not the best seat, it was one of the few remaining and I snagged it immediately. I might not have seen the Kirov Ballet at the Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg in Russia, but here I was soon going to see the Bolshoi on at the ROH—it was just pure great luck!
            Ten minutes later, I was on the Tube heading home to shower and get dressed to go to Battersea to my friend Rosemary’s home. She had invited me to dinner before we set off for Chelsea-Fulham to see the National Theater’s Live screening of the final show of Macbeth coming from the Manchester Theater Festival starring Kenneth Branagh in the lead role. Roz had put together a light Smoked Fish (Salmon and Mackerel) Salad which she served with buttered bread and beer for starters. We set out in her car and drove into Chelsea (which has a very interesting and different look at night—I must explore it after dark, I think), parked in a small side street and entered the theater. Seating was free and we had our pick.
MacBeth on Screen in Chelsea-Fulham with Roz:
            The production was staged in a deconsecrated church in Manchester and the shape of the building dictated the design of the performance—the audience sat in the choir stalls. It was hot (I could see the audience fanning themselves) and the production was designed to take place in a mud pit. During the opening battle, they had rain pouring down on the mud making it a churning, slippery mess. The cast were dressed in thickly padded costumes and I felt for them in the heat. The opening with the three witches was hideous—God knows what the director did to them. They looked awful and sounded worse. Some of their best lines were lost in the sing-song manner they affected. Lady Macbeth was also a bit unappealing but Branagh as Macbeth and the actor playing McDuff were especially good. I am not sure it was the most orthodox Macbeth I have seen (and I have seen many staged versions) but this was memorable for its innovation and experimentation.
            It was 10. 45 when it ended. Roz dropped me to South Kensington Tube station from where I took the train and got home at 11. 20 pm exhausted and ready to drop right into bed after what had been a busy but very interesting day. 
          Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

Revisiting Trafalgar Square and The Wallace Collection

Jul20


Friday, July 19, 2013
London
Today turned out to be a not-so-exciting one. I woke early, did substantial work at my computer before eating my muesli breakfast. But by the time I managed to get out of the house it was about 9. 45 am—perhaps already a tad too late to try to snag a 10 pound “Day Ticket”.
I took the Tube to Leicester Square and then walked to Shaftesbury Lane to the theater playing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. No such luck today! The clerk told me that all tickets were gone in ten minutes as the play is proving very popular (possibly a result of the popularity of the novel). He said people had queued up since 6. 45 am!!! If I want a Day Ticket, it seems I must get there by at least 8.00 am. Oh well! Perhaps I shall try on another day.  
Since I was in the West End area, I figured I would try to get Day Tickets for another play on my Must-See List: it turned out that One Man, Two Gov’nors was on at the Theater Royal Haymarket, not too far away. I walked there and got one ticket for 12 pounds—but it turned out to be high up in the Gallery. I took it anyway figuring that my field glasses would prove helpful. Then off I went to start my rambles in Soho and Trafalgar Square.
Traipsing around Trafalgar:
            There was not much I saw for the first time today, save for Chinatown. I have walked through Gerard Streetbefore (which is the heart of London’s Chinatown) but rarely have I observed the place minutely. This morning, I was right in the midst of the unloading going on at every supermarket and restaurant that lines Gerard Street—and it was both unpleasant and dangerous as there were mechanized dollies doing their thing—with me in the middle.
            I quickly scuttled off and entered Leicester Square (going past the interesting Exchange and Bullion Center building on the right that dates from the late 1800s). As always, Leicester Square was alive with tourists looking for discounted theater tickets. I realized that the TKTS booth that used to be the hub of the area is now almost forlorn—very few discounted seats were available and although they were half price, they were still expensive. It seems that people now prefer to queue up outside individual theaters for the Day Tickets which are a real bargain, if you can get them.
            The sculpture of Shakespeare is shrouded by scaffolding as it is under refurbishment and Charlie Chaplin in no longer there either. Looping around Orange Street, I arrived at the Sainsbury Wing of the National Theater and looping around the grand old fountains there, I took a few pictures before going up close and personal to peruse Edwin Landseer’s magnificent quartet of bronze lions. There was actually a queue of people waiting patiently to climb atop them to have their pictures taken.
            I lopped around and entered the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, so named because it once stood in the fields and pastures in which sheep grazed. The inside is known for its superb ornamental plaster ceiling although its altar is rather plain. Once upon a time, I had attended a brilliant fusion concert inside with my nephew Sudarshan. I will never forget the acoustics of that lovely venue. This morning, I was present for the rehearsal of another lunch time concert: clarinet and piano—and I cannot tell you how awful it sounded. The program centered around the kind of atonal music I detest—it was all sound and fury signifying nothing. I scuttled out again as quickly as I could and made my way down into the Cryptwhich has perhaps the nicest gift store in London. It carries the most unusual merchandise and I always wish I had a bigger baggage allowance when I am in a place like this. As it turned out, all I could do was some window shopping before I left and resurfaced at the top.
An Errand and a Viewing at the National Portrait Gallery:
            I crossed the street and entered the National Portrait Gallery where I had an errand associated with identifying an image that I intend to use as the cover of my book. Since the image does not belong to the Museum but is in a private collection, I need the help of an archivist and the staff of the Exhibitions Department to assist me. I did get the names, telephone numbers and email addresses of the persons to contact and then I went out to see the portrait that everyone was talking about a few months ago: the Portrait of Catherine Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge by Paul Emsley that critics either like or hate. No one seems to have loved it so far, so I was prepared not to be impressed. As it turned out, I thought it was an admirable likeness of the sitter (done with just two sittings granted to the artist whom Catherine chose personally) without any attempt made to glamorize her. Yes, the overall effect is grey, dull and somber but perhaps that was how the artist saw his subject. Nothing wrong with it, I thought. The eyes are magnetic—beautifully done in shades of hazel with a strange light shining out of them—so hard to achieve in a portrait.
            I spent a while looking at some of the other newer, more contemporary portraits that have been added since I was last there (actor Timothy Spall, actress Maggie Smith) and then I made my way out and walked towards Charing Cross Road. It hadn’t turned out to be much of a morning, so I decided to take the Tube to Oxford Street for a peep into the Wallace Collection, another wonderful private collection of art.
Lunch in Starbucks at Selfridges:
            Thanks to the current soap opera I have been watching in the States, Mr. Selfridge, I simply couldn’t resist the impulse to go to Selfridges and browse around. My first stop was the Jo Malone counter where, as a regular buyer, I was presented with a sample pot of Nectarine and Honey Body Cream. Then up I went to the café as I was hungry and wanted to eat my Stilton Cheese sandwich and to buy a drink to wash it down. It turned out that Starbucks has a location on the fourth floor which is the Food Hall. Unfortunately, it did not have wifi—standard in all Starbucks’ around the world—but I did buy a Strawberry and Cream Milkshake—and so good it was too on a morning that was muggy and sticky. Lunch break gave me a chance to regroup and decide what to do next and to rest my feet. I am walking an average of 6 miles a day and it is taking its toll on my feet though not apparently doing anything to bring down my weight! Well, it’s the milkshakes that have a lot to answer for, I guess!
           
Window Shopping on Marylebone High Street:
            Lunch done, I walked along St. James’ Street towards Marylebone High Street to get to the Wallace Collection which is sandwiched in Mansfield Square between Oxford Street and Marylebone High Street—while the former is known for its chain stores (M&S, Selfridges, Zara, Monsoon, H&M, etc), the latter has the boutique stores (The White Company, Daunt Books) and many charity shops—a particular fancy of mine. I was thrilled to find a loaf of Walnut Bread at Waitrose (I do not often find it and when I do, I always buy one) and then it was in the many charity shops that I browsed (Oxfam, St. Bernard’s, Cancer Care, etc.). Alas, I found nothing to grab my fancy so I walked towards the Wallace Collection.              
Saying Hullo to Masterpieces in the Wallace Collection:
            The Wallace Collection is based in an 18th century mansion that belonged to the Dukes of Hertford and is filled with their collection of art and objects d’art—mainly from the 18th century, although there are significant pieces from other eras as well. It is a grand space that is beautifully maintained and, best of all, free to the public. It is also still very much a residence and I think it wonderful that the public is allowed to glimpse these marvels without needing to pay handsomely for them.
            The reception desk provides a floor plan which allows folks to leave footprints around the spacious rooms in which royalty were once entertained. Notice the interior design and decoration as much as the art objects. Notice, for instance, the grand marble staircase with its exquisite metalwork railing. Notice the outdoor café space—under a great glass ceiling amid potted palms, one can sip a soothing cuppa.
            Then notice the masterpieces that, according to the bequest can be moved around the house but never out of it. So if you want to see Fragonard’s The Swing or Franz Hals’ The Laughing Cavalier or Nicolas Poussin’s Dance to the Music of Time or Peter Paul Reuben’s Landscape with Rainbow or Velasquez’s Lady with a Fan—you can only see them here with no expectation whatsoever that they will come to a museum near you. For The Swing alone, it is worth making the pilgrimage to the Wallace. It is a darling painting—oil on wood—that tells a little story. The 18th century lady, complete with voluminous skirts and powdered wig, is being swung by her father—a white haired man in the background. But unbeknownst to him, her lover is concealed in the hedges waiting for a glimpse of his beloved. She, well knowing of his presence, flirts outrageously with him, even tossing her little pink sandal into the hedge for him to catch! It is twilight—there is little light except what shines on the lady’s face. I love this painting and I was thrilled to see it again.
I also adore another painting in this collection: Miss Bowles and her Dog by Joshua Reynolds. It is so evocative of innocence and of child-like beautiy that it always takes my breath away. Indeed in a collection that has masses of large-scale canvasses by Charles Oudry, Sargent, Reubens, it is the littlest ones that are most striking and I love them dearly.
            I also love the arrogant expression on the face of the Hals’ Laughing Cavalier. There are also any number of Francois Bouchers—with his fat cherubic angels and their skeins and garlands of fruits and flowers. There are loads, simply loads, of Sevres porcelain, so you would be wise to see them here for free (rather than at Buckingham Palace where you will have to pay a bundle to see the Queen’s collection—she is a passionate collector of Sevres).
            Yes, to read the label of every one of the paintings and to admire every item of Boule furniture, it would take all day—but if you want to see just the masterpieces, you can see the collection in a couple of hours—which is what I did.
            I then walked up to Portman Square and jumped into the 139 bus going to St. John’s Wood so that I could water the plants on the balcony of my friend Raquel’s flat. This took me no more than a half hour’s detour. I was back on the bus again and took the Tube from Oxford Circus to get back home for a shower and a nap. Alas, I did not have the time for a cup of tea today.
Off to the Theater to see One Man, Two Gov’nors:
            At 7.00 pm, I left the house to take the Tube to Piccadilly Circus from where I walked to the Theater Royal Haymarket to see  One Man, Two Gov’nors. My seat was awful—way way too high with the gold bar coming right in the center and distorting the view. I realized quickly enough that it would be torture to sit there and I also discovered that the play, while really hilarious, contained too much slapstick for my liking. I got the idea pretty quickly: a series of mix-ups would occur as one man juggled the orders of his two employers (‘governors’ in Cockney slang). By the intermission, I decided that I had had enough and I left—it has been ages since I have left the theater half way through the play, but it was clearly not up my alley.  
      On the bus I arrived at Aldwych, from where I took another bus along Kingsway to Holborn and then I was inside Sainsburys’ buying two Indian ready meals as I had a sudden desire to eat Indian food! I bought Chicken Tikka Masala and Jal Frezi with Pullao and a tub of Carte D’Or Chocolate Explosion ice-cream (as it is still terribly hot) and some profiteroles (which I love) and then I was on the Tube at Holborn getting home for a fairly early night.
            I heated up an Indian meal, ate a big dessert and then went off to sleep thinking that it hadn’t been much of a day after all.

More St. James, Hard Rock Café ‘Vault’ and Strange Interlude

Jul19

Thursday, July 18, 2013:

London

       It was another productive and very exciting day! Oh and really hot too! I was up by 5. 30 am and by 8. 30 am, had already put in three full hours of work at my computer. As I was on a roll, I decided not to go to Mass. Instead, I washed, dressed, breakfasted on my soaked muesli and set out to meet my day.

First item on my agenda was the bus (521 from across the street) to Waterloo Bridge to get to the National Theater. I was keen to see Anne-Marie Duff—an actress I have grown to love ever since I saw her play Elizabeth I in The Virgin Queen. The National does not sell 10 pound tickets—but they do have Day Tickets for 12 pounds and I was delighted to snag one for the 7.00 pm show. Armed with my buy, I took the bus from across the road to Bloomsbury and went directly to my NYU office at Bedford Square.

At NYU at Bedford Square:
        Both weekday porters who happen to know me well and still remember my name—Mo, short for Mohammed and Mark North, were at the desk and how delighted they were to see me! They put me immediately on to my colleague Ruth who came downstairs to meet me and took me to meet Eric, our Associate Director, who joined after my time in London. We spent a little while together. It was so great to see Ruth again especially since there has been a massive change of guard and many new faces have been added to the staff roster at NYU-London. Our program has also expanded exponentially with two new adjoining houses being added to the original premises. Then I went down to the basement Computer Labs to print out some more material for editing in the next few days and about half an hour later, I was off.

Continuing Explorations at St. James’ and Piccadilly:
      Leaving Bedford Square behind me, I walked to Bloomsbury to take a bus to continue my explorations of St. James’ and Piccadilly. I arrived again at the Statue of Eros at Piccadilly Circus, went into Nespresso for another reviving espresso and crossed Air Street and Regent Street to get back to Piccadilly where I returned to Fortnum and Mason to pick out a few more of their goodies to give away as gifts as I have already been receiving invitations to dinner from local London friends, who, I know would love some of their specialty foods. I discovered that on the Lower Ground floor, it is possible to stash buys in storage for later retrieval.

      On to Jermyn Street I went. Here, I discovered a specialty fromagier—Paxton and Whitfield is a cheese shop that I have heard great things about from Nigella Lawson’s show and Twitterfeed. Inside, I sampled many of their wares and picked up one of their readymade “Picnic Bags” as I was running out of cheese myself: it contained 2 chunks of English Stilton, 1 nice round of goat cheese and a hunk of Gruyere—nice!

      Then, I was turning into the Duke of Gloucester Street to enter St. James’ Park with its equestrian sculpture of William IV in the center. On another sizzling London day, it was filled with office-goers eating picnic lunches on the lawn. I sat myself down for a bit, then resumed my walking tour in search of the famous London Library. Although entry is strictly for members only (and a very pricey membership it is too of 465 pounds a year), I did get into the Reception area and glanced around before picking up a leaflet outlining the history of the place and its illustrious members over the years. Founded by Thomas Carlyle, it numbers both famous Victorian Charles-es—Darwin and Dickens—among its members as well as Arthur Conan Doyle, George Bernard Shaw, T.S. Eliot, Virginia Woolf, E.M. Forster, Winston Churchill, Agatha Christie, Vita Sackville-West. John Betjeman, Kingsley Amis, Tom Stoppard, both Simons—Callow and Schama–and Bruce Chatwin (and this is only a selection) among its members. Stories associated with this library are rife.

      I had no time to linger and off I went towards Green Park to make a detour on to Duke’s Hotel which is the location of the famous Duke’s Bar whose bartender Gilberto once mixed the best martinis in the world (according to City Secrets London). Alas, Gilberto is no longer there but the current bartender permitted me to poke around, admire the signed photograph of Sean Connery (forever associated with James Bond who famously liked his martinins “shaken not stirred” although purists know that maritinis are neither shaken nor stirred!) on the wall. I ate my ham and Stilton sandwich lunch in the shade on lawn chairs provided by the hotel, used their facilities and then off I went again towards St. James’ Street.

       Here, I paused to see two things: The famous wine merchant, the oldest one in the world, called Berry Brothers and Rudd, whose interior is worth a visit for two reasons: it is extremely old-world and atmospheric and it contains a gigantic weighing scale, once used to weigh merchandise but, by the 18th century, used to weigh the area’s well-heeled residents. I was treated to a taste of a fine liqueur called King’s Ginger (it was amazing: plainly gingerly with a hint of lemon and similar to Drambuie) and given several recipe cards contained cocktails on the back. I saw a letter from the offices that owned the Titanic informing the company that the disaster had taken a case of their wine down into the ink-black waters that night. The displays are stirring and any history buff will have a fine time browsing the walls for memorabilia, not to mention a connoisseur of fine wines. I had the time of my life

     Then, following advice in City Secrets London, I entered adjoining Pickering Place, a tiny residential enclave surrounded by black brick buildings and crowned by a large sun dial in the center. It is Dickensian in the extreme and filled with scarlet geraniums spilling from window boxes which was truly lovely.

      I walked on then to St. James’ Palace. Its famous twin-towered Tudor gates were closed and had no guards outside them—they were further up the road. Into Marlborough House I went, once a grand 18th century private mansion, but was told that it was not open to the public—I distinctly remember sauntering inside, a few years ago, with my friend Loreen from Wilton, Connecticut, and admiring the thick skeins of wisteria that festoon its walls and using the loo in what is today the Commonwealth offices. Next door, the Queen’s Chapel, designed by Inigo Jones, was also closed: I have plans to return to it this coming Sunday for 8. 30 am Eucharistic services. A short loop around Spencer House—childhood London home of Princess Dina and now owned by her brother the current Earl Spencer–which I had visited in March with my former student (now a London banker) Kent Lui, brought me to Green Park through which I strolled briefly at the end of a long and humid afternoon which was crammed with sun-bathers.

      St. James’ area is always a joy to peruse: it has history, brilliant architecture, enticing upscale stores (some of my favorites) for unique shopping in an atmosphere in which you are made to feel like a Queen, fine parks, grand hotels—indeed it is London at its most genteel and I have always felt entitled to enjoys its amusements if only for a while.

Off to the ‘Vault’ at the Hard Rock Café:
      One of the things I am doing during my stay this time round is see as many of the Fifty Unusual Museums of London (that I downloaded from the Visit Britain website) as I can. One of them mentioned the Vault at the Hard Rock Café which was in the vicinity—at the end of Piccadilly near Hyde Park. I jumped into a bus going in that direction, got off at the end of the road near the Wellington Arch and walked through crazy traffic circles and the taxis emerging out of The Mall towards the Hard Rock Café.

      It is amazing but despite all our travels, the only Hard Rock Café that I have ever visited and eaten in is in New York. I had never been to the London one—which explains why I had never seen or even heard of The Vault: this is an underground treasury of musical memorabilia associated with the world of rock music. Guided tours are given every 20 minutes and I joined a couple waiting their turn before being taken downstairs at 3.00 pm by a young man.

       We found ourselves in a very well-lit underground cavern (we had taken a flight of narrow stairs to get down there) into a real vault: there were thick and heavy doors through which we went past. The guide explained that these premises once belong to Coutts Bank, bankers to the royal family and that Diana’s wedding dress had once lain in this space for safe-keeping. In 1991, when the bank went out of business, and the Hard Rock Café bought the premises, it inherited the Vault—and, therefore, decided to make a true showpiece of it by acquiring, at auction, items of clothing as well as letters and musical instruments belonging to stars. It is a tiny space but crammed with all sorts of items to thrill music buffs: I spied Bob Dylan’s guitar, Madonna’s bustier (worn at one of her ‘shocking’ concerts) and her credit card (on which her name is given as Madonna Circonne), John Lennon’s army outfit, one of Jimi Hendrix’s many guitars, letters from and to The Temptations and The Beach Boys—and on and on it went. It does not take longer than 15 minutes to poke around as well as see the bevy of photographs outside featuring musical giants who have performed at the Hard Rock Café. I would say that if one is not really interested in buying souvenir merchandise sold by the café, then a visit to this Vault would be fun. I had a good time.

       But I was also ready to get back to F&M to pick up my buys and then hop on to the buses to get home. I needed to rest, and to shower and dress for my evening out and indeed that was exactly what I did—I even managed to fit in a short half hour nap.

Off to the National Theater to see Strange Interlude:
      My evenings at London’s theaters are getting better daily. Tonight I was spellbound by the acting talent of Anne-Marie Duff playing Nina in Eugene O’Neil’s Strange Interlude. Now this is a play I had never seen in performance; indeed it is a play with which I am unfamiliar. And what a brilliant play it turned out to be with such an unusual story and a plot that was so unpredictable because it could go anywhere. I had chosen to see this play because, as one of her long-time admirers, I could not wait to see Duff in the flesh and I was not disappointed. She was simply riveting as Nina and in the support she received from such consummate actors as Charles Edwards who played Good Old Charlie Marsden (he is familiar to fans of Downton Abbey as the married editor to whom Lady Edith is attracted and for whose newspaper she starts to contribute articles), she was superb. Indeed every one of the characters did a grand job and given the fact that I had front row seats (for 12 pounds, did I mention?) which allowed me to watch every single expression on every single actor’s face, I was in Theater Heaven. Not surprisingly, the play has received superlative reviews and I felt privileged to be able to see it for myself.

      I am thrilled by these Day Tickets and hope to pick up one tomorrow for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. On Monday, I shall try for Othello, also at the National but the ticket clerk has warned me to queue really early for that one.

       As it was a very long play, it finished at 10. 30. I was home by 11.00 pm and by the time I had dinner (scrambled eggs, Cumberland sausages, salad), it was almost midnight and I was ready to call it a day. My days seems to be divided nicely between editing work, a walking tour, a museum and a play! In fact, it is London as its most varied and most entertaining. What’s not to love???

      Until tomorrow, cheerio!

London for Walkers: Central and Ethnic (Piccadilly and Brixton)

Jul17
Wednesday, July 17, 2013:
London
Exploring Central and Ethnic London:
Live and Learn. If that’s what Life is all about, I am glad I learned about “Ten at Ten”. For I was at the Noel Coward Theater at 9.3 0 am (having woken at 6.00 am, done some editing work on my computer, washed, dressed, attended Mass at 8.00 am at St. Paul’s, breakfasted and taken the Tube to Leicestter Square). There were about 15 early birds in the queue ahead of me to pick up Ten Pound “Day” Tickets—and the wait turned out to be longer than expected as the Box Office only opened at 10. 30 am; but the final reward was sweet for I snagged a ticket to see Daniel (Harry Potter) Radcliffe in The Cripple of Innishmaan for 10 pounds. I mean where could I possibly see world-class drama for $15 in The Big Apple? Not even Off  Off  Off  Broadway! Thrilled with my buy, I took the Tube again to Piccadilly Circle to begin a Walking Tour of Piccadilly and St. James. And by the way, by the time I reached the end of the day, I had walked 14,600 steps or 6.8 miles (a record even for me).
In the Court of St. James at Piccadilly:
            The reason why each of these DK Eye Witness Walks is taking me two and even three installments to complete is because there are too many distractions everywhere to cause me to get side-tracked. I began at Piccadilly Circus (as recommended) at the Sculpture of Eros that dominates the crazy traffic circle that, at the best of times, is always choked with tourists and, in the night, is a gaudy, vivid, ever-changing neon show of lights. In the daytime, it is less lurid but just as crazy. Crossing towards Air Street whose giant arches have been recommended as architectural features to note in City Secrets London, I chanced upon the Nespresso flagship store on Regent Street—so I could not resist going in to find out about their seriously upscale coffee. What I did find were freshly-brewed samples doled out at a Tasting Table in tiny Alice In Wonderland glass cups complete with biscuits! I requested a Mocha Macchiato—and how good it tasted although hot–I could have done better with an iced coffee on a morning that was already sizzling. But just across the street, Whittards was doling out White Chocolate Milk Shake samples, so very welcome on a gruesomely hot morning.
            Across the street, I entered Piccadilly and turned into Jermyn Street to peruse the colorful old windows of male clothiers—there were shoe makers and shirt makers and every sort of shop a man might consider entering to outfit himself adequately for a corporate career in London.
      I could not resist entering Waterstone’s at Piccadilly, a book store that City Secrets London recommends every one should visit. It is a wonderfully huge space–it was once the location of Simpson’s, the famed restaurant that has moved close to the Savoy Hotel and is now called Simpsons-In-The-Strand. I browsed through the London travel book section and was alwasy astounded by the new ones that come out each year. Downstairs in the basement cafe, I was able to retrieve email through the free wifi and upstairs, after I  took the lift (with its Smarties-like buttons to the fifth floor), I entered the famed bar–with its rooftop views over London. Alas, too much construction in recent years has all but obligterated the views of the spires of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben; but it is still a fairly decent space in which to pass an hour or two with a cocktail and a fine companion. 
           Then I was entering the lovely church yard of St. James’—the exquisite church that Christopher Wren picked out as his own best work in London. Its spire stands like a sentinel in the midst of Mammon’s world—for Piccadilly boasts some of the smartest store fronts with merchandize in which only the heavily-walleted can indulge. I ought to have gone straight inside; but, as I explained, London presents distractions at every turn and since I am here for a month (and not just a day as I was while on our Baltic Cruise), I can afford to linger. So, I set the grand stores behind and poked about in the impromptu market that springs up frequently in front of the church entrance featuring everything from London pub signs and football insignia to vintage cufflinks, ear-rinks and porcelain bric a brac. Thankfully nothing caught my fancy, so I moved on.   
            Inside St. James’ Church I stepped, into the cool interiors punctuated by the work of one of my favorite 18th century artisans, the lyrically named Grindling Gibbons—I have become adroit at recognizing his work at all the prestigious venues: Hampton Court, for instance, where a three-year old boy once enthusiastically described his work as “Rich Carvings, Daddy, Rich Carvings”. At St. James’ Church, Gibbons’ work is evident in two very different media: in wood (his forte) behind the altar where a thick skein of fruits, flowers, bows and garlands are an exuberant example of his vision (and above the grand organ where twin angels sit brooding over the congregation) and in stone: the Baptismal font at which no less a luminary than William Blake was baptized, is in stone featuring a circular frieze of Adam and Eve.
          Unfortunately, I missed the free concert that would be beginning in half an hour (piano and vocals–I would have loved it), and people had already begun to take their places in front of the grand piano placed at the altar; but I had a lunch date with my colleague and friend and I did not want  to keep her waiting.
            With half an hour on my hands, I popped inside Fortnum and Mason, purveyor of fine British food and drink. It is a place with a long and antiquated history having been founded in the 1700s by one of the footmen of Queen Anne—what an enterprising fellow! It is the best place in the world to buy typically English food such as lemon curd and Major Grey’s piquant mango chutney, crispy shortbread fingers, teas from around the planet and confections such as Turkish Delight. Over the years, I have bought a fair share of unusual trinkets that are regular conversation pieces chez Almeida: cheese markers, individual mug tea strainers that look like top hats, tea infusers in the shape of houses, tea cozies featuring the twin clock logos of the shop. I covet, right now, a little silver plated tea scoop with which to transfer loose tea leaves into the infuser and perhaps I shall pick up one before I leave. At any rate, I was there on a mission: to find some gifts for the many hosts who have so willingly and generously lent me their lodgings for my London stay. Since I was arriving in London from a long cruise, I could not carry gifts for them from the US—so F&M will fit the bill. I browsed around, long and hard, and came up with a bunch of nice buys. The nice assistant at the counter told me that they do not have a Waiting Service Area like John Lewis but he would make an exception and stash my stuff for a couple of hours. I was very grateful.         
            Then off I went to Green Park station to take the Victoria line to Brixton to meet my colleague Ifeona.
Browsing Around Brixton:
            I had long known that Brixton was a West Indian stronghold; so what better an escort to show me around the place that a West Indian herself. For my colleague Ifeona who teaches with me at NYU-New York, was born in Jamaica and arrived in London at the age of three. She grew up around Finchley but knows Brixton well from having accompanied her folks on many marketing visits to the area while growing up. Having also done some research on the area and having led her students on a walking tour herself, a few years ago, she was the perfect companion with which to take such a tour. And since I am a sucker for walking tours with a knowledgeable guide, I knew I would enjoy it thoroughly.
Ifeona was waiting for me outside the station when I arrived on the stroke on 1. 30 pm as decided. We started our walk and decided to have lunch upon its conclusion—she, of course, knew the perfect place. We started on the High Street, Brixton Road, where all the major clothing department stores might be found—M&S, Zara, Monsoon, etc. Taking in the splendor of the Victorian buildings that occupy the most strategic spots on the High Street (the Town Hall with its ubiquitous Clock Tower–an important amenity in a time when most people could not afford their own time piece), the “Free Public Library”, the Church–we arrived at the Metropolitan Police Station, scene of so much violence, over the years, between the inhabitants of the area and the police—for Brixton had always been multi-racial, so although race-relations were not much of an issue, encounters with the police always were. Memorials to those killed by the police over the years sit outside the police station around a tree where plastic flowers, candles, poems, etc. have been left to the departed—mostly young black men gunned down in confrontations with the law.
Into a side street we went, past the typical Victorian terraced housing that sprang up like mushrooms to accommodate the then white servants of London’s wealthy neighborhoods—they were double-storied and, after World War II, attracted the black West Indian immigrants who poured in from the Caribbean Islands. Although initially they rented these premises, in course of time, these immigrants bought up these homes—only to sell them by the 1980s when white Britons discovered the proximity of the area to the city center—Brixton is only 20 minutes on the Tube to Piccadilly! In doing so, they moved further into the suburbs and disinherited their children. Today, young blacks could never dream of buying property in Brixton where even the most modest single family homes would cost nothing less than 750,000 pounds.
   On the next road (Effra Road), we passed by a notorious family housing estate—Council owned—that looked almost prison-like to me with its high walls and small windows. Ifeona explained that Councils are trying hard to raze such properties to the ground—which often means displacement of the residents who are driven far away into the suburbs. Cake shops carried custom-made cakes featuring Snow White and her Castle and Cinderella’s glass slipper—an indication perhaps of white fairly-tale dreams?
Further on we went to take in the sight of a gigantic mural on a building wall, Crated in 1981 as a protest against nuclear armament, it is called Nuclear Dreams—it presents London before the construction of the London Eye, so the skyline is different. We pressed on to the corner to what used to be the famed Atlantic Pub—re-named today to the One Star Pub. Atlantic had a better ring to it and more significance for it was the watering hole of the working class who had made their diasporic way to the UK across the Atlantic Ocean. It sits opposite butchers that sell goat meat and grocery stores stocked with spices and herbs that form an essential part of Caribbean cuisine. There were also a few clothing boutiques with the accent on Africa-inspired clothing complete with sequins and strong colors.
We then entered a far more upscale part of the township—sporting million pound plus homes that were better maintained with nicer front gardens and facades. These were always white lodgings, Ifeona explained, and they continue to be. At the end of this short street, we made a right to loop around the high street and return to the Church—once an important congregating point for the community. Then the Rastafarians came along—and I spotted a couple of men in dreadlocks who remain rooted to the area—and the Christian influence diminished.
Our final stop was Brixton Market that once bristled with the West Indian housewife doing her daily shopping for fish and fruit and spices. Today, it is multi-ethnic and we chose to lunch in a creperie—since the owner and the ethos were Martinique—for St. Martin, a former French colony, is also a significant part of the Caribbean. My crepe, filled with Gorgonzola cheese, red peppers and “king prawns” was tasty and Ifeona’s sweet crepe served traditionally with lemon and powdered sugar was just as good. The heat was awful because the humidity had started up too. It was not very comfortable sitting in public spaces that did not even boast a fan! I remember the first purchase I had made from Argos when I had lived in London was a small table fan that I had placed on my bedside table. God knows how I would have survived these days without “aircon” here in Holborn and I wonder what I will do when I move to St. John’s Wood next week if it continues to be this tropical here in London.
Lunch done, Ifeona and I got back on the Tube and returned to the city. I went back to F&M to pick up my heavy bags, Ifeona went off to run her own errands. I entered the beautiful Burlington Arcade en route to peruse the pricey merchandise (cashmere cardigans and stoles, antique and vintage jewelery, Faberge eggs) before I crossed the street and picked up my goodies. Then, fairly weighted down by my purchases, I jumped into the bus just across the road, changed into another at Tottenham Court Road and reached home by 6.00 pm—just enough time to take a quick nap and a shower before I was out of the house again at 7.00 pm.
Seeing Daniel (Harry Potter) Radcliffe  at the West End:
            One of the great things that Michael Grandage Productions has been doing in recent years is bring really great British stars of stage and screen on the theater floor each year in a season of plays that are top-class. Over the years, I have seen Jude Law, Dame Judi Dench, Derek Jacobi, Kevin McNally, etc. on stage in his productions. Today, I was going to see one of the hottest stars of our times—Daniel Radcliffe who has made a successful transition to stage after his phenomenal success in the Harry Potter films, to see The Cripple of Inishmann. I hadn’t heard much about it or found the time to read the reviews—but it was enough for me to know that Radcliffe was in it to try to get a seat.
            And what a great theatrical experience it was! Set in Ireland in the mid-1950s, the play by Martin McDonaugh and directed by Grandage produced some fine acting, not least from Radcliffe himself who played the lead character. Supported by actors of whom I had never heard but who clearly have acting chops, he did a marvelous job keeping the audience riveted to his sad story of physical deformity and sexual challenge. The Aran Islands, so wonderfully popularized by J.M. Synge, were the setting again for the intrigues that the colorful people who populate these parts get themselves into when a film-crew come calling from Hollywood looking for local extras for the movie. “Cripple Billy” does not allow his physical afflictions to limit his filmic aspirations—and therein lies a tale. His ‘Aunties’ and other incidental characters bring much humor and pathos to the plot and for the two hours that I was in the theater, I was just thrilled, despite the heat that got nearly unbearable at times.
            The play finished exactly at 10. 00 am and I was home at 10. 20 (on the Tube). Since I have run out of quiche, I decided to cook scrambled eggs and Cumberland sausages for dinner—and having made a lot of them, I will have the same thing for dinner for the next couple of days!—the travails of living alone, I guess.       
            By midnight, I had glanced at my email and was ready for bed after what had been another sizzling but very fulfilling day. Tomorrow, I shall try to snag “Ten At Ten Tickets” for Strange Interlude at the National Theater starring Anne-Marie Duff, one of my favorite British actresses (and wife of the super sexy James McAvoy!)
Until tomorrow, cheerio!