Tag Archive | France

Lyon, Here I Come!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Lyon, France

My first full day in Lyon began with a typical French breakfast in the Ducote’s kitchen—praline baguette with confiture (jam) and cafe au lait—light and very good. Perhaps one of the things we Americans can learn from the French (the famous book French Women Do Not Get Fat comes to mind) is that it is possible to eat well but lightly by just making one choice per meal and toning down portion size).

Frederic dropped me to the metro station (Gare de Vaise) and showed me where I could wait for a bus in the evening that would bring me back just a few meters away from the gate of their home. I was astonished that less than 15 minutes later, I was in Bellecour, the largest square in Lyon where the Office de Tourisme stared me in the face.

Naturally, that became my first point of contact with the city. Armed with ideas for things to do and places to go (the lady at the counter was very helpful and spoke in French but slowly and clearly so that I understood everything) and with a large map in my hand, I set out first for the funicular train to climb the mountain to Fourviere to see the Church of Notre Dame.

The Church of Notre Dame de Fourviere:
I do remember this church very well from my visit to Lyon, 23 years ago, when I had toured the city in Genevieve’s company. The ride up the steep face of the mountain in the funicular train had been a novel experience for me then and I had written in my journal how impressed I was by the entire arrangement.

On this occasion, I was a little more disappointed. The funicular route to Fourviere was closed due to repair works, but I was able to take the funicular on a neighboring line to St. Just. I got off one stop later at Minimes and then climbed the mountain for fifteen minutes taking a route through the Rosary Garden (Jardin de Rosaires) where I was absolutely charmed by the irises blooming in great big purple clumps everywhere. The sprawling city of Lyon lay at my feet and with each step I took the view got more spectacular.

I was at the summit in less than 15 minutes and like the other tourists that had assembled there, I gaped at the marvelous views on this glorious morning. Summer seemed to have arrived already in this part of France. Not only was the weather warm but also the flowers that scented the air so gloriously were summer ones: irises and roses. It was with difficulty that I tore myself away to make my entrance into the church whose interiors I did not remember at all.

Good job I did not because they were truly stunning. Notre Dame de Fourviere is a confection of Byzantine, Gothic and Renaissance features—there are a marvelous clutch of mosaics all over the walls and the ceiling in the most unusual shades of blue. The materials used are Renaissance ones—lavish pillars clothed in marble and faced with gilding beg to be admired. It is absolutely breath taking. The stained glass windows added to the atmosphere and the silence with which pilgrims prayed at the front only deepened it. I took many pictures after pausing in prayer myself

My next stop was the Crypt, which lay underground, and turned out to be a second, smaller church in itself. Here too, the mosaics gave the interior a Venetian look that was very arresting indeed. Groups of school children out on field trips milled all over the place and guides gave commentaries in many languages.

I chose to make my way down the mountain along the Rose Garden which buzzed with the sound of bees feasting on the nectar to be found in the multitude of rose bushes that climbed the arched trellises and gave off the most inviting perfume. It was certainly one of the high points of my visit to Lyon—this unexpected stroll in a rose garden. Though roses are not my favorite flower (orchids are), I always love to ramble in rose gardens to admire their complicated structure and drink in the pleasures of their fragrance.

Exploring Vieux Lyon:
At the bottom of the mountain that I reached by descending a steep stone staircase, I found myself in Vieux Lyon—the ancient Quarter of Lyon—with its atmospheric cobbled streets, typically rustic bouchons (small eateries), salons de the (tea rooms) and one-of-a-kind boutiques. I can easily ramble through such neighborhoods all day and but for the fact that my feet feel tired and my legs start to ache much more easily than they once did, I could easily have stayed there exploring each winding lane and hidden alley.

Instead, I took pictures of the old medieval houses that have been converted into museums (such as the Museum of Miniatures) where people were assembled in groups to take in the architectural delights of the exterior even if they chose not to enter. It was, after all, a beautiful day, and I too felt that I did not wish to waste it by staying indoors. I, therefore, put off a visit to the Musee de Beaux Arts and decided to explore it later.

Meanwhile, since I had arrived at Place St. Jean where the Gothic cathedral that overlooks the banks of the River Saone stands, I went in for a quick visit. I passed many squares as I took in the glories of the old quarter. Hanging baskets of perennial flowers spoke of a colorful summer and I felt as if I were on holiday (which perhaps I was since I had officially finished with teaching for the year, had handed in grades and begun my summer travels in Lyon).

In Search of the Silk Weavers of Lyon:
I then crossed the Pont de La Fueillee and found myself on the opposite bank of the River Saone. Lyon, by the way, is punctuated by a vast number of bridges (far more than Paris) each of which has its own distinct architectural design and atmosphere. I was on a mission to find the ateliers (workshops) of the canuts (silk weavers) who had put Lyon on the world map in the weaving of silk using ancient methods and traditional techniques.

Indeed, ever since Francois I had granted Lyon the silk import, the city developed a monopoly in the creation of silk garments in the most luxurious textile that money can buy. By 1848, the city boasted 60,000 ateliers, all of which produced ingenious designers who created a huge demand for foulards that graced the necks of many a celebrity. In fact, the famed and much sought-after Hermes silk square with its hand rolled hem is produced in one of these little ateliers, indeed in the atelier of designer Andre Claude Canova whose wares I was also keen to sample.

It was only much later that I discovered that Frederic’s ancestors were silk weavers themselves! It was at the beginning of the 20th century that the silk industry in Lyon died, what with the arrival of synthetic fibers that lured buyers away from these industrious ateliers. In recent years, the uberchic houses of Hermes and Valentino and Cartier had revived a dying industry by having traditional designers (such as Canova) design scarves for them that are made by hand using ancient methods that involve the careful addition of color across wooden dowels that are pushed back and forth between two skilled workers.

My guide book (Lonely Planet) had informed me that a visit to Lyon would be incomplete without a look at some of these ancient ateliers that have been in constant production for centuries. Besides, loving silk scarves as much as I do and having created quite a collection of them—my favorite accessory apart from costume jewelry–I was keen to buy myself one of these treasures to add to my growing collection of European scarves. My quest for one of these began at the atelier of A.C. Canova at 26 Quai St. Vincent, which I reached on foot past some of the prettiest sights in the city such as the buildings whose facades are completely painted to tell the story of the city.

Canova’s atelier is situated in a very old and very lovely courtyard. There is an air-conditioned showroom with a very inviting perfume that draws you inside to admire the wide range of scarves and shawls, pocket sized handkerchiefs (pochettes) and wraps that he produces using extremely classic designs. Each of Canova’s scarves tells a story (as do the scarves he regularly designs for Hermes) and I was at a loss as to which design I should choose. Eventually, given my literature background and the fact that I had spent the entire year traveling as extensively as I have done, I chose one based on the Jules Verne’s novel Around the World in 80 Days which divided the scarf into four sections each of which presented tableaux based on different parts of the world: India, Japan, Europe and America. I found the perfect color combination (peach with shades of blue and green) as well as a stole based on a design for Kenzo that I picked up for Chriselle (in her favorite color—mauve) and then I was out on the street again, thrilled with my buy and so pleased to take away a bit of traditional Lyonnais silk-weaving techniques home with me.

My next stop was the Atelier de Soierie which happened to be just behind the famous Place des Terreaux which is the location of Lyon’s Hotel del Ville or Town Hall, an extremely striking and very ornate building that was embellished in this classic fashion in the 17th century. A Mom and Pop duo who also hand apply their color to wooden frames to painstakingly create scarves that are then embossed with their signature logo run this atelier. Here too, I was very pleased to find a lovely classic scarf on sale that depicted a happening in 1868 in Germany called the Berline Gala. I found it significant since I had also visited Berlin this year. With its blue border and its shades of yellow and green, it made an enchanting addition to my wardrobe and I was pleased as Punch when I walked out of the store.

The Place des Terreaux:
The Place de Terreaux, my next destination, is dominated by a gigantic fountain (that I remembered well from my last visit to Lyon) made by Frederic August Bartholdi who also designed and made the famous Statue of Liberty in New York that France presented to the United States. Bartholdi won a competition run by the City of Lyon for the design of a monument that would decorate their most famous square. He designed four horses (said to represent the world’s four greatest rivers making their way to the sea) pulling a chariot that is driven by a woman. It is a sculpture of great passion, speed and energy made of lead on an iron frame and forms a splendid backdrop for the grand classical buildings that surround this square, such as the Hotel de Ville and the Musee des Beaux Arts.

This museum was my next item of interest and it was with much anticipation that I made my way into its shaded courtyard that was liberally dotted with benches on which so many people quietly dozed. However, I was in for a disappointment as the museum is closed on Tuesdays and I had no choice but to join the rest of the dozers outside for a long rest that allowed me to admire the exterior of this beautiful building that was once a monastery.

When I felt rested enough, I walked towards the Opera House, another Lyonnais landmark, to admire the distinct architecture and the number of sculptures that are dotted around the region. Then, feeling the need to explore the streets that were filled with shoppers, I walked the length of the Rue de la Republique with a large ice-cream in my hand arriving at the Place des Jacobins with its interesting fountain sculpture in the center. In my mind Lyon had always been associated with fountains and I now understood why. Another rest for my feet by its cooling spray and I was on my way again, arriving at the Place Bellecour where I did not stop long as I was keen to see the antiques district which Frederic told me was right behind this area. Alas, I did not find many shops open by the time I arrived there (after 6 pm). I was very tired by this time with all the walking I had done throughout the day and I felt it would be prudent to return home if I wanted to have the stamina to spend exploring more of the city on the morrow.

An Evening with the Ducotes:
So, off I went, homeward bound, taking the metro from Bellecour to Gare de Vaise from where I easily found the bus stop for the Number 22 bus that took me to La Fouchaniere on Monte St. Didier where I then climbed up the hill to the Ducote’s residence. It was almost 7 pm by this time and the boys were winding down for the day at their favorite place—in front of the television set! A little later, Genevieve reached home. Frederic had spent the day cutting the grass in the meadow and pruning the hedges that had started to cover the four stone sculptures representing the four seasons that grace the front lawns of his property.

About an hour later, we sat down to dinner—a Spanish omelet also made by Virginie, that included pancetta, potatoes and, of course, eggs. It was very hearty indeed and was followed by fresh strawberries with chantilly cream. A cup of coffee followed and I wondered if it was that indulgence for which I paid for the next few hours as I lay awake in my bed simply unable to fall asleep! It gave me the opportunity to think of all the delights of the city to which I had introduced myself that day and on that happy note, sometime in the early hours of the morning, I finally fell asleep.

Bonjour France! Arrival in Lyon

May23

Monday, May 18, 2009
London-Lyon

My travels in France this year were a long time happening. As soon as I heard that I would be spending a year in London, I had made up my mind that I would not leave Europe without attempting to see Genevieve Tougne and her family. Genevieve and I have been pen-friends since the age of 13 (exactly the present age of her older son, Louis). It was she who had delighted me by writing me a letter from the beautiful region of the Haute Savoie (once a part of Italy) requesting me to be her pen-pal. For a 13 year old in Bombay, such as myself, this was a rare privilege and I responded warmly and immediately. Thus, our correspondence began.

We met for the first time in 1985 when she arrived in India as a tourist together with her sister Chantal. As a professor at that time, at the University of Bombay, I had organized a tour of Northern India for my undergraduate students which the Tougne sisters joined. We spent the next two weeks in Rajasthan during International Youth Year and returned to Bombay with a huge fund of happy memories and hilarious stories (including meeting Mick Jagger in Jaisalmer).

Two years later, in 1987, we met again, this time in Europe where I traveled extensively with Genevieve and Chantal and spent wonderful weeks in Rumilly, a little village tucked in the folds of French Alps with her mother Lisette and her father Raymond. My French improved rapidly in the company of this hospitable family whose extended members I also grew to know and love (siblings Brigette and Henri and sister-in-law Carole), all of whom played their roles as tour guides leaving me more wonderful memories of Europe.

Genevieve and I met for the last time in 1989 in Paris, exactly 20 years ago, when I was en route to the United States as an immigrant. She had made a journey to the capital with her friend Milene just to spend a few days with me and we’d had a great time together. Neither one of us had realized then that it would be exactly twenty years before we would meet again. During that time, Genevieve had met and married antiques dealer Frederic Ducote, had two sons, Louis (13) and Amaury (11) and had moved from the Haute Savoie where she had spent her childhood and teenage years to Lyon where Frederic had been raised. She continued to work as a civil engineer and in the Lyon to which she introduced me, during the next few days, she pointed out several important buildings for whose construction she was responsible (as Directrice), including a grand terminal building at Lyon’s international airport that resembles a huge and very exotic bird about to rise up and fly. So you can imagine how thrilled I was to meet Genevieve after such a long time and with what a sense of exhilaration and excitement I set out on my visit to France.

Arrival in Lyon:
My Easyjet flight was at a decent hour for once. I awoke at 6 am, took a shower and left my Holborn flat at 7 am, hopped into the Tube to Victoria, jumped into the National Express coach to Stanstead at 8 am, was at the airport at 9. 20, checked in and was on aboard at 11. 20. The flight across the Channel was lovely indeed—no matter how many times I see the receding white cliffs of Dover from the air, I never tire of the sight. A little later, the captain was kind enough to point out that we were flying right over Paris, and through a few scattered clouds, I could clearly see the Seine flowing placidly along and then the very distinct star formed by the confluence of so many of the principal streets around the Place de L’Etoile with the Arc de Triomphe in the center of it. Indeed, I have to say that I felt a pull on my heartstrings and I thought to myself that it has been too long since I have visited Paris—time to return and renew my acquaintance with their unique city.

Then, we were landing in Lyon airport at 2.00 pm (local time) where Frederic (whom I had never met) was awaiting my arrival with a huge card that announced my name. Later, we realized that both of us had been in a state of panic wondering how we would communicate—my French was very rusty indeed and Frederic, it turns out, knows barely any English at all. I need not have worried. He did most of the talking in the car en route to their home and my attentive ears picked up the phrases and hung on to them for dear life. By the end of the day, indeed, by the time Genevieve returned home at 6. 30 that evening, not only had my French come rushing back to me, but I was speaking very easily. Indeed, I was astonished how quickly the language came back (it helped that I had spent the previous few days boning up on my French vocabulary by reading an illustrated Beginner’s French Dictionary) and by the end of the five days I spent with the Tougnes and the Ducotes, I was actually thinking in French (which was heaps of fun).

Making Acquaintance with the Home and Family:
As we drove through the city, Frederic caught me up on the family news as well as gave me a little tour of Lyon. He spoke slowly and clearly for my benefit and I understood almost everything. He also explained the geography of the city (which sits astride two rivers—the Rhone and the Saone) which made it very easy for me to find my way around during the next two days.

When we arrived at St. Didier sur Monte d’Or (a real mouthful for the name of a town), I discovered that it is a really privileged neighborhood in which to live (sort of the Hollywood Hills of Los Angeles, if you like). Indeed, the Ducotes live in what we, in the States, call a ‘gated community’. There are 8 sprawling houses and gardens in the property called Les Saisons where the Ducotes live in one of the oldest houses—it dates from the early 1900s and is built in the style of a French chateau complete with wide balustraded terraces, a sloping slate roof and a load of interesting architectural plaster details on the façade which include a skein of flowers above each window. As an antiques dealer, this was Frederic’s dream home, and he spent the first few years in it embellishing it with the touches of which only a rare visionary and a true aesthete is capable—such as ornate wrought iron grilles at each window in the style of Renaissance Italy and landscaping the garden to include several gorgeous rose bushes (just beginning to bloom during my visit) around the inviting swimming pool and building a grotto or rock folly at the back for the children. Indeed, it is such a delightful property that I fell in love with it right away and was very pleased indeed to be able to spend a few days in such a beautiful place. What’s more, since St. Didier is perched on a mountain, the terraces look out over the city of Lyon in the distance and at night, the twinkling lights make one feel as if one is on a ship slowly approaching an exciting new port.

I spent most of the afternoon relaxing (and falling asleep!) in a chaise-longue by the pool and making friends with the Ducote boys (Louis and Amaury) as they each returned from school. Though they learn English as part of their school curriculum, it is almost non-existent, and it was in their company that my confidence in speaking French grew. They are beautifully behaved (and very handsome) boys and but for the occasions on which they sit together in the back of the car (which for some odd reason brings out the beast in them!), they were totally a pleasure to be with and I loved every second of their charming company. In fact, we bonded so well that on the eve of my departure, Amaury was crying all over his hamburger dinner because he could not bear the thought that I would be leaving the next morning! It was heartbreaking!

When Genevieve returned from work that evening, we had a very affectionate reunion. We were so pleased to see each other again and noted that neither of us had changed very much since we had last met in Paris. As usual, Genevieve wanted to know what I intended to do during the next few days and her mind began to work at once to think of all the places to which she could accompany me. Over a spaghetti dinner that evening (cooked by her housekeeper Virginie), we discussed our plans for the next few days. It turned out that, by coincidence, Thursday and Friday were days off in France (the feast of the Ascension) and the Ducotes had a long weekend which they were very pleased to be able to spend with me. As we sat and ate around their old-fashioned kitchen with its dining peninsula, we spoke companionably and decided that I would spend the next two days on my own exploring the city of Lyon. Genevieve was thoughtful enough to purchase and present me with a booklet of ten tickets that I could use on the metro for the next two days. Then, the Ducotes would take over and escort me around the region by car.

That evening, I made my way up to the bedroom on the third floor of the house (which was exclusively mine with a spacious old bathroom, also exclusively mine) and fell asleep rather quickly that night—something that would not happen for the next few nights. I also decided that I would explore the house more fully the next day for indeed the Ducote residence is like a museum, so full of antiques that it would take an entire morning just to appreciate them all.

Sunday Service at All Hallows by The Tower and NYU Farewell Luncheon

May17

Sunday, May 17, 2009
London

For almost two weeks now, I have been waking up at a decent hour–which is to say, after 7 am. I am delighted that I am finally sleeping enough but sorry as it is robbing me of precious and very productive time. I have hardly made any headway with The Order of the Phoenix and I had hoped to finish it before I left for France–which is tomorrow. Still, I suppose I can’t have everything.

Today, I awoke at 7. 30, proofread my blog, checked my email and discovered that it was 8. 30 before I knew it. I had half a mind to get dressed quickly and go to St. Etheldreda’s for the 9 am Mass, but then I remembered my resolution–to discover a new London church every Sunday. So, off I went to my bookshelf from where I plucked out The Churches of London by Sir John Betjeman and browsing through the ones that I thought sounded most interesting, I finally zeroed on the Church of All Hallows By the Tower. A quick check on their website informed me that they had Communion Service at 11 am on Sundays and after eating a cereal breakfast (I tried a new Waitrose cereal full of berries that I do not care for at all) and taking a shower, I left my flat at 10. 30, walked over to Fleet Street from where I hopped into a Number 15 bus and made my way towards the Tower of London.

Sunday Service in London’s Oldest Church:
All Hallows By The Tower is simply the oldest church in the City of London. Indeed, there has been a church on this site since the year 675 AD when it was founded by the Saxon Abbey of Barking. An original arch from that church still survives and is embedded with Roman tiles. A very helpful usher pointed these out to me at the end of the 11 am. service which I attended.

Being so close in proximity to the Tower of London, the church dealt with numerous beheaded bodies such as those of Sir Thomas More, John Fisher and Archbishop Laud. Thomas More is known to have preached from its pulpit.

The church survived the Great Fire of London in 1588 which started in Pudding Lane just a few hundred yards from the church. In fact, it was from its tower that Samuel Pepys viewed the extensive catastrophe wrought upon the city together with his friend Admiral Penn (the father of William Penn, founder of the American state of Pennsylvania) . William Penn was baptised in this church in the magnificent marble font that is crowned with a stunning wooden carving of two cherubs clinging to corn sheaves and branches of hops–which Betjeman describes as the most exquisite church carving in the city–no marks for guessing that it is the work of Grindling Gibbons which I am now able to recognize as easily as the back of my hand and which I have grown to love deeply.

John Quincy Adams, sixth President of the United States, was married in this church and the museum in the undercroft holds the original church register turned to the page on which the sacrament is recorded. He married Louisa Catherine Johnson on July 26, 1797. This museum is superbly maintained and just as I have been struck repeatedly in the past by the manner in which the British have preserved every last artifact that they have unearthed over the years, so too in this space, I marveled at their gigantic love for history and their determination to pass on their legacy to the coming generations.

Also rather remarkable about this church is the uncovering of a Roman floor distinguished by a mosaic that is fainty visible. Restoration work is due to start shortly on this section of floor that is approached through the museum entrance.

As with all the churches of London, this one too suffered extensive damage during the blitz which left only the outer walls intact. These are easily evident as they bear all the scars of age–they are grime ridden and blackened with time, but, as Chriselle pointed out, they are deeply moving because they proclaim their history so effortlessly. This cannot be said of the pillars that support the nave of the church that are far newer. In fact, it was through the efforts of Vicar “Tubby” Clayton who managed to bring American support and money to the reconstruction of the church, that it was rebuilt and declared open by the late Queen Mother in 1948. The lamp of the Toc H movement that he founded can be seen in the Lady Chapel together with his effigy and body that rest in the church. This church is also notable for the grand organ upon which the famous Bach recordings by Albert Schweitzer were made–a fact that might thrill lovers of classical music.

With all this history behind me you can imagine how delighted I was to take my seat in one of the front pews this morning only to find that the pad on which I would cushion by knees was embroidered with a great big yellow crown and with the words “ER II–Golden Jubilee 2002”! I wondered if this was the very kneeler that Her Majesty might have used during one of her visits to the church–but probably not. It was just embroidered by a parishioner to commemorate the occasion. Still, I was thrilled to be accidentally assigned such a hallowed kneeler.

Imagine my surprise when the preacher turned out to be a fellow-American, one Jim Rosenthal, whose sermon had all the ingredients that make these Anglican sermons a sheer pleasure to listen to. It was amusing, thought-provoking and, as always, superbly delivered, filled with topical cultural allusions such a references to the lyrics of John Lennon (“All You Need is Love”) and Andrew Lloyd-Webber( “Love Changes Everything”). The entire service was almost word for word identical to the Catholic masses which I usually attend except that it was far more absorbing and interesting.

After the service, there was coffee and biscuits and time to socialize and I am very pleased to say that the Vicar , a Frenchman named Bertrand Olivier and the Associate Priest, one Jennie Hogan, both sought me out, recognizing that I was a stranger, welcomed me warmly into their midst and invited me to come back again. It is these personal touches that are totally lacking in the Catholic churches and that have endeared me very much to Anglican practices in this country.

I left the church at 12. 45 and caught one of the old Routemaster buses to make my way back home. I switched to a 17 that then brought me right up to Fetter Lane. It is amazing how at this stage too, I am learning about bus connections and changes that can bring me closer and closer to my ultimate destination. Indeed I have become so adept at making my way around London that Chriselle was deeply impressed by the ease with which I hopped in and out of buses as I combed the city with her.

Off to NYU’s Farewell Faculty Luncheon:
Then, I changed into something more summery–a dress after a very long time indeed–and thrilled that the morning’s rain had become history and that the sun was out and warm and cheering, I caught a bus and left for Bedford Square Gardens where our NYU Faculty Farewell Luncheon started at 1 pm. I arrived there about 1. 45 to find a sprinkling of familiar faces and some whose names I actually know. As always, I gravitate towards folks I have met at past faculty meetings and with a glass of white wine in my hand, I started to circulate.

It was not long before Yvonne announced that lunch was served–a nice variety of finger foods and “things on sticks” as Hyacinth Bucket of Keeping Up Appearances would describe them and and I spent the rest of the afternoon nibbling away in the company of some of my new faculty friends. I simply could not believe that the year has passed so quickly–it seems only yesterday that the Director was welcoming us to a new academic year at an orientation dinner at the Radisson Edwardian Hotel on Great Russel Street! It is just madness, the way time seems to pass faster as we grow older and the more fun we allow ourselves!

At 5 pm, after we had plied ourselves with one more last glass of champagne, we did disperse and I made my way home, only to have to return again to hand deliver my grades as I had forgotten to carry them with me. Since I am leaving for Lyon, France, tomorrow morning and will not be back till next Saturday, I did need to hand in my grades before my departure for my trip. I felt awfully sorry to say goodbye to so many of my colleagues, but I take consolation in the fact that I will see some of them (especially the administrative staff) during the months of June and July when I shall continue to use my basement office as my research continues.

Finally, I have to say that I am so enjoying my new oak desk and am pleased to be able to watch the world go by outside my living room window where I have placed it. It is the perfect height for my laptop computer and allows me to catch glimpses of the passing of life outside. I see people disappearing down the stairwell leading to Chancery Lane Tube Station and emerging from it; I see red buses (both the bendy and the tall ones) pass me by; I see a camera right outside my window (one of those thousands now sprinkled all over the city–Big Brother is watching our every movement in this city and it is rather unnerving); I see the coffee shop (Cafe Nero) and the Salad Bar (Chop’d); and, of course, I see the black and white exposed beams of the Tudor Staple Inn Building with its red roof and its tall chimneys and I think to myself, “Ah, This is England!” No doubt, tomorrow, when weekday life returns to High Holborn, I will see much more of the daily frenzy that characterizes life among London’s busy legal community, even in these rather depressed days. And I am glad I went with my gut feeling or impulse or whatever you want to call it and bought his darling desk in a cobbled street in Hampstead that I have grown so quickly to love.

One light dinner later (Stilton and Broccoli Soup, Pasta with Tomatoes and Sainsbury Tiramisu), I was ready to call it a night–but not before I set my alarm for 6 am for my 7 am departure for Victoria Bus Station for my National Express ride to Stanstead airport.

Supertour at St. Paul’s Cathedral and Exploring Southwark

May13

Wednesday, May 15, 2009
London

London slumbered under leaden skies this morning, though, thankfully, the rain stayed at bay. Wearing warm cardigans to ward off the chill, Chriselle and I set off after a cereal and yogurt breakfast to explore St. Paul’s Cathedral. Though I have been there for several services throughout the past 8 months, I hadn’t taken a formal guided tour and was waiting to share that experience either with Llew or Chriselle. So I was very pleased indeed when my new English friend Bishop Michael Colclough, Canon-Pastor at St. Paul’s and his wife Cynthia, offered me a complimentary guided tour anytime I wanted one. With Chriselle currently visiting me, it seemed like the perfect time to take them up on it and we had one fixed for us for 10. 45 am.

We arrived at the Cathedral to find it swarming with visitors–both inside and out. Tour groups, several of whom comprised students from around London and across the Channel, filled the vast nave of the church. At the Visitor’s Desk, I was ushered to the one run by the Friends of St. Paul’s, an organization of Volunteers (mainly women), who are trained to give guided tours. This Supertour took us to parts of the Cathedral not usually open to the public and we felt privileged indeed to take it at our leisure in so special a fashion.

We were told by our guide, Fiona Walker, that it would last an hour and a half and were ushered right away to a side Chapel–dedicated to one of the many formal ‘Orders’ that comprise aristocratic English life. I do not believe that even a lifetime would be adequate in helping me acquire enough knowledge to decipher the complex system that prevails in military and royal circles int this country. What I did admired in this chapel was the royal seat that only the monarch can occupy, the marvelous wooden carvings by the Tudor carver Grindling Gibbons (whose work I can now easily recognize), the many colorful banners and standards and crests and coat of arms that symbolize one’s family history.

We then moved to the massive oak doors in the very front of the church and learned a bit of history at that point including the part played by Sir Christopher Wren in the design and construction of this, perhaps London’s most distinctive landmark. At the door, we also saw how dark the interior looked until the massive cleaning and renovation was carried out through a vast endowment (11 million pounds) granted to the cathedral by the Fleming family, the same one from which was born the James Bond author Ian!

Next we were led into one of the twin towers that looks down Fleet Street and we were quite taken by the beautiful staircase with its small and very low steps and the ironwork that climbs all the way to the very top. These steeples house the bells that toll each hour and produce the marvelous music on important days. I once heard them chime a heart stirring tune on Palm Sunday–was it last year? The entire city seemed to reverberate to the melody produced by those tolling bells. Yes, they do bring to mind John Donne’s stirring lines:

“No man is an island, entire of itself…any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” (Meditation XVII)

Interestingly, there is a rather strange looking sculpture of John Donne in the Cathedral–strange because the poet appears all shrouded in a linen sheet and standing on an urn. It was the only object in the entire Cathedral to escape the Great Fire of London in 1566 because it was hit by a falling object and fell straight down into the crypt from where it was rescued when the embers and ashes were being cleared. And he appears in this shroud because Donne had actually worn the garment in which he wished to be buried while he was still alive–perhaps to get the feeling of how he might appear before his Creator at his Resurrection!

Onward we went deeper into the Cathedral, passing by the grand monument to Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and there we learned a bit more British history. Chriselle is beginning to “connect the dots” as she puts it, in that she is making connections between the guy who inhabited Apsley House and the hero of the Battle of Waterloo! It wasn’t long before we paused under the central dome to admire the Byzantine style mosaics done by Salviati, an Italian, whose work was inspired by the Italian churches. The dome also contains the magnificent paintings done by James Thornhill–yes, the same artist who painted the famous Painted Hall in Greenwich. Chriselle loved the trompe l’oeil quality of the paintings in the dome which appeared as if the inside was covered with columns and pillars. We saw primary school kids lying flat on the floor right under the dome and staring at it–I bet this is something they will always remember. Years from now, when they bring their own kids to the Cathedral they will say, “You know, when I was a little boy, I came to this church on a school field trip and lay down right there on my back and stared up at the dome!”

More detail and more history followed at the memorial to Lord Nelson, considered by many to be England’s greatest hero. The guide went into detail in talking about his relationship with Lady Emma Hamilton and the product of that alliance, a female child, “named”, she said, then paused for effect, “poor thing, Horatia!” Right opposite the Nelson monument is one to Cornwallis and I paused to tell Chriselle that he was the same one who met with a stunning defeat under General George Washington in York when trying to vanquish the rebel colonists in North America. It was probably as a punishment that he was sent off to India where he masterminded the defeat of Tipu Sultan of Mysore at Seringapatnam and, in doing so, somewhat redeemed his fallen image!

Then, we were at the altar, admiring more Grindling Gibbons’ caved choir stalls (each more breathtaking that the next, in oak and beech) and gazing upon the baldachino or altar canopy which looked to me curiously like the Bernini one in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. We saw also the ‘Cathedra’ or Seat which the Bishop occupies and which turns a church into a cathedral–it must contain a seat for a Bishop which means that a Bishop must be attached to the permanent clergy at the church.

And then we climbed down into the crypt where we saw more memorials, the most striking being the ones to Wren, Wellesley and Nelson in their striking sarcophagi. Nelson’s, in grand black granite, is particularly striking and I was not surprised to learn that it was, in fact, designed and created to hold the mortal remains of Cardinal Wolsley (pronounced ‘Wool-zy’) who was Henry VIII’s right hand man until he fell out of favor with the King for not bringing him the Papal annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon. He was sentenced to death but, mercifully for him, died a natural death before he could be killed. He certainly was not permitted such a grand coffin and, in any case, the possessions of all state prisoners went directly to the Crown–which explains how Henry got his greedy hands on Wolsley’s finest buildings including Hampton Court and Whitehall Palace (of which now only the Banqueting House survives). The sarcophagus lay forgotten somewhere until the body of Nelson arrived from weeks of preservation in brandy–for Nelson really ought to have been given a burial at sea. However, since he was such an extraordinary hero, an exception was made in order to grant him a state burial. His body was preserved in alcohol, brought to London, this sarcophagus was resurrected for the occasion and the nation had a chance to mourn collectively for the death of a great hero who fell on the HMS Victory (now docked in Portsmouth) and whose blood-stained clothes are in the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich.

Climbing up to the Dome of St. Paul’s:
When the tour ended, we were told that we should not leave the cathedral without venturing up into the dome. I was doubtful about my ability to undertake such strenuous physical exercise since I am still recovering from plantar fascitis; but with encouragement from Chriselle, I rose to the challenge and off we went. 117 steps later, we were in the Whispering Gallery looking down on to the black and white checkered floors of the vast cavern below us. It was just stupendous! Of course, Chriselle and I had to try out the whispering capabilities of the acoustics of the space and discovered that we could, in fact, hear each other clearly though we stood on opposite sides of the dome. I was reminded very much of the interior of Brunelleschi’s dome in Florence and the magnificent painting on the inside of the dome by Vasari which one can see at very close quarters if you have the energy and stamina to climb the 500 odd steps to that height.

Then, another 115 steps took up to the Stone Gallery which encircles the outside of the dome and provides views of the rooftops of London. Yes, we saw the river (rather murky on this grey day) and the London Eye and the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop Old Bailey and a host of other landmarks as well as the red brick of the Prudential Assurance Building that is just a block away from my building on High Holborn.

We circumnavigated our way around the dome then made the descent with Chrissie holding on to me all the way down as she felt a little dizzy. Then, because we were right in the area, I suggested a walking tour of the Southwark area instead of trying to get into a bus to Knightsbridge. Chrissie had made drinks and dinner plans with two friends of hers and wanted to get home for a bit of a rest as she has a severe backache when she exerts herself too much physically. I have to be grateful that my own stamina has remained untouched by plantar fascittis and but for the fact that I have to rest more than I used to, I can continue my daily walking routine without interruption.

Exploring Southwark:
So over Wobbly Bridge we went, the breeze feeling very unpleasant around us given the lack of sunshine. Past Shakespeare’s Globe we strolled, arriving under Southwark Bridge where we hastened to the Borough Market as I wanted Chriselle to get a sense of its delicious activity. Alas, it is not open fully on a Wednesday though a few stalls cater to the luncheon needs of the local working populace. We walked quickly on to The George, the city’s only galleried pub, where we took in the quaintness of the Elizabethan space. Then, we returned to Borough Market for a late lunch: a large helping of Thai Green Chicken and Seafood Curry served over steamed rice. It was dished up piping hot and was deliciously spicy and just what the doctor ordered on this rather chilly day.

Inside Southwark Cathedral:
On our way back to the Embankment, we paid a short visit to Southwark Cathedral that dates from 909 AD–in particular to visit the sculpture of Shakespeare and the lovely stained glass window right above it that provides glimpses into his most famous plays. This allowed us to play a little guessing game together before Chriselle made her three wishes–you are permitted three wishes every time you visit a church for the first time (at least that is what my mother told us, many years ago).

We also took in the brightly painted medieval memorial to John Gower and saw the lovely stone carved altar with some gilding on a couple of its statues. This had been under scaffolding when I had visited last March with my friend Amy, so it is great to see the impact that all this refurbishment has on the space. While we were taking pictures at the Shakespeare memorial, a lady came up and told us that there is a charge for taking pictures!!!Can you imagine that? We told her that we were unaware of the policy and she said that we’d have to pay if we took another. Of course, we had finished our visit by that point and were on our way out–but I have to say that I find these rather materialistic policies of these churches not just irritating but rather offensive.

Off to the Tate Modern:
Then, we were walking along the Thames Embankment again, making our way to the Tate Modern where I wanted to show Chrissie two things: the extraordinarily concept that converted the Hydroelectric Power plant into a Modern Art Gallery and the silver installation by Cornelia Parker entitled Thirty Pieces of Silver. She was already far more tired than I was and since modern art is not something that either one of us can truly engage with (though I understand it intellectually), we went directly to the Parker gallery to admire her work. It involved the flattening of about 1000 pieces of silverware under a steam roller. These were then arranged in thirty lots that are suspended from the ceiling on steel wire. The idea is so remarkable that it is worthy of examination for just this reason. Needless to say, Chriselle was quite speechless and didn’t quite know how to react to this…but then that is exactly what Modern Art does to me. I find myself quite lost for words!

We decided to get on the bus and head home as Chriselle badly wanted to rest. I, however, continued on towards Oxford Circus as Marks and Spencer is having a sale on lingerie and I needed to buy my stock before I return to the States. I discovered that my size was not available but if I carried on to their Marble Arch branch, they could take an order from me there. I pressed on, and another bus ride later, I was at the bigger branch placing my order and told to return after May 22 to pick it up. I will be in France at that time but on the day I get back, I can rush off back to Marble Arch to get the discounted price. Along the way, I discovered that Selfridges has been renovated and is now devoid of the scaffolding under which it was shrouded for so many months while it received a deep cleansing in time for its centenary celebrations. There are lights and yellow decorations all over it and I believe the store is worthy of a visit–so I shall try to get there when I find myself under less pressure.

Another bus took me to my office at NYU where I had to do a bit of photocopying before I send off some receipts to New York for reimbursement.

Back home, I found that Chriselle had left the house to meet her friends. This left me time to attend to my email, have my dinner and sit down to write this blog before I got down to grading a few papers and taking a shower before bed.

Harrods, National Gallery Highlights, In Fusion’s London Office

May11

Monday, May 11, 2009
London

Since both Chriselle and I were reeling with exhaustion (she worse than I), she had a long lazy lie-in this morning leaving me to start grading my students’ final papers while sipping my lovely Lavazza coffee. I was glad we had decided to take it easy after three whole days of go, go, go.

Buying Gifts at Harrods:
When we did leave to add a weekly bus pass each to our Oystercards, it was about 10. 15 am. Changing three buses and fighting horrendous traffic all the way to Knightsbridge, we arrived at Harrods which I was keen that Chriselle should see and because I needed to buy some gifts for my French friends in Lyon whom I shall be seeing next week on my trip to France. I was delighted to discover that the free gift available to London Pass holders (with purchase of items 25 pounds and over) was a very pretty bone china mug with the Harrods logo all over it! Chriselle also bought her New York colleagues some Harrods mementos and with our purchases all packed, we set out to discover the store. I led her to the Diana and Dodi Memorial in the basement and then on to the stupendous Food Halls which are among the best in the world (the only other store that comes close is KadeWe in Berlin whose Food Halls on the topmost floor left me salivating helplessly). Chriselle was suitably impressed (just as I thought she would be) and because it was almost 1 pm by then, we used the lovely loos downstairs and hastened out.

The Highlights of the National Gallery:
A short bus ride later, during wich we ate our tuna and sweetcorn bagel sandwiches, we were at Piccadilly and headed on foot towards Trafalgar Square to see the Highlights of the National Gallery. Using Marina Vaizey’s 100 Masterpieces of World Art, I led her through the modern Sainsbury Wing and the older, more ornate part of this marvelous receptacle of art works stopping to comment on Vaizey’s text as she examined the work and de-touring occasionally so I could show her my own favorites such as the gallery containing the work of Venetian Renaissance artist Carlo Crivelli (which left her speechless, just as I thought it would) and The Four Elements by Joaquim Beuckelaer. Despite spending almost two hours in the Gallery, we did not finish examining the 12-odd works that I hoped to introduced her to–but by then she had seen several significant ones and was bowled over by them–such as Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini Marriage, Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors, Piero della Francesca’s The Baptism and Bronzino’s Allegory. She also loved the El Greco (Christ Driving the Traders out of the Temple). I was disappointed that owing to renovations Paolo Ucello’s The Battle of San Romano is currently not on view, while most disappointing of all was the removal of my very favorite work in the entire museum–Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Delft (which is probably on loan to another museum at the moment). Tomorrow, we shall return and I shall show her a Constable, a Turner, a Gainsborough and a couple of French Impressionists that are particularly noteworthy. As for me, that National feels like my second home (in the same way that the ‘Met’ in New York has done for years). I walk around its galleries as if they were my own domain and no matter how many times I pass by the treasures hanging upon those walls, they never fail to stir the deepest excitement within me.

Off to Elephant and Castle:
But Chriselle had to return home so that she could pick up her laptop from my flat and head off to Elephant and Castle to the office of Fusion Telecommunications, the London branch of the company for which she works in New York as she needed to get into a conference call with her colleagues. We took a bus there that wound us past Waterloo station. Her colleague Ivana picked us up from the bus stop and led us to the premises.

While they busied themselves at work, I attempted to contact my American medical insurance company (Aetna Global) to find out how best to fill my prescription medication and have it shipped to me here in London. It was several phone calls and a good half hour later that I discovered that drugs cannot be shipped outside the USA. I will now need to call my local London GP, obtain a prescription from him, get it filled in a local London pharmacy, save the receipt, mail it off to Aetna Global and wait to be reimbursed. I am hoping I will have my pills in the next couple of days as I do not have extensive supplies left!

I took the bus back home (making the sudden discovery that the 45 runs all the way from Elephant and Castle to High Holborn over Blackfriars Bridge and the back of St. Paul’s Cathedral) and then set to work. I first made a call to my colleague at NYU-Paris to find out details about my bit of a global assignment on which we are currently working as a team. Then, I sat to fill out an Excel spreadsheet that Llew had prepared and emailed to me that details my travel and commuting expenses for NYU reimbursement. These need to reach my New York office by the end of this month. I cannot believe that I have to attend to this sort of administrative ‘stuff’ whilst I am in the midst of grading term papers! Time flew and when next I glanced at my wristwatch, it was almost 7.30 pm as I should have guessed from the rumble in my tummy. Chriselle had returned home unexpectedly early and continued working in my living room as I worked on my PC in my bedroom–stretched out out on my bed which is my preferred working position!

A Very Productive Evening:
By 8.00pm, I served myself a plate of dinner (penne pasta with grilled vegetables and a salad) as Chriselle had made dinner plans with Ivana who would be arriving to pick her up later on. With my hunger satisfied, I began to pack up my books. Now that teaching is all done for the academic year, I will be shipping my books and files back to the USA in the next couple of days. Chriselle will also be taking a suitcase and a half back home for me and in the midst of everything else with which I am dealing, I’m also making decisions about what to send back! Hopefully, in the next couple of days, I will feel more clear-headed. With four boxes packed and many books and files already boxed, I felt as if I had done a substantial evening’s work.

Ivana arrived soon enough, Chriselle left with her, I did a bit of cleaning and tidying of my flat, then escaped into the bathroom for a lovely invigorating shower, after which I sat to write this blog. I would like to grade some more papers before I fall asleep but that will depend on whether or not I have any energy left after I have done the proof reading of this installment.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day One

May8

Friday, May 8, 2009
London

Chriselle’s main concern was getting her laptop up and running to enable her to work for a few hours in the evenings. When I was unable to connect her to my wireless network, I asked Tim next door to help. He kindly came in at about 9am and got her sorted and with that, the great weight lifted off her mind and she was able to turn her attention to breakfast (toast with marmalade and tea–as she has a marked fondness for tea) before she showered and we were able to get out of my flat by 9.45 to begin our London sightseeing.

The day dawned gray and drizzly. Disappointed, we dressed appropriately and, armed with our brollies, prepared for a wet and breezy day. Good job our first stop was The Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace where I was keen to see those special treasures that her Majesty holds for the nation in her sanctum sanctorum. Chriselle had decided to gamely so along with my plans for the next 3 days as she has the next week to explore London according to her special likes.

The Queen’s Gallery:
Since we both have the 3-day London Pass and 3-day Travelcards, I have chosen sites that I have not yet paid to see–in a attempt to make fullest use of the passes. The Queen’s Gallery maintains a timed entry (allowing just a few visitors to peruse the collection at any given time). We were lucky to be admitted in immediately (at this time of year, that is not unusual, I believe) but were disappointed to hear that the Royal Mews is closed on Fridays. We might not be able to see the collection of carriages that are part of the pomp and pageantry of British royal life.

After going through security (every art gallery and basilica is beginning to feel like an airport these days), we passed through a massive set of doors and faced a really beautiful stairway whose balustrade was adorned with skillfully gilded metal tassels. Once we arrived at the landings, we were given audio guides and ushered through another set of doors that led us to the two large rooms that comprise the Gallery. Paintings and objects d’art (mainly in the form of ornate cabinets) change periodically as do the special exhibits. Like the Queen, who is a famed collector, I have a great fondness for painted porcelain, especially the kind made in the Sevres factory outside Paris in France. So I was disappointed to discover that the gallery is in a state of transition at the moment for a special exhibit on these works which will start later this month.

However, the works we did see in two rooms were truly impressive and made the visit worthwhile. Of special note, were a number of scenes of Venice by Canaletto, four gigantic works by Peter Paul Reubens (mainly collected by Charles I and later Queen Victoria), a few portraits of Charles I and his wife Henrietta Maria painted by his court painter Anthony Van Dyke, a really beautiful portrait of Queen Victoria as a little girl by her drawing tutor (whose name I wish I could remember) and–this was the highlight of the visit for us–a number of jewel-studded items gifted to the royal family and The East India Company by India’s erstwhile Maharajas during the days of the Raj. I was pleased to note that most of them were gifts and not ‘plunder’ to which the British Raj fancied itself entitled. Even so, the size of the emeralds in a pearl-studded belt had to be seen to to be believed and the pair of diamond drop ear-rings and matching brooch that were gifted to the late Queen Mother were another stunning aspect of the items on display.

The Changing of the Guard:
Since the collection was rather small (even though very significant), we were still able to catch part of the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace where, we found that, mercifully, it had stopped raining and we were actually able to see some activity in the the large court yard. Indeed, by the time we crossed the street in front of the sculpture of Queen Victoria, the sun made an appearance and we were able to get pictures with blue skies in them! It made Chriselle remark that if you don’t like the weather in London, you can wait for five minutes–it really was a quick-change artist!

Down The Mall we walked, still feeling jaunty and full of energy, past the back of St. James’ Palace. Needless to say, I kept up a running commentary as I pointed out the sights to her, amazed myself at how much I now know about London. Crossing The Mall, we entered St. James’ Park (at which point we received a call from Llew on my cell phone–which, miraculously, I heard–just getting ready to start work in the States) and since, for some inexplicable reason, both of us were already starving, we found a bench overlooking the duck pond (where we were instructed not to feed the “wild fowl”–a term that would never have been used in the States), we ate the sandwiches I had prepared at home before setting out.

I have to be rather creative with meals, as Chriselle is a vegetarian. I, therefore, threw in everything I could find in my fridge–which this morning comprised, multi grain bread with mayonnaise, parmesan cheese and a pear (that I sliced and drizzled over with balsamic vinegar). Even I was surprised what a delicious sandwich this made. With our feet well rested, we started off again.

The Horse Guards and the Banqueting House:
Our next destination was the Banqueting House (as I was keen for Chriselle to see Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling as commissioned by Charles I in memory of his father James I who is the main character in the centerpiece medallion). This meant that she had the opportunity to pass by the Horse Guards and click pictures with them–a matter that called to mind much earlier visits to the city when she was just nine-years old, in the company of my brother Roger.

The short film we saw on the ground floor of the Banqueting House introduced her to the history of the place. I, of course, had just seen the film two weeks ago, when my friend Loreen was visiting from Connecticut. And I realize again how little this building is visited and how important it is–architecturally (it is the work of Inigo Jones who revolutionalized English architecture after his return from Italy where he was influenced by Andrea Palladio), historically (it was from this building that Charles I was led to his execution) and artistically (it is the only building in the world that has Reubens’ ceiling paintings in situ. Chriselle gasped when she saw the ceiling for the first time after we had climbed to the first floor and was entirely engrossed in the commentary that we heard on audio wands. It was interesting to note the items that she wanted to photograph and, in a way, it was fun to see these places through her fresh and fascinated eyes.
The Churchill Museum, the Cabinet War Rooms and the England at War Exhibition:
Our next stop was the St. James’ Park end of Whitehall where I had been waiting for Chriselle’s arrival to visit the underground Cabinet War Rooms–this, I believed, would be the highlight of our day. And I was not disappointed. It was my student Kristen who, last semester, had told me how incredibly fascinating it had been to her and how I must not miss this attraction. Having never seen these rooms before, I did not intend to leave London without visiting them. I was glad that Chriselle was as enthusiastic as I was and, before long, we found ourselves underground in the world of the 1940’s that somehow brought to my mind the setting and ethos of the British detective series Foyle’s War.

The first room that greets visitors is the one used throughout the war by the Cabinet War Committee among whom the names of Churchill and Clement Atlee were the only ones familiar to me (Atlee succeeded Churchill as Prime Minister after the War and presided over the transfer of power at the time of the Independence of India). I had goosebumps while looking at the wooden swivel chair that Churchill used in the middle of this gathering. Everything has been left exactly as it was on the last day the room was used and it was strangely evocative of the inter-continental intrigues of that epoch.

The rest of the warren of underground rooms showed us the quarters of the many chiefs of staff and their administrative assistants–all of whom had cramped rooms, furnished in a utilitarian fashion with banker’s lamps in each room, maps on the wall–many still tracing the progress of important mid-century military campaigns–and even the room used by Mrs. Churchill–which, in a single seater sofa, was the only piece of furniture with a floral print! It stood out oddly in that stark environment. Also interesting was a copy of Picture Post of that era with a rather rare feature inside depicting the First Lady in her domestic milieu inside 10 Downing Street–a sort of early version of People or Hello magazine!

It was interesting to see Churchill’s engagement book that contained signatures of George VI and the current Queen entered in 1942 (long before she became Queen) and it occurred to me afresh (a fact that the film The Queen had brought to my attention) how many Prime Ministers have served during her reign! What a history of the century she encompasses within her own 80 years!

What was also interesting to me (if somewhat annoying) is the knowledge that while the rest of the country (indeed the rest of Europe) staggered under severe rationing laws, “making do” for years on end, Churchill wined and dined like a king, his daily menus comprising several courses including Beef Wellington and gallons of rich port wine and expensive bubbly! Ah, the privileges of the powerful.

Another really amazing aspect of this exhibit is a trans-Atlantic telephonic conversation that we could listen in to between President Truman of the US and Churchill discussing the progress of Himmler across Europe and the strategy designed to stop him. The accents, the diction, the style of expression, the odd formality that existed between these two so-called ‘close friends’ was antiquated and, therefore, deeply amusing, but it gave me goose flesh again to actually hear their voices and listen carefully to the stress and concern contained within them. (“No,no,no,no,no,no,no, we can’t do that. Especially when it is Himmler we’re talking about”). This is easily a place in which one could spend a whole day and I am not surprised that Kristen found it so compelling. I am so glad I finally saw the circumstances in which the fate of Europe and the world was decided and I am so gratified that these rooms have been preserved in this fantastic manner (thanks largely to the Imperial War Museum) as a gift to future generations.

Jewel Tower:
Since we were doing really well for time and the weather had suddenly turned so appealing, we decided to walk towards Parliament Square and see Jewel Tower which is run by the English Heritage and is open to London Pass holders. Llew and I had taken a self-guided walking tour entitled “Royal London” that had once guided us past this rather squat tower opposite the Houses of Parliament–but since we hadn’t climbed it then, it made sense for us to ‘cover’ it on this outing.

Passing by the exterior of the Houses of Parliament, I pointed out to Chriselle the Visitor Entrance to the sessions in both Houses and suggested that she return next week to sit in on one of them. The friendly copper outside informed us that the next sittings of both Houses will be on Monday and Tuesday from 2. 30 till 10 pm and Chriselle decided to return on Tuesday. I was also able to point out to her the “Sovereign’s Entrance” at the side which rather tickled me because while the rest of the world has the right to walk into Parliament and overhear the debates, the reigning monarch does not–he/she must knock on the ceremonial doors and request permission to enter–a custom that harks back to the days of the Magna Carta when the sovereign interfered too much in the running of Parliament–I know that I am putting this rather simplistically and there is a more complicated piece of history here that is worthy of recounting and I must look it up online.

The Jewel Tower itself is named for the fact that the Tower which was constructed in the reign of Edward III (mid 1200s) housed the royal wardrobe, part of which included the jewel- encrusted crown. 44 steps take visitors to the top along a winding spiral stone stairway that was reminiscent to me of Delhi’s Qutub Minar (at a time when visitors could climb all the way to the top, as a little girl, I had been way up there) and to Chriselle of the fairy tales she had read as a child–chiefly Rapunzel! The small exhibit upstairs was not noteworthy and after we took in the views of busy Parliament Square below us, we descended.

The Cavalry Guards Museum:
Chriselle did not need to get home until 5 pm when she needed to log on and connect with her New York team to get some work done. This, we realized, left us enough time to see the Cavalry Guards Museum which is also included in the London Pass and which faces the Horse Guards Parade. This rather small exhibit showed us the livery used by man and horse and the role played by these ceremonial guards with whom the public has posed for decades. It is the plumes, the swords, indeed the regalia, that give British royalty so much of an aura. The stables in which the horses are well looked after (we actually saw two rather quiet ones taking their rest) are also on exhibit and we could walk past the stalls and take all these sights in. Because these spaces are rather compact, however, they did not take too long to peruse and we were out rather sooner than we expected.

By Tube to Apsley House:
With time still on our side (it was only a little past 3.00 pm), we decided to take the Tube to Hyde Park Corner to see Apsley House (which I had toured a few years ago but which I was keen for Chriselle to see). This stately mansion with its beige facade dominates the circle around Wellington’s Arch and has always been one of my favorite London manors. It was gifted by a grateful nation to Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington (whose much less-liked and less-popular brother Richard had been the Governor-General of India) upon his victory at the Battle of Waterloo that ended the dynamic campaigns of France’s Napoleon across Europe. Since it was situated at the very point of entry into the city, it’s address was simply No 1 London–an address it still retains!

Inside, the visitor is given an audio guide which allowed us to negotiate our way through rooms that were crammed with paintings and sculpture beginning with the towering one of Napoleon by Antonio Canova in the landing on the ground floor that leads up to the marvelous Robert Adams’ designed stairway. The floor had to be reinforced with a supportive pillar beneath it to take the massive weight of this marble sculpture that presents a young and very athletic Napoleon in Roman guise complete with spear in his hand and sandals on his feet. It is an immensely striking sculpture and one whose image has stayed with me from my last visit to this room.

Wellesley was a master general (some would say the best England has ever had) with a gifted aesthetic side to his personality and he amassed a multitude of paintings, many so significant that the Long Gallery contains works by Old Masters that would make the National Gallery envious! There were Carravaggios and Canalettos from Italy, Jose Riberas, Velasquezes and Murillos from Spain, Jan Steens, Peter de Hoochs and Breugels the Elder from among the Flemish cohort and indeed a number of English artists including Van Dyke –all of which would take another age to see in detail. For me, the highlight of this mansion is the sterling silver centerpiece on the Dining Table that runs along its entire length–a gift from Portugal to Wellesley as the defeat of Napoleon had been a joint venture between England, Spain and Portugal. We enjoyed our visit here very much indeed and though Chriselle was concerned about the time and ensured we left there by 4. 30, she had a very pleasant visit indeed.

Back on the Tube, I showed her how to use it (so that she can find her way around the city on her own once I leave for Paris and find her way back to my building on the Central Line). Though I was quite wiped out by the time I reached home, she logged on to her computer, while I set off for Bedford Square to pick up the sheaf of papers that my students have left for me to grade as their semester winds down and final exams begin next week. It is a profoundly busy and stressful time for them and as my grading work begins, I am still trying to fit in as much time with Chriselle as possible.

Duet for One at the West End:
Back from campus, I managed a very short nap as both of us would be going out again for the evening. I had booked us tickets to see Juliet Stevenson and Henry Goodman in Tom Kempinski’s Duet for One at the Vaudeville Theater and when we got there by Tube at 7. 30, we were just in time for a performance that swept us off our feet with its histrionic virtuosity, masterful direction and excellent script.

Indeed it was a marvelous night at the theater. Though Stevenson’s role as Keira Knightley’s mother in Bend It like Beckham had first brought her to our attention, it was in this play where she played a violinist afflicted by multiple sclerosis and battling the ghosts of her past, that we realized how gifted an actor she is and how wide is her range. Indeed, she was superbly supported by Goodman who, in a much quieter portrayal as her therapist, also had his occasional outbursts that brought vitality to his role. Indeed, we could not have had a more memorable night in a London theater.

A Night Out on the Town for Chriselle:
Throughout the evening, Chriselle had been on my cell phone with her friend Rahul whom she had once known as a child in Bombay. He moved to London to work for a hedge fund and she was renewing contact with him after years. He invited her to spend the evening out with his friends and taking the bus to St. Paul’s from The Strand, I dropped Chriselle into his hands and took the bus back home as I was seriously pooped and couldn’t wait to hit my bed.

She woke me up at 3 am to tell me that despite the fact that I had given her a key, the magnetic tag would not open the door of our building downstairs. I dressed quickly and went down to open the door for her and at 3. 15, we were both back in bed again at the end of what had been an astonishing day for her in every possible respect.

Welcome Chriselle! And Jubilee Walk–Part 5

May7

Thursday, May 7, 2009
London

After a whole week of glorious sunshine, it felt kind of odd to wake to a grey day–thankfully, not a rainy one. Most of my morning was spent cleaning my flat–and a thorough job I did of it too, even if I say so myself. Between scrubbing my sink and my granite counter tops, washing the bathroom and vacuuming the whole house, I had the whole place shipshape in a couple of days and sat back to enjoy the glow!

Email and the editing of another chapter for the anthology on Anglo-Indian Women took up the rest of the morning. I stopped for lunch briefly, then returned to finish the editing and revision of the piece before I curled up for a short nap.

When I awoke it was almost four and I decided to take on Part 5 of the Jubilee Walk. Hopping into the 55 bus that ran along Clerkenwell Road, I got off at Old Street, then made my way on foot to the Museum of London where I resumed the route. Today’s segment took me through parts of the city I have grown to know very well and love very much from St. Paul’s Cathedral and Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street where the memorial plaque to Edgar Wallace was very moving indeed. Past a couple of old churches I went, turning right on to my own Chancery Lane of Bleak House fame and then presto, there I was on my own street–High Holborn–with my building staring at me across the road. I am so delighted to know that the Jubilee Walkway goes right by my road–it feels special to live on a road that is considered important enough to be placed on this historic route.

Then, I cut right through Red Lion Street to arrive at Theobald’s Road–this, of course, is my own stomping ground and parts of the city that I know like the back of my hand. This was a good time to nip into the Holborn Public Library to see if I could find Lonely Planet’s France to carry with me to Paris next week. And yyyessss! It was there! With it safely under my arm, I walked towards Bedford Square to my office on campus where I managed to photocopy a great deal of the book that will be of use to me. Unexpectedly, I met my colleague Karen who shares my office and I sat chatting with her for a while before I remembered that I had to rush off to pick Chriselle up from Heathrow airport.

Back on the bus I hopped, got home, had a shower and then I was off. I took a couple of buses as far as Hammersmith and changed to the Tube from there arriving in Heathrow bang on schedule–only to discover that the flight had come in early and that she had cleared Immigration is no time flat! Chriselle had reached the Arrivals area already where we had a loving reunion before I whisked her right off into the Tube for the ride into the city. Needless to say, we chatted non-stop on the one-hour long ride to Holborn from where we walked home.

Chriselle loved my flat and the quiet sense of serenity that fills it. She says it looks to her “like a hotel that feels like home”–which is really the best compliment she could pay me. Despite her long flight across the Pond, she was full of beans and had so many stories to share with me.

Then, because she was hungry, she decided to eat some of my home-cooked pasta and a salad that I fixed for the two of us. She tried to get online using my wireless system but was unable to log on and that made it impossible for her to get a bit of work done as she had intended to do. Giving up for the time being, we shall try to see how she can get online tomorrow.

It was well after 1.00 am that we finally decided to go to sleep–still leaving a great deal to talk about tomorrow. ..

In Search of Burberry and The Jubilee Walk (Part 1)

May2

Saturday, May 2, 2009
London

I awoke at 4. 00 am today (groan!!!) and I could not sleep after that. So, I switched on my bedside lamp and began reading The Order of the Phoenix for an hour. At 5. 30, I felt sleepy again, dropped off (thank goodness!) and then awoke at 7 am.

Email, calls to India (to my brother Roger and my nephew) and I was ready to make myself some coffee. Holborn was silent as a graveyard (as it usually is on weekends). This weekend will be quieter than usual as it is the long “Early May Bank Holiday” (whatever that means!) weekend and I guess most people will have travelled out of town. I carried a tray with my coffee and other paraphernalia to my bed and began to work on a revised itinerary for Chriselle’s trip.

There were numerous calls to make. I phoned Bishop Michael at St. Paul’s to reschedule the tour of the Cathedral that he had set up for us this morning as well as our afternoon tea plans at The Wolsley Hotel and then the Backstage Tour at the National Theater. I also booked tickets for us to see Romeo and Juliet at the Globe Theater and finally I booked our 3-day London Pass which includes 3-day Travelcards because they are being offered at a special May Day 10 % discount rate and I figured I might as well take advantage. What with all this stuff to do, I could only have my breakfast at 11 am (eggs and bacon and sausages–yes, still low-carb).

Buying a Trench coat at Burberry:
By then it was almost 11. 30 and with the sun shining so beckoningly outside, I decided to do something I have wanted to do for a long while–get to the Burberry Factory Store in Hackney to buy myself a new trench coat. This was definitely something I wanted to take back home to the States and having done some research, I discovered that rates are best in this factory outlet. Though it is quite a hike into Hackney, I figured that with my bus pass, I could get there quite easily. Besides, there is a direct bus that goes from right outside my building (the 242) all the way to the far side of the East End.

And then since I was going to Hackney, I figured I would also visit Sutton House, a National Trust property that is not very well-known. Using the internet, I found directions to the venue and off I went. The bus trundled along within a few seconds of my arriving at the bus-stop. En route, I graded a bunch of student essays–so the ride was very productive for me. We passed the busy Bank of England area and went further and further into Shoreditch, past the Geffrye Museum and into an area that I had never traversed before. Before long, I was at Hackney Central mainline station and on my way to the Burberry store.

This part of London is entirely different from anything I have seen so far. First of all, it is all rather run down. Secondly, I passed a series of auto body shops that ran parallel to the railway line. Auto mechanics were the only people on this entire road. Thirdly, the population demographic had changed completely and I realized that I was right in the heart of Black Britain–there were loads of people with Caribbean accents all around the place–many recent immigrants among them. The bus stops were teeming with people and there was no sign of a queue of any kind.

I was amazed at how many people were at the Burberry store before me! It turns out that there was a big Sale on–now whether this sale was only for this weekend or has been on for a while, there was no telling. Many of the racks were all cleaned out–which probably means I had arrived at the tail end of it. The space is large and the amount of items to be perused was rather confusing. I did manage to find the racks that held the khaki trench coats that I wanted and in a few minutes I found one in my size–thank goodness they have American and European sizes listed on the labels–this made it easy for me to find the size I was seeking. The price was right, the fit was good, the decision was made. With my coat under my arm, I went looking for a scarf in their signature beige tartan and, guess what? I ended up buying the very last cashmere one on the shelf!!! These were exactly the two things I had hoped to find and as soon as I spotted them, I swooped on them and headed to the till. There was a long line ahead of me–people were buying clothing as if it were going out of style! Thousands of pounds worth of merchandise changed hands before my eyes as the line inched forward slowly. Then, with my buys safely in my possession and the VAT refund slip helpfully filled out by the sales clerk, I was on my way.

The National Trust’s Sutton House:
I asked for directions and in about ten minutes, I was at Sutton House, my next port of call. This is a really nondescript building clad in dark brick with a rather sombre look to it. Once inside, I found it rather empty. There was an assistant in the shop and a small cafe at the back (with very reasonably priced eats and drinks), a small courtyard garden that was quite delightful with its climbing vines and potted flowers. And then my tour of the house began.

Sutton House is a Tudor building that was built by one Ralph Sadleir in the middle of the 1500s. He was a close confidant of the King and played a major role in the politics of the reign of Henry VIII being involved in the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538. As a nobleman, his home boasted some of the trappings of the day that pronounced status and power such as the oak wood panelling that is still to be found in many of the rooms. My very favorite pattern of Tudor panelling called Linenfold Paneling is evident in the Grand Room on the ground floor. The carving on the wood looked like folded, or more correctly, pleated cloth. I had been most taken by this feature of interior decor at Hampton Court Palace about five years ago when Llew, Chriselle and I had spent the day there. Little did I think that I would have the chance to see it again–and this time I was delighted because I was able to take pictures of it as well (something that is forbidden at Hampton Court).

My self-guided tour took me upstairs into a few more rooms that boast more carved panelling and some paintings including one of Sadleir and his later 18th century descendants painted by a female portraitist called Mary Beale–a rather unusual find as women portraitists were so rare at the time. There were other rooms in the house (A Georgian Parlor, for instance and a Victorian dining room) but other than its age, there was really nothing that this property can boast and I wondered why the National Trust even bothers to run it (since not many people bother to visit it).

On the floor at the very top of the house, while I was inspecting a large mural that was presumably painted by squatters who had taken over the house during its transition into the care of the National Trust, I heard a buzzing sound (as if made by a bumble bee) and then a rustling. I have to say that I panicked as there was no one else in the room with me and no one around on that floor at all. My mind went immediately to a ghost as so many of these old London homes have resident ghosts in them and the last thing I wanted was to feel someone or something brush past me or tap me on the shoulder! I got the heck out of there as fast as I could and decided that if I am going to explore any more of these National Trust properties, I had better go to homes that are crowded with visitors. These deserted, even neglected, properties might be filled with interesting antiques and night hark back to fascinating epochs of history but they do give me the creeps!

A short walk later, I was back at Hackney Central and boarding the 242 bus home. My papers were graded on the bus and with a stack under my arm, I got back home to have a very late lunch (it was 4 pm and I was hungry but contented myself with a cup of soup and a salad). I spoke to Llew on the phone for a few minutes, then sat to rewrite my interview with Henry Holley–it required a great deal of restructuring to fit my questionnaire format and proofreading before I could send it off to my office for printing. By the time I finished, it was about 7 pm and with daylight still streaming through my bedroom window, I decided to set out on another one of my ambitions while in London–the Completion of the Jubilee Walk.

I had intended to do this when Chriselle came here but now with her plans having changed, we will not have the time to do it together and with the weather so perfect and my feet feeling much stronger, I figured I could complete it in the next few days before Chriselle’s arrival. So I picked up the Map and my bus pass and set out while the evening was still young.

The Jubilee Walk–Part One:
The Jubilee Walk is a 14-mile walking path that snakes over Central London’s most significant sights. It was created in 1977 in the year of the Silver Jubilee of the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. If you have seen silver disks every so often set into London’s pavements and wondered what those are…well, they mark the path of the Jubilee Walk. There is a crown in the center and the cross set in it always points in the direction in which the walker should proceed. There are several walkers, I understand, who just about do the entire walk in a day–while others do it over a period of a few days. I decided to do it in about 5-6 installments.

The bus took me to Leicester Square where the walk begins. Since the evening was so perfect, there were scores of people in Leicester Square and for the first time in my life, I actually noticed all of its many interesting features. I have to say, somewhat ashamedly, that I had never noticed the sculpture of Shakespeare right in its center! Nor had I noticed the one of Charlie Chaplin close by! There is a bust of Hogarth at one of the gates. Probably I did not notice these before because I had never entered this park. All I have done is skirt its periphery or make my way to the half-price theater ticket booth at one end

This time, armed with my camera, I took several pictures and then made one more discovery. Just as there are palm prints set in cement outside Grumman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood, California, so too there are palm prints cast in metal all along one side of the Leicester Square Park. The palm prints, of course, belong to eminent contemporary British actors such as Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, Hugh Grant and Colin Firth not to mention Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore and Sean Connery (James Bonds all!). Gosh, I thought, this walk is going to open my eyes to things I have passed by a gazzillion times and never noticed!

Then, I followed the crown discs and walked alongside the National Gallery where Baisakhi (a spiritual festival of the Punjabi Sikhs of North India) is to be celebrated tomorrow. I saw kiosks set up all over the square and thought I should go across for some Indian food. At each point, during the Jubilee Walk, the map I was carrying gave me details about the history and importance of the place and I quite enjoyed discovering new facts about each venue.

In The Mall, I passed under Admiralty Arch and the statue of the Duke of York on its towering pedestal and then I was walking alongside St. James Park (London’s oldest, I discovered, created in the mid-1500s) while the Mall was created in the mid-1600s. Most of the flowering trees are at their peak now and soon foliage will cover every branch and give every corner of this city a completely different look. I arrived at Buckingham Palace at the end of the Mall and discovered why it is so called. It started its life as a simple town house that belonged to the Dukes of Buckingham and I believe that the first British monarch to inhabit it was Queen Victoria!

Around St. James’ Park I went. The light was starting to fade away at about 7.45 pm and I had to hurry with the pictures I composed. There was a profusion of lovely spring flowers in the beds around the sculpture of Queen Victoria as past the grand gates I went and noticed so many lovely perennial flower-beds in the Park that sported an abundance of spring color as the azaleas have started to bloom in hot shades of pink and red and orange. Very striking indeed!

This time, I turned and walked the length of the Birdcage Walk and rounded the corner to arrive at the Cabinet War Rooms (which I hope to visit on the London Pass once Chriselle gets here) and the sculpture of Lord Clive of India dominating the grand steps that connect the two impressive buildings. Before long, I was passing the back of Number 10 Downing Street, the residence of the British Prime Minister since the mid-1700s, and found myself at the Horse Guards Parade where a number of stands have been set up around the periphery. I asked a friendly bobby what they were in aid of and he told me “Beating the Retreat and Trooping the Color”. I had no idea what either of these things meant and he explained that they were ceremonies associated with the Queen’s Birthday in June. He also told me that tickets are available and that I could purchase one if I went online. I made a mental note to find out more when I got home.

By this point, I was tired, it was 8. 30 and dusk had fallen. I could not longer take any pictures and I decided to stop and continue the Walk tomorrow. I reached the nearest bus stop and caught the buses that brought me home at a little after 9 pm for my dinner of fried cod (M&S) with a salad that I fixed with everything I could find in my fridge (romaine lettuce, feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh apricots, and a dressing of mayonnaise, mustard, olive oil, salt, and pepper. I watched Masterchef At Large on UK TV’s Food channel (in which there is a contestant called Michelle who, I suspect, is a South Indian Christian probably from Mangalore or Goa. She has been churning out a variety of typically Indian dishes–minced meat cutlets, Hyderabadi biryani and shrikhand with fresh mangoes. She has made the list of semi-finalists, so naturally, I am now rooting for her).

Then, at 10 pm, I sat down to bone up on my French (in preparation for my forthcoming trips to Paris and Lyon in France in the coming weeks) and sat down to write this blog. I finally felt sleepy at about 11. 30 pm and decided to call it a day. Hopefully, I will not wake up at 4 am tomorrow morning!

A Visit to Primrose Hill and the Cittie of Yorke Pub

Apr30

Thursday, April 30, 2009
London

I did not do anything very exciting today which, I suppose, is just as well as I had so much work pending. I awoke at 7.00 am which pleases me no end, but at the same time, I am no longer able to get done all the writing I used to when I awoke at 5 am! So I am now losing two productive hours of work!!!

I spent the entire morning transcribing an interview I did with one of my subjects last week. I started at 10.00 am and by the time I finished with it and was able to send it off to my work email address to be printed, it was almost 2 pm at which point I stopped for lunch.

The drizzle which had wet the place this morning had stopped by the afternoon and with the skies bright again, I could not resist the thought of getting out and about for a bit–I had, after all, been chained to my PC for the entire morning. So I had a shower and hopped on to a bus from Holborn and took a drive and then a long walk in Primrose Hill, a part of London of which I had heard so much and wanted very much to explore.

Primrose Hill is just north of Regent’s Park. I wasn’t exactly sure how to get there, so I hopped off at Camden Market and walked all along the periphery of Regent’s Park. This brought me to the very pretty Regent’s Park Tow Path along the Regent’s Canal–a lovely space filled with houseboats on the water. I took a few pictures and continued my walk, asking for directions as I went along. Finally, about 45 minutes later, after going by the entrance to London Zoo, I arrived at Primrose Hill. This area is mainly residential and has become very upscale in recent years what with a few English celebrities having moved here. I thought I would find some nice stores in which I could window shop, but all I saw were a few coffee chops and a large number of estate agent’s offices. There were some interior decorating stores that I browsed in, but apart from that, well, nothing much and I was disappointed.

Back home, I was getting ready for my meeting with a friend named John with whom I would be visiting the Cittie of Yorke pub that is in my very building and boasts the largest bar in all of London–in fact, it is so large that one book describes it as being “more of a baronial hall than a pub”. It also proudly states that it serves beer from Yorkshire’s oldest brewery.

But just as I was getting ready to meet up with John, Chriselle called me about a change in her dates for her visit to London and now as things stand everything is still up in the air. Since her time here will now overlap my proposed dates for a visit to Paris, I am trying to see if I can get her a Eurostar ticket to join me in Paris on the Chunnel train. This is assuming the folks in France can also accommodate her at their Paris apartment in addition to me.

Oh well… I guess we will all have to take these changes in our stride. I am happy for her as the reason for the change in her plans is that she has rather suddenly landed the part in an important commercial in the States and is looking forward to her role in it. I am really glad for her and I am now keeping my fingers crossed that everything will fall into place and that we will spend quality time together no matter where it might be.

John did ring my doorbell on schedule and we did spend a very pleasant evening together talking about my research and our mutual interests. Over a glass of white wine, he gave me many ideas and suggestions for more places to explore in the vicinity of London and I am looking forward to covering all of them.

I reached home an hour later and spent most of the evening trying to resolve the issue of dates and flight timings and that sort of thing. I was quite wrung out mentally by 10. 30 and fell asleep after brushing and flossing my teeth.

Visiting Ham House and an Afternoon with Stephen Tomkinson

Apr29

Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Richmond, Surrey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rochelle's Roost

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