Tag Archive | Harry Potter

Boscastle—A Cornwall Village, Resurrected

Mar9

Sunday, March 8, 2009
Cornwall

I am certain that my sleep patterns are affected by room temperature. I slept till almost 7. 30 am today—the hotel room being much cooler than my bedroom at home– finding only enough time to jump in the shower and repack before I met my colleagues in the lobby of the Sunnyside Hotel downstairs. The sun was shining upon Newquay and Sunday morning surfers were already hitting the waves by the time we sat down in Pistachio Restaurant for our full English breakfast.

Muesli and OJ started off our day as the waitress took orders for our fry-ups. Since we were not leaving for Boscastle until 10 am, I had the leisure to linger over coffee as I gazed out over the ocean and listened to the shrill calls of the gulls. A group of weekenders had descended on the hotel and as they piled in for breakfast, the place grew livelier. Hauling my strolley uphill, I made my way to the coach and at 10 sharp, we pulled out of Newquay, Surfer’s Paradise, and drove along sleepy country lanes on the journey to Boscastle.

Then, as happens to often in these parts, the sun disappeared behind menacing clouds and a light drizzle began. Raindrops splattered the windshield as our driver maneuvered his vehicle towards the little Cornish village. No one seemed to be stirring for villagers take their Sunday lie-ins seriously, it would seem.

Arrival at Boscastle:
The village of Boscastle sits in a river valley straddling both banks. We arrived and parked in the parking lot with instructions to get some lunch and return to the coach by 1 pm. Walking out into a playful breeze, I found the village still asleep or stirring very slowly and reluctantly. Most shops were clustered around the car park and none seemed in a hurry to open. At last, not right then.

Recovering from An Ecological Disaster:
It was only as I walked towards the riverbanks that it vividly came to me that I had seen the destruction that had been wrought upon this village in 2004 when a flash flood and a huge landslide had destroyed most of it. Thanks to BBC World News, I remember gasping at the scenes, so expertly shot, of houses tumbling into a gushing river. I had wondered then where in Cornwall this place was located for I had always thought of it as flat pastureland.

Well, it turns out that the flash flood had left a trail of destruction in its wake and Boscastle’s attempts to resurrect itself out of the mess are little short of miraculous. But for the occasional scaffolding that drapes itself across a stuccoed cottage, there isn’t much to remind the visitor of the disaster. This speaks so well for federal funding and the use to which it is put in the UK. Hailing from a country like India, where government assistance almost always ends up in the pockets of some slimy official, I was heartened to see the results of the valiant and determined efforts to rebuild that have overtaken this quiet Cornish outpost. Well done, Boscastle!

And then suddenly it came down again. The playful breeze became a vicious gust that wrapped itself around me as rain pelted down and drove me to the nearest tearoom. There, I found that a few of my students had treated themselves to a meal. Since I had eaten a massive breakfast, I could not face the thought of food and I waited until the rain stopped and sunshine flooded the streets again before I set out to explore.

Sunday Shopping:
Boscastle has a series of charming shops that are all interconnected—you enter one of them and find yourself walking through a whole string! As always, it is the antiques shops that first attract me and when I spied a sign for Pickwick Antiques, I just had to fish around inside. What a perfect little antiques shop I found! As the salesman later explained, the shop carries what he calls “small treasures”—the sort of antiques that tourists can carry easily with them in their pockets. I saw loads of silver cutlery including a bunch of odd pieces—butter knives and soupspoons, saltcellars and peppershakers, cut-crystal cruet sets and bits of jewelry. There was also a good variety of very pretty china—Trios, i.e. cups, saucers and cake plates. Lovely porcelain cake serving platters and many Limoges and Royal Albert sets graced the collection—all shown off strikingly in spotless glass vitrines.

My eye was drawn then to a little teapot that would be perfect for brewing one or two cups of tea. It was not an antique—in fact, it was a Victorian reproduction that featured purple violets against a pure white background. What made it special was its lid—it featured three bone china violets in a three-dimensional design that was as finely crafted as a brooch. It called my name urgently and though I took three or four rounds of the shop, I could not get it off my mind. Furthermore, the price was right—at ten pounds, I could not go wrong, not for so exquisite a piece of china.

“Right”, I said, to the salesman, “I think I will have that darling teapot”.
“Do you collect them?” he asked. (What is it that makes antiques’ dealers sniff out collectors so unmistakably?)
“I collect cups and saucers”, I responded, “but for want of space to display them, I now only buy sets that are very rare, very beautiful and very inexpensively priced”.
He laughed. “That is very wise indeed. But, collecting teapots is a natural progression from there, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe…but unless I am sure I will use it…”

All the while, he busied himself lovingly wrapping my little precious find in bubble wrap and tissue paper, and feeling as if I had bought a very appropriate souvenir from Cornwall—once the capital of china clay in the country—I walked out of the shop.

In Search of Boscastle Harbor along a Coastal Path:
The rain remained at bay and seeing the coastal path entwine itself along the riverbank, I decided to follow it uphill and see where it led me. My camera worked overtime in trying to capture the bucolic idyll that lay before me. As I wandered on, I passed by a National Trust gift shop and paused to buy a postcard for my travel scrapbook. That’s when I realized that so many of them featured “Boscastle Harbor”. Yet, I could see no evident signs of it. I then went up to the counter, asked one of the little old ladies whom one always finds in National Trust shops where I could find it and she simply said, “Just keep going, dear. You will not be able to miss it”.

At that point, I ran into some of my students and persuaded them to join me on the costal path. They were game, and braving the wind that had stepped up quite strongly, we began our climb to the promontory that, like Tintagel, jutted out into the sea. Pools of rain had accumulated along the narrow pathway that is maintained by the National Trust and I was pleased to see that my membership pounds did go towards these worthy causes. As we climbed higher, the wind became fiercer and by the time the harbor came into view, the scene was simply spectacular.

Gigantic waves dashed the rocks below and we saw a manmade ‘harbor’, probably newly constructed, way below us. It was clearly evident why smuggling had been such a lucrative pursuit in Cornwall for with high taxes levied on such things as tobacco and wine during the late 18th and 19th centuries, smugglers found ways to evade the tax man by bringing in contraband on small boats. In doing so, they risked their lives for such boats had only a fighting chance at reaching the small sandy strip of beach that we could see way below us.

Not content with taking in this scene, we pressed on along the pathway, determined to glimpse the other side of the rocky escarpment. By this point, the wind was almost lifting us off our feet. With many whoops and screams, we clung on to each other and posed for pictures, hoping to capture a scene that somehow seemed exclusively ours for there was no other human being in sight. In many ways, it was reminiscent of Tintagel in its remoteness and in the fury of Nature as wind and wave combined to create the sort of mystifying aura of which legend is made.

Then, it was time for us to return to the coach and when I boarded it, I could not quite believe what I had just seen. Little did I expect that I would have such an unforgettable adventure in Boscastle. I was delighted that I had asked where the harbor was located for, in doing so, I had the chance to indulge in something I had sorely wanted to do ever since I set foot in Cornwall—walk upon a coastal path towards the sea and allow myself to taste the salt spray on my lips. This walk, undertaken so spontaneously, had satisfied that desire and as I settled down in the coach for the long drive homewards, I felt as if I had enjoyed the county in every possible guise and created memories that would live with me forever.

Harry Potter came into his own as the coach ate up the miles along the highways of Devon and alongside the southeast coast as we brushed past Bristol. I could see the lovely white bridge that spanned the bay and led into Wales as we glided on. The landscape changed every few miles, the undulating waves of Cornwall and Devon giving way to the flat fields of Wiltshire. Then, we were stopping at a wayside restaurant for a quick bite (sandwiches and coffee for me as it was close to 4 pm and my breakfast had been long digested). Most of my students had dozed off by this point but I kept on reading The Goblet of Fire until we were skirting the periphery of London.

We arrived at the Nido hostel at 7. 15 pm though caught in Sunday evening traffic for a bit of the way. It took me only a few minutes to climb aboard the Number 17 bus and, fifteen minutes later, I was home, unpacking. A long call to Llew and a shorter one to Chriselle followed as I also tried to download my email and attend to the more urgent work-related messages that awaited my attention.

I worked steadily for almost five hours and it was long past midnight, when still feeling full of beans, I put out my bedside light and tried to fall asleep. I had finally visited Cornwall and toured this fabled holiday destination and I had returned home with memories that I knew I would cherish forever.

Sight-Seeing in Sussex: Chichester, Arundel and Petworth

Feb22

Sunday, February 22, 2009
Chichester

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

St. Val’s Day! Antiquing on Portobello Road, More V&A and Chinatown

Feb14

February 14, 2009
London

London was made for Lovers! And more so on Valentine’s Day. All the world loves a lover and they were out in droves today–with their red-attired beaus, the gals were all dolled up in the miniest of mini skirts and impossibly high stillettos, their scruffier boyfriends tagging alongside in unhemmed jeans and sneakers! Why do the girls kill themselves so when their guys are so nonchalant about this most romantic of holidays?

I awoke and read Harry Potter for an hour, then worked on my email correspondence. Soon after breakfast, my soaks and exercises and a shower, I left my flat and decided to go antiquing on Portobello Road. I can’t believe that five months have passed since I came to live in London and I haven’t yet been to my favorite hunting ground. But when I arrived the dollar was so weak that everything was out of my reach. Now that the dollar has skyrocketed, I can finally start to look at purchasing some antiques and today, with the rain at bay and the sun making occasional attempts to peak out, I thought it would be a good day to find out what was available.

So, off I went by bus (8 to Tottenham Court Road, then the 390 to Notting Hill Gate) and a short ten minute walk later, there I was amidst the stalls selling vintage jewelery and bric-a-brac and the serious antiques dealers with their sterling silver, Royal Douton china and signed designer jewelry. It is always a mystery to me where time goes when I have my nose pressed to the show cases that display the items that most take my fancy. While painted porcelain has always been my passion, I am no longer in the market for cups and saucers as I simply have no place to store them. My collection already numbers about 250 and I now only make a purchase when the pair is really rare or very reasonably priced.

At different times, on Portobello Road over the years, I have looked very specifically for a certain item. One year it was an umbrella stand (I ended up snagging a rare Japanese Imari for next to no money). On another occasion, it was a cut-crystal cruet set (I did not find it on Portobello Road but we did find a rather rare complete set in a very special antiques shop in the Cotswolds). This time, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but I did end up buying an antique type face–a giant A (for Almeida) which I can use with a stamp pad to personalize Thank You cards, Place cards and the like.

It was almost 1. 00 and I was already tired when I hopped on to the first bus I spied and rode it towards Kensington. I decided to go to the Victoria and Albert Museum to see the Scultpure Gallery and the collection of Rodins that I really had no energy to study the last time I was there. I found myself a seat indoors and ate my home-made tongue and gammon sandwich and feeling fortified for more art inspection, I spent a while among some of Rodin’s most recognizable work such as the study for the Gates of Hell, St. John the Baptist, etc.Having also left the paintings gallery unfinished the last time, I climbed the stairs to complete it and ended up browsing once again in the upper story of the jewelry section where I became particularly fascinated by the 18th and 19th jewelry items called chatelains–a sort of carry-all that included the tiniest implements that a lady might need such as a pair of tweezers, a pen knife, a pair of scissors, a bottle for her perfume, a tiny spoon to dig the wax out of her ears (!) and a lot of other odds and ends that might otherwise be misplaced! They were just too cute!

It was still bright and not yet biting cold when I got on the bus again and made my way towards Chinatown. As part of the course I am teaching this semester, my students have been assigned the exploration of a different ethnic London neighborhood each week. This is designed to teach them about the global environment in which they dwell in one of the world’s most diverse cities. I figured that I might as well explore the neighborshoods at the same time and since one of my students will be making a Powerpoint presentation on Chinese London on Monday, I decided to get off at Shafestbury Avenue and poke around Chinatown myself.

London’s Chinatown is located on Gerard Street right behind Shaftesbury Avenue. There is a giant gateway designed in Oriental fashion that marks the entrance to this neighborhood. A couple of weeks ago, this area was seen at its festive best with scarlet lanterns strung all over the facades of the stores in celebration of Chinese New Year. Most of them have been removed but a few remain, red being the color of good luck and prosperity. Though I have passed through this part of Shaftesbury Avenue several times on the bus, I had never really entered the shops, studied the menus in the main restaurants or poked my head into the supermarkets.

The entire experience was heady and fascinating indeed. In the Loong Fung Supermarket, for instance, I decided to buy myself some Oriental fruit as I had eaten these in Thailand a few years ago and had quite enjoyed them. So I filled my basket with lychees, rambutans and mangosteens but when I came to the check out counters and saw the lines stretching for miles, I decided I simply did not have the energy to join them. I left my fruity purchases right there and resolved to vist the area on a weekday.

Many restaurants offered Peking Duck that hung from large hooks at the entrance. Many served Dim Sum all day and as I love Chinese dim sum, I wished very much that I could have tried some of their offerings. But I do not enjoy eating alone in a restaurant, so I shall wait until I can find some company to check one of these places out. I was quite taken by the Chinese bakeries where all sorts of exotic pastries beckoned–red bean pastry, sesame pastry, almond cookies, melon and kiwi mousse cakes, green tea mochi, etc. Food apart, I also saw Chinese hair dressers and Chinese acupunturists and Chinese herbalists all plying a brisk trade in this area. Hundreds of tourists strolled along the shop fronts looking for a suitable place to eat their evening meal. It was a very interesting evening indeed and I ended up feeling as if I had just taken a detour into Hongkong via Singapore!

Since I was very close to Kingsway, I then walked for another 15 minutes for the 6 pm mass at St. Anselm’s Church. Stephanie and I will be out for the day on one of our weekend trips–we’re going to Canterbury tomorrow a la Chaucer’s pilgrims–and since I would be missing Sunday mass, I did want to go to Church today. It is after all Valentine’s Day and I did miss Llew and Chriselle very much indeed. The mass was fairly well attended but, when it ended, my wait for the bus was most frustrating as even 20 minutes later, the bus did not make an appearance. In disgust, I walked a few yards to another bus stop from which I could get 3 buses and in less than ten minutes I was home!

I arrived at the door of my flat to find a huge parcel on my door–the delivery of flowers and a gift for me from my Valentine across the seas! I was so excited and so delighted that despite the fact that I was not home all day and there was no concierge on duty, the delivery had been made. When I opened the parcel, I found a dozen long stemmed red roses, a bottle of champagne and a darling little Teddy Bear–and of course, a very touching message from my beau! I called Llew immediately and thanked him for the very loving thoughts and, of course, then I missed him more than ever. This is the very first time in our lives together that we have been away from each other on Valentine’s Day and so it is the first time I have received a long-distance gift from him. The thought was very sweet indeed.

I spent the next few minutes arranging my red roses in a vase and getting together my Meal for One–lovely pecan and raisin bread with Smoked Cheddar for a starter, Chicken Curry with Rice and Tiramisu for dessert washed down with ice-cold cider. I watched the Food Network do all sorts of programs that had focussed on the Foods of Love and the UK’s favorite dinners (would you believe the Number One favorite is Spaghetti Bolognese?) and then it was time to end this lovely Valentine’s Day by calling Chriselle and Chris in the US and wishing them a happy Valentine’s Day as an engaged couple before I got ready for bed.

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in Lewisham

Feb10

Tuesday, February 10, 2009
London

It is absurd that I should feel so pleased with myself whenever I sleep later than 7 am! But that was exactly how I felt when I awoke at ten minutes to seven (and not at 5.00 or 5. 30 or 6. 00 am). I finished reading the last few pages of my Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets and not a day too soon as my books were due at the Holborn Public Library today. I then made a call to my nephew Arav, proofread my blog entry of last night, checked and responded to email and got out of bed only at 9. 45am! Where does the time go?

By the time I had my breakfast (cereal with yogurt) while having myself a Contrast Bath, took a shower, did my foot exercises, dressed and got out of the house it was 11. 15 am. I went first to the library, returned my books and was delighted to note that the fourth book in the series, The Goblet of Fire was available in paperback. This means that I now have all seven of them in my possession. I shall start reading the third one, The Prisoner of Azkaban and then get on with the Goblet of Fire. I really have entered into the spirit of fantasy of these books and am quite enjoying them, though I have to say I am not a devotee–not yet.

I returned to my flat to drop off my book, then took the Number 17 bus from Gray’s Inn Road to London Bridge. I have just made the discovery that the 17 goes eastwards towards London Bridge and the 371 goes towards Waterloo Bridge via The Strand! This means that I no longer have to walk along Chancery Lane to get to the Strand anymore! Truly, I am learning a bit more about the bus system daily and the manner in which the system is unfolding itself to me is just fascinating.

A few minutes later, I was at London Bridge changing buses. You see, I was headed to Lewisham for a 2 .00 pm appointment with an Anglo-Indian couple, Cecil and Mary Wilson, who had agreed to speak with me about their immigrant lives in Great Britain. It was blowing on London Bridge something nasty, but in a few minutes, my bus arrived. I boarded it (upper deck, front row seats) and was off.

I arrived at Lewisham High Street sooner than I expected which gave me the chance to browse in the shops for a bit. I began at T.K. Maxx (the equivalent of T.J. Maxx in the States) and was delighted to find myself a Bodum Cafetiere for my morning coffee (as the one provided in my flat has worn out and the coffee grounds remain unfiltered, much to my annoyance). In the Oxfam store, I found two vintage pressed glass jelly moulds which at a pound and a pound and a half were hard to pass up. It really is odd but all of the purchases I have made here in the U.K. have been vintage or antique items and my collection is growing. Tomorrow, if the weather is good, I will be driving to Rochester with my friend Janie Yang to an antiques store called Memories on the High Street to pick up a vintage weighing scale from the 1940s complete with a set of weights.

When I had finished shopping, I stepped into the cafe of the British Home Stores to enjoy a cup of peppermint tea and I called the Wilsons from there to find out exactly how I should get to their place from the High Street. When I mentioned that I was just about to have a bite at the BHS cafe, they very warmly invited me to join them for lunch. Since there had been no mention of a lunch invitation prior to this point, I had assumed that they would finish their own lunch and then welcome me to their place. It turns out that they expected me to take it for granted than our 2 pm appointment would include lunch!

Well, Cecil came and picked me up and walked me to his lovely little cottage (that’s what they call ‘row houses’ here) that was just a few minutes’ walk from the shops. Lewisham is a rather old community that was first settled by the Irish. It has an old clock tower, a Catholic church on the High Street and all the shops that one could desire. Within minutes, I was being welcomed indoors by his wife and we sat down to a delicious home-cooked meal of pullao, chicken curry, dal and coleslaw. Every single item was scrumptious and I actually took a second helping. Our meal had been preceded by a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry–a most civilized English custom. I declined the ice-cream that was offered for dessert as I was just too full and, within minutes, we got down to business.

As with the other Anglo-Indians I have been meeting, I found this couple fascinating. What was particularly impressive about this gentleman is the manner in which he has maintained his personal and family records. Priceless documents dating back to the 19th century are carefully preserved in plastic slipcovers in separate files. He showed me photo albums, scrap books and his own collection of books on Anglo-Indian history and literature–all of which make him very proud and very happy. It was a joy indeed to handle this gold mine of documentation and I was most touched by his devotion to his community and to his family members. The pity was that neither one of his two children is at all interested in their heritage and seem to be determined to erase the Indian part of their parents’ roots. This couple has never visited India and though the gentleman hangs on to the fond dream of making this ‘sentimental journey’, his wife is uninterested in going back and, at any rate, can no longer do so for medical reasons.

They are also so proud of their home and their lovely garden and gave me a nice tour of their dwelling. I was repeatedly moved by their innate simplicity and their sincerity which managed to contrast with their pride in their accomplishments. Like so many of the Anglo-Indians I have met, they are articulate and eager to share their experiences.

I took the buses back home, stopping off at the Tesco Extra at Surrey Quays to buy myself some Muesli (I really do like Tesco’s Finest Fruit and Nut Muesli for breakfast and have introduced Llew to it too). By the time I reached home, it was almost 7 pm. I spent the evening dealing with my email correspondence. I have a trip to Rochester tomorrow and since I am meeting Janie at North Dulwich station, I needed to figure out how to get there by bus. When that was done, I had dinner and called it a day.

Mozart’s Magic Flute at the Coliseum

Feb7

Saturday, February 7, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Odd Sorta Day!

Feb6

Friday, February 6, 2009
London

It was an odd sorta day because I broke completely from routine–which makes me realize that I have developed a routine of sorts here in London.

Awoke at 6. 30 (yyeesss!!!)–finally awaking at a decent hour and not when the rest of the world is still snoring! Read my Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for an hour, then at 7. 30 am began to check email and catch up with correspondence. This always takes longer than I expect, but by 8. 45 am, I finally got out to bed to have my breakfast. You see, it’s become part of my routine to eat my breakfast when I am home while watching As Time Goes By on Gold–I caught the series at the very beginning and am now watching it in sequence (after all these years of seeing it in dribs and drabs and completely out of order).

Watching it also gives me a chance to do the Contrast Bathing Therapy–actually Contrast Soaking is more like it, so that’s what I will re-christen it–the alternate foot soaks in hot and cold water. I also do my exercises at the time and massage the arches of my feet.

Today, after breakfast was done, I went back to my PC and did more work mainly by way of trying to sort out my schedule for the next two months. February is already chocobloc with interviews and travel–though I had one disappointment this morning when one of the folks I was supposed to meet this evening cancelled at the very last minute. In fact, I believe that she forgot she was supposed to see me and when I called to confirm our meeting, she said she wasn’t able to see me because the snow had disrupted her plans. What snow??? It’s all disappeared already–at least here in London. The snow seems to be providing the kind of excuse that Londoners have not had in two decades–so it’s as good a time as any, I guess, to take advantage of the freaky weather and cancel undesirable commitments!

Since I had a fairly free morning, I decided to watch Under the Greenwood Tree based on the novel by Thomas Hardy, but I was sorely disappointed to find that my DVD (sent to me by Lovefilms.com) was defective and half way through the movie, it simply stopped working–so frustrating! Now I will have to read the rest of the synopsis online somewhere. This brought me up almost to lunchtime when I decided to make myself open toasted sandwiches–one smoked salmon, the other cold tongue (both delicious and with the new tasty multi-seed bread that has just been introduced by M&S).

Then, it was time to shower, and get dressed and go off to school–but I caught Chriselle online and so we chatted for about an hour. Right after, I went in for a shower, then left my flat, took the bus to school and spent over two hours at my desk making phone calls to the various Anglo-Indian contacts I have recently made to request interviews. I was able to schedule about five of them, most of which will be done late this month or in March. I am hoping that the couple of people for whom I left messages will get back to me and that I will have at least ten more respondents by the end of next month. I really do want to spend the month of April in the British Library but I do not want to start examining documents until I have finished the bulk of the interviews.

When I had completed my work at my desk, I took the bus to Kensington to the V&A. I had a completely odd character come and take the seat at the side of me in the very front of the upper deck. Barney started a conversation and told me that he was a paranoid schizophrenic. “Most people think I am mad”, he informed me, “but I’m not mad. I’m just under a lot of drugs. My wife is a paranoid schizophrenic too”, he said.

My heart bled for the poor man. He couldn’t stop talking. He voiced this endless monologue while drinking coffee in great big gulps out of a paper cup. He asked where I was headed and when I said, “The Museum”, he said, “Which one? The Science Museum?”

I replied, “No, the V&A”, to which he said, “Oh, that one’s too high brow for me”.

“What are you?” he asked. “A secretary?”

“No”, I responded. “I am a professor”.

“Oh”, he said, and started to shake my hand vigorously. “I have never met a professor. What do you teach? Sociology?”

Now why did he pick Sociology, I wondered. ” No”, I said. “Literature”.

“Ah, Literature. Do you write well? I have great penmanship. Everyone says I write very well”, he said.

And so it went on. He pulled out a glass phial from his pocket and showed it to me. “I need to take these as injections on my bottom”, he said. “But these allow me to feel normal. They really work”.

Another Close Encounter of the Anglo Kind for me to write about and put into my proposed book. How pitiable was his condition! I truly hope that the combination of drugs he is taking will work for him and bring him healing; for truly, I have never come across anyone quite so distressing in a long while.

Then, I was in the V&A at 7 pm as the museum has late evening hours on Fridays and stays open until 10 pm. My feet felt better with all the massaging and exercises of the morning and I was determnined not to make them worse. I decided, therefore, to stay for no longer than an hour and a half. With this time frame in mind, I headed straight for the Nehru Gallery of South Asian Art on the ground level and then spent the most fascinating hour inspecting a great many jaw-dropping treaures from the Indian sub-continent from the Buddhist era to the Victorian Age of the British Raj.

I saw, for instance, a magnificent set of clothing of the Begum of Oudh. There was also the controversial sword of Tipu Sultan about which there was much brouhaha a few years ago in India. Vijay Mallya had bought it at auction and taken it back to India, if I remember correctly, but I need to read up a little more about it. At any rate, Tipu seemed to have possessed more than one sword for there is still one in the V&A that apparently bears his signature just below the handle.

The throne of Maharana Ranjit Singh was on display as was the signet ring of Moghul Emperor Shah Jehan and the wine cup of Jehangir. I saw spectacular turban ornaments that were presented by Nawab Siraj-u-Daulah after his defeat in the Battle of Plassey in 1757 to the British officials of the East India Company–seriously, the emeralds and rubies were as large as small eggs.

The gallery is stuffed with Moghul and Rajasthani miniature paintings, rare and antiquated Indian textiles–cottons, silks and woolens–that were fashioned into Western and Indian clothing of the time, furniture in ivory, sterling silver household articles, a number of amazing glass utensils, and an array of items that were acquried by British officials during the Raj as presents from Indian rulers–all of which were brought to England from where they made their way into the V&A through donations from the families into whose possession they entered. This section is a must-see for my students of South Asian Civilization and I will surely bring them to these galleries and conduct a lecture in the next few weeks.

Next, I went to the Fashion Gallery next door where I saw a number of interesting exhibits from dresses by leading couture houses over the 20th century to shoes in a variety of styles spanning several centuries and bridal dresses that covered about two centuries. This section always presents an ecletic mixture of items from the ridiculous to the sublime. I mean there were clothes in which I couldn’t see anyone dead and then there were exquisite gowns by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel and Valentino, among others. There was a lovely outfit in ivory silk covered with seed pearls and sequins that was worn by Princess Diana on a state visit to Hongkong. This was auctioned off to raise money for her charities and was donated to the museum by the folks who bought the gown. The V&A is able to display only a very limited number of items from its vast repertoire at any given time; but it was fun perusing the cases. Certainly, there was nothing in this section that anyone could call remotely “high brow” so I would have to disagree with Barney here.

By 8. 30 pm, my feet had started protesting and I had promsied myself that I would stay for no more than an hour and a half, so I left the museum and took the bus straight home. I settled comfortably in front of the telly to watch Jamie Oliver while tucking into my Broccoli Cheddar Soup (possibly one of the most delicious things I make) and the Steak Pie I purchased from M&S for a pound. It was superb for the price–lovely crusty puff pastry concealed a hearty Beef Stew beneath. It was crammed with very tender pieces of steak and the gravy was finger-lickin’ good.

So on that rather satisfied note, I ended an odd sorta day and look forward to a more normal one tomorrow.

Goodbye to Berlin–And Back to Great Britain

Feb1

Saturday, January 31, 2009
Berlin-London

I had set my cell phone alarm to 6 am and Anja and I jumped up immediately as we had a lot of clearing and cleaning of the apartment to do before we left the house at 6. 30 am. Anja very sweetly escorted me to the station at 6. 30 and decided to return to the flat that had served me so well, to clear away the garbage and take it home with her (in her bicycle basket!). Having packed and kept my backpack ready the previous night, we were out of the house and I was on the train by 6. 40.

Though it was a Saturday, there were a few folks on the platform and as the train sped towards Treptower Park where I had to make a change, more passengers climbed on—which was comforting to me as I am rather unnerved about traveling in public transport when it is empty. Within an hour, I was in Schonefeld airport and with much time to spare before I boarded my Ryanair flight, I was able to finish my Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (known as the Sorcerer’s Stone in the American edition).

The flight was smooth and uneventful and we arrived at Stanstead aiport without any incidents. I caught my Easybus van and was dropped off at Baker Street from where I changed two buses to get home to Holborn.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as I downloaded my pictures from my camera, edited and captioned them, had a shampoo and shower, did my laundry, unpacked my backpack and brought things back to normal. checked and responded to my email (both business and personal) and made a few calls. This has become my routine when I return from trips and I pretty much do it now in my sleep. Before I knew it, it was 8. 3o pm and I was starving and thoroughly enjoyed the Salmon Pie that I had pulled out from the freezer on entering my flat. It made a very satisfying dinner before I decided to retire early as Stephanie and I have made plans to drive to Battle and Hastings tomorrow.

Berlin’s Cathedrals and Museums

Jan31

Thursday, January 29, 2009
Berlin

Three Churches and Two Museums:
I decided to devote the day to church visiting and museum hopping. Berlin is a sprawling city and there is a wealth of places to go to and things to do—so unless you have a definite plan of action, you could end up short changing yourself. Of the many beautiful churches that dot the city—from the Baroque to the Modernist—I chose to see, first of all the Kaiser Wilhelm Gestadtkirsche. This was primarily because its profile is so striking. It clearly has a bombed steeple—that much is evident from a distance, long before one gets into its vicinity. And yet that bombed profile was allowed to remain. It was so intriguing that it warranted investigation. Besides, it is very conveniently located–right next door to the Zoo where the main bus terminal happens to be.

Exploring the Remains of a Bombed Church:
I arrived there at 10 am and made my way first to the Memorial Hall—this used to be the main entrance to the original church that has stood on this site since 1904 when the church was inaugurated by the Kaiser. During World War II, the church was bombed to smithereens and only the tower remained (with a large part of its steeple destroyed). The church, however, boasted some unimaginably intricate mosaics in the Byzantine style and, miraculously, many of them survived the bombing. When the war ended and the reconstruction of Germany began, it was decided that the tower should be retained though the rest of the ruins were demolished. These surviving mosaics were carefully moved and relocated to the main tower together with several that had originally stood there through the decades. Today, these mosaics are the main attraction of the tower which has been converted into a Memorial Hall.

A newer, far more modern church (that some think looks like a compactor and, therefore, has so nicknamed it), was fashioned out of thousands of pieces of sapphire blue glass that glow as the sunlight streams through them. It makes a quiet place of contemplation and I would certainly recommend this unique space for a visit.

The Gemaldegalerie—An Art Lover’s Paradise:
I then took the bus and made my way to the Kulturforum, a part of Berlin in which the arts and culture are omnipresent through the Philharmonie Building, the National Library and the Gemaldegalerie—the latter being my main interest. Now everybody who has any knowledge of Art History knows that the Nazis were culture-vultures and patronized their artists enthusiastically—remember Hitler’s love for Wagner? And in the movie The Pianist, the only reason the Polish Jewish pianist is saved from the concentration camp was because the Nazi commandant who found him at the end of the movie was a passionate lover of classical music. Hence, they amassed a vast treasure trove of fine art by the Old Masters—much of which they reportedly looted from the other European collections. After the War ended, this collection was divided between East and West Germany and it is only after the Fall of the Wall that the collection has come together again.

The building chosen to house this treasure is the new Gemaldegalerie, a Modernist space that was custom designed and built for the purpose—and it is truly one of the finest museum buildings I have ever seen. I loved the light filled spaces, the interesting layout, the manner in which the paintings are hung against light-absorbing damask walls and the fact that daylight makes its subdued presence felt on the canvases so that no artificial light hits the surfaces at all.

As for the collection? Well, what can I say? I gave myself two to three hours to see the Highlights (the museum has a fine handout with about 20 Highlights outlined together with a route) and my DK Eyewitness Guide recommended that I do not miss a few more. But I have to say that I could easily have spent the entire day there—it was so astonishing. The collection of Botticellis is astounding, there is a fine array of Rembrandts, some really superb works from the Dutch and Flemish Schools, a totally wacky Pieter Breughel entitled A Hundred Proverbs and easily my favorite of all Caravaggio’s Cupid Victorius. In fact, I think I came away from there loving it even more than the Uffizi Bacchus which has always been my favorite one of Carravaggio’s works. Cupid’s playfulness, indeed his impishness—as caught by his pose and his expression—is so entrancing that I simply couldn’t tear myself away from that work. And a Vermeer entitled A Glass of Wine was also so memorable that it brought to mind the novel Girl with a Pearl Ear Ring. I was disappointed that Pieter dse Hooch’s work entitled Die Mutter was in Rome as I adore the work of this Flemish artist. I found the guards in each gallery extremely knowledgeable and much more helpful than any of the Italian ones I encountered anywhere in Florence. I had a very fine lunch at the Museum Café which gave me a chance to rest my feet as well as sample a variety of delicious German salads.

A Gothic Church—Marienkirsche and a Baroque One—Berliner Dom:
Then, I was in the bus again and on my way to Marienkirsche, a Gothic Church with an ancient fresco that wraps itself around the entrance walls. This, however, was so faint that it is was barely discernible. Inside the church, the stained glass windows on the altar were striking as were some very old sculptured effigies. The starkness of this church contrasted strongly with the Berliner Dom which was the next church I visited—this one spelt Baroque grandeur and opulence as was evident from the exterior itself. The interior was a confection of superb stained glass windows, an elaborate marble pulpit, a magnificent brass organ with an intricately carved case and the grand sarcogphagi of Freidreich I anhis wife. I was repeatedly reminded of the spectacular cathedrals we saw in Vienna and Salzburg in Austria—and indeed, in many ways, I was reminded of Vienna in general while in Berlin. It may have had to do with the German culture and language which the two cities have in common, but I think it was also the greatness of the architecture and the scale and layout of the city which is huge in its dimensions which reminded me of the Hapsburg excesses.

Finally—the Pergammonmuseum:
Having seen these three churches, I decided finally to get to the piece de resistance—the Pergammonmuseum, located on what is called Museum Island—one of the greatest museums in the world. Luckily, most major museums in Berlin stay open until 6 pm and since it was so cold, they were the best places to escape into in the winter months. I couldn’t wait to see for myself the wealth of unique treasures contained within. There was a likelihood that I would be missing the most monumental of its collection as renovations are being carried out; but since the website did not give any information to discourage a visit, I decided to see for myself.

While my Metropolitan Museum ID card had, thus far, taken me into all the museums for free, I had to pay the full fee of 10 euros to see the Pergammon—this included an audio guide in English which outlined a few highlights that would take roughly an hour to cover. I bought my ticket, obtained my audio guide and was off.

To see all the museums of Berlin one would need at least a month and to appreciate them from the outside would take another! Each building is stunning and forms a very fitting receptacle for the collection that lies concealed within. The exterior of the Pergammon is completely marred by the ugly scaffolding that is part of their renovation plan

The very first ‘room’ in the Pergammon is breathtaking because as soon as you walk in you find yourself standing right in front of the altar from the Greek Temple at Pergammon in modern-day Turkey—it is from this Temple that the Museum gets its name. Now, though the history of the museum is long and fascinating, suffice it to note that in the early part of the 19th century, German archeologists were very active in sites all over the Middle East and a great deal of their excavations and discoveries led to the uncovering of ancient civilizations whose mementoes would have been lost to the world. As a reward for their endeavors, they were permitted to bring these ‘structures’ to Germany where these specially constructed museums served to house them safe from the destruction that could be wrought by the elements.

The Pergammon Altar has sculpture that, in my humble opinion, is in a far better state of preservation that the Elgin Marbles (although those are far more famous—perhaps because they are so controversial!). Apart from the marble altar which is intact, freizes from the Pergammon Temple decorate the walls of this main first room and they are truly breathtaking. You can actually climb up the steps of the Pergammon Altar (a truly unique experience) and spend as much time as you like contemplating the wealth of ancient mythological sculpture that engulfs you wherever your eye rests. To me, this was so magical, that it is worth going to Berlin just to see this.

The next stop on my tour was the Temple to Athena in the next room which is just as dazzling. What is mind blowing is the sheer size of these works and the scale of the rooms that allows these towering temples, columns, altars and all to be accommodated indoors! And I hadn’t yet arrived at the Ishtar Gate!

Next door to the Athena Temple are the Gates of Miletus, colossal Classical columns holding a decorative gateway that once existed at the entrance to the Market in Miletus in Asia Minor. Though badly damaged and undergoing restoration, these gates are truly splendid and also breathtaking. Here, too, visitors walk right through the gates, so that you feel as if you are actually walking in their ancient worlds.

And then I arrived at what I think is the most impressive exhibit of all at the Pergammon—the Babylonian Ishtar Gates. These stunning gates composed almost entirely of sapphire ceramic glazed bricks were built during the reign of Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar (604-542 BC). To arrive at them, one needed to pass through what was known as the ‘Processional Way’—originally 590 feet long. In the Pergammon, the Inner Gates and a large part of the Processional Way allow the viewer to gasp at the quality of the artistry that went into the design and construction of so exquisite a work. Although many of the upper parts of the structure have been restored (it is very easy to see where the original tiles end and the modern ones begin), the animals that adorn the walls (horses, ibex, and lions—loads of lions) are original. These are not merely embedded into the walls but jut out like bas relief—all of which makes them not just impossible to describe but impossible to stop raving over.

Other more significant parts of the Pergammon’s collection are the Façade of the Mshatta Palace which once stood in Jordan—the parts in the museum once concealed the entrance to a palace and a small mosque. The Allepo Zimmer, a spectacular paneled room that came from a merchant in the Syrian city of Aleppo was also fascinating. (I finally understood where the name of the town of Allepy in Kerala came—from the Syrian Christians, of course, who first brought Christianity into Kerala, India, through the Apostle ‘Doubting’ Thomas—of the Mar Thomite Church of South India).

Apart from its obvious treasures, for me, one of the most exquisite objects in this collection was a Roman Sarcophagus of the 2nd century AD upon which is carved the entire chilling story of Medea—truly Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! The second story of the Pergammon stocks treasures of the Islamic world (including a few fantastic Moghul works), but easily the most striking was the glazed ceramic tiled Mihrab from a mosque in Kashan (in modern-day Iran) built in 1226. The quality of the glaze is so superior that the gates glittered as if covered in gold—again, impossible to describe!

A Foodie’s Paradise:
Just when I thought I could not take another step because I had literally walked for miles, I decided to call it a day and get back home. But because one of the great joys of travel for me is peeking into the local supermarkets, I did that for about 15 minutes and enjoyed walking through the aisles of ‘foreign’ food—very sorry that I could not buy the Black Forest Wild cherry jams and jellies because hand baggage restrictions no longer permit such items to be carried and with budget airlines, one has only hand baggage! On impulse, I decided to take a bus to Kaufhaus Des Westens (known as KaDeWe), Berlin’s answer to London’s Harrods. My guide book had informed me that the Food Court on the 6th floor was a Foodies Delight and I decided to check it out for myself. Indeed, I was overwhelmed by the variety and quality of the offerings—a true paradise for any gourmand. I poked around a bit and bought myself some take out dinner.

I was brave enough to return to the apartment in Hallensee about 8 pm and spent a long while reading up the first Harry Potter paperback—most of which I had forgotten and which I found myself enjoying very much.

Historic Presidential Day Across the Pond and Lunch with Loulou!

Jan20

Tuesday, January 20, 2009
London

A new era has dawned! Change is here!!! Finally! There is a Black President in the White House. And not just any man! What a Man! Someone to look up to. At last there is someone of whom I can feel proud and supportive. It’s been a Loooonnnnng eight years and we have waited a Loooooonnng time for this moment. I awoke this morning to the awareness that this was going to be a day like no other. It is said that one will always remember where one was when Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States and for me the response will be “all alone at home in my flat at High Holborn”. In a way, it is great that my stay in London will be immortalized through this historic event and I could not have felt more proud to be an American in London as my eyes teared up frequently while watching the goings-on at Pennsylvania Avenue. Never in my lifetime did I ever imagine that I would see a Black President in America.

This is the culmination of a long journey–one that began on those infamous ships that traced the Middle Passage carrying human cargo. One that continued on those bloody plantations of Virginia and South Carolina. One that revolted on the non-violent streets of Alabama in the 1960s. One whose struggle was given voice in those stirring words, “I have a Dream”–a dream that became reality today as Black people can now claim their place in American History not as African-Americans but as Americans.

This is a man I can look up to because he does not come with an impressive pedigree preceded by a dynasty that allowed him to be raised in the lap of luxury. This is a man with whose background, in so many ways, I can truly identify: a man born of an immigrant father whose struggle in his early days in America led him to bus tables in a restaurant. A man whose very father abandoned him when he was six so that he grew up without the influence of this male role model. This is a man who did not allow that absence in his life to hold him down or tear him apart. This is a man who used no family connnections, no Godfathers…nothing but his determination to succeed–his audacity–to take him to Harvard and then on to Congress. This is a man who was rasied by a single parent–a mother who wished him to have nothing but the finest education (which led her to send him to live with his grandmother in Hawai’i to study at the fabulous Punahou High School in Honolulu) and by a grandmother for whom he was not a grandson but a son itself. As someone whose daughter was co-raised by a grandmother, my eyes swim when I think of how cruel fate was in not allowing the gracious Madeline to watch as her beloved grandson assumed the oath of Office of President of the United States of America.

Given the time lag, I began watching BBC coverage at 4 pm local London time which was 11 am in Washington DC. Of course, being the BBC they pulled no punches when commenting on America’s outgoing President and took a few good jabs at a man whom I will always remember with loathing. I could not wait to see the last of him and to know that he is being replaced by a man of such sterling quality is beyond heartening. I had considered joining my American students and even getting together with my American colleague Karen to watch the historic coverage. But Karen was busy and I figured that I’d really be most comfortable in my sweats and my slippers lounging around on my couch in my living room and taking it all in with total ease.

My day began with my 10 am Global Cultures Class which has a total enrollment of 2 students. They were delighted when I informed them that the course would be taught as an Independent Study Module and through Tutorials in true British style. I packed them off with a long reading list, tons of photocopied material to get them started on their research and a list of films to watch. I spent a while photocopying more material, then an hour later, I left for the British Museum where I had lunch plans with Loulou Cooke, a lovely English lady with whom I had made friends a few weeks ago. Since I was early, I spent an hour in Room I completing the exhibit on ‘The Enlightenment’ that I had started watching several months ago but had to abandon when plantar fasicitis hit me.

At 1.00 pm, I arrived at the main gate of the British Museum and was joined a few minutes later by Loulou. We adjourned to the Museum Tavern, a lovely historic pub that is located bang opposite the museum, a pub which Karl Marx once frequented. Over fish and chips and a half pint of Strongbow cider, Loulou and I got to know a little more about each other and discovered that we have a lot in common including daughters who both love acting and who are working in New York City.

Loulou and I walked back home after lunch. We parted company at the Holborn Library where I stopped to pick up paperback copies of Harry Potter as I am determined to read all the novels in the next few months. Fortunately for me, both the first and the second titles in the series were available and I was able to bring them home. Though I had read the first one a long time ago, I figured I would start at the beginning and go right through the series. Tim and Barabra have lent me three more of the books–all hardbound–so I have my reading cut out for me. Back at home, I decided to take a bit of rest as I still don’t feel too well. Crocin is suppressing my flu-like symptoms and after months–and probably for the first time since I arrived in London–I actually took a short afternoon nap.

Then, it was 4 pm and I became glued to the telly as I watched history being made. I sent an email to Llew, Chriselle and Chris in order to feel part of the jubilant spirit of the nation and of the American people on this day–and all three of them communicated back with me so that, across the pond, we were truly united on this red-letter day in America.

Harry Potter’s Platform 9 3/4, Treasures of the British Library and Holiday Concert at St. Paul’s

Dec16

December 16, 2008
Tuesday

Antony Andrews is still as gorgeous as ever. Ask me how I know that Lord Sebastian Flyte in Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited is still as cute as a button and I’ll tell you that I had the good fortune of seeing him today at a star-studded gala Holiday Concert at St. Paul’s Cathedral in aid of the Cancer Research Fund. I was a guest of Bishop Michael and Cynthia Colclough and in the line-up of celebrity readers were Dame Aileen Atkins whom I saw recently at the West End in The Female of the Species and John Sargent whom the entire UK is buzzing about after his success in Strictly Come Dancing. Apart from Atkins and Andrews, however, I have to admit that I did not recognize the names of any of the other local celebrities.

This evening crowned for me the series of fabulous Advent and pre-Christmas events in the Cathedral that have truly put me in the festive spirit and allowed me to meet so many interesting folks–all guests of the Colcloughs. Tonight was extra-special because in the audience was Princess Alexandra, the Hon. Lady Ogilvy, a cousin-in-law of the Queen and a patron of the Cancer Research Foundation who swished out of the cathedral just a few feet in front of me in a resplendent gold brocade coat and fabulous glittering necklace. There was also Connie Fisher who is currently playing Maria in the London stage version of The Sound of Music and Rupert Penry Jones who read Sir John Betjeman’s poem Advent 1955. The best readings were by Atkins who did a hysterically funny version of Shirley Valentine by Willy Russel and Andrews’ extraordinarily moving reading of Captain R.J. Armes’ account of an encounter between British and German forces at the trenches during World War I in a piece entitled Christmas Truce. Punctuated by carols performed by the Vicars’ and Boys’ choirs and a number of sing-a-long songs in which the audience joined, the evening made for a fine concert indeed.

Outside on the steps of St. Paul’s, you’ d think you’d regressed to the Victorian Age for suddenly a number of characters stood before us–each seemingly had walked out from a different page of Dickens’ novels. A Beadle grandly announced the distribution of mince pies to all who cared for one. More Victorian characters on stilts entertained the crowd as they dribbled out of the cathedral, a Victorian policeman did the rounds on his Penny Farthing bicycle while blowing frantically on his antiquated whistle and Victorian vendors bearing large trays of mince pies and baskets full of chocolates distributed them around generously acquiring more supplies from a Victorian fruit cart that was parked nearby. It was all thoroughly jolly indeed and did actually make me feel as if Christmas is around the corner–which, of course it is! In keeping with the coming holiday, I made my way to the side of the Cathedral and the pathway that leads to what my neighbor Barbara calls the “Wobbly Bridge” (it’s actually the Millennium Bridge that began to wobble dangerously the day it was inaugurated!). There I took pictures in front of a towering tree strung over with aquamarine lights.

This event brought the curtain down on an eventful and busy day. After I drafted our Almeida Family Christmas 2008 letter while it was still dark outside my window, I took the bus to King’s Cross Station with the objective of seeking out Platform 9 3/4 which features in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books. This is the station from which Harry and his classmates board the train that takes them to Hogwart’s School for Wizards. Though I have read only the first book and seen the first movie in the series–Harry Potter and the Scorcerer’s Stone–my students are passionate devotees of the series and it was at their behest that I went pottering about King’s Cross Station as so many fans have done before me. In fact, now that my students have enthused me, I have decided to spend the next semester reading the rest of the series. Because so many readers have poured into the station looking for this platform, the City authorities decided to create one. I followed signs to Platforms 9, 10, and 11 and lo and behold! There was Platform 9 3/4 and a luggage cart that was in the very process of disappearing into the wall–in exactly the same way that Harry Potter and his friends find their way to the train. Of course, I had to take a picture pushing the luggage cart at this charming site. Only in London, kids, only in London…

Next, I walked along the fabulous red exterior of Sir John Betjeman’s beloved St. Pancras Station (now almost covered with scaffolding as construction to refurbish it into a five star hotel continues). It was my intention to get to the British Library to renew my Reader’s ID Card which recently expired. I had thought that producing the expired card would do the trick, but it turns out that I have to produce documents all over again proving my place of residence. Oh well, I guess I will just have to go back there tomorrow. It’s a good thing the British Library is so easy to get to on the bus.

Being at the British Library, I decided to do something I have been wanting to do for a long while–pour over the special manuscripts contained in the exhibition Ritblat Gallery under the rubric “Treasures of the British Library”. I had last perused these treasures 22 years ago when they were located in the British Museum–in the marvelous domed Reading Room in which Karl Marx scribbled his Das Kapital! In these new premises at King’s Cross, the manuscripts are exhibited in extremely dim cases in order to prevent the ink from fading completely by exposure to light. I spent an hour and a half looking at old maps drawn by cartographers in the 1300s, an excellent Shakespeare section which contained his First Folio of 1623 and a number of works by his contemporaries. There was even a leaf from a play that was jointly authored by a number of Elizabethan playwrights that is actually believed to be in Shakespeare’s own handwriting! How cool is that!!!

In the Music section, I was delighted to see scraps of original paper on which The Beatles scribbled so many of the lyrics of their most famous songs. One of them was by John Lennon who actually used the back of his son Julian’s 1st birthday card! The best part of all is that accompanying the cases which contain the manuscripts are audio extracts from musical compositions, recitations of poetry, etc. I was actually able to listen to several Beatles’ songs and then poetry as read by the poets themselves! It was quite engaging to listen to W.B. Yeats read his own poem ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’ in his thick Irish brogue just as Seamus Heany read from his poem ‘Mint’ and James Joyce read an extract from his own Finnegan’s Wake. All of these writers had distinctly Irish accents which is natural, I suppose, since they were born and raised in Ireland. I heard Virginia Woolf’s voice as well in an extract from a BBC radio conversation. It was these bits that I found most fascinating.

Of course, in the literary section there were also original manuscripts of such classics as Lewis Carol’s Alice in Wonderland, Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles (I had seen the manuscript of his Jude the Obscure at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge last month), Emily Bronte’s Jane Eyre and early stories that Jane Austen had penned as a child to entertain her family. There was also Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim written in his own handwriting (and bearing evidence of multiple attempts at revision) as well as letters from Rupert Brooke to a woman whom very few scholars knew about until recently. An hour and a half later, I had only seen half the collection and decided that I would return tomorrow as I have to go to the Reader Registration Desk again anyway. I really did want to finish perusing these manuscripts before I left for the States and I am glad I managed to squeeze it in.

Then, I went to NYU to print out some interviews (the Internet was SOOOOOO sluggish and SOOOOOO maddening this morning ) and then I was out of there and walking towards the Waitrose at Brunswick Center to buy a few food items for my Mum in Bombay. Then, off to Tesco’s to buy Llew some of the luxury Muesli he likes–only I found that the Holborn Viaduct branch does not carry it which meant I had to ride the bus to Bank Underground Station where I found it.

With only a couple of days to go before I leave for the States, I am shopping frantically and trying to organize my packing. I have to pack one suitcase to carry to the States and leave one packed suitcase here in my flat. After spending Christmas with my family in Southport, Connecticut, I will board a flight from JFK on the morning of December 26, arrive at Heathrow that evening, spent one night in my London flat before I leave for Heathrow again the next morning, December 27, to board another flight to Bombay. The packed suitcase will then go with me to Bombay. Complicated enough for you????

The last two days have been spent running last-minute errands, transcribing taped interviews and printing them out, filling in grade sheets and handing them in, making phone calls and sending out email messages in order to set in place appointments with my Anglo-Indian subjects for the end of January and the beginning of February. I am proud to say that in the process of two months, despite being afflicted with plantar fasciitis, I managed to do 15 interviews with people who were based in the far-flung reaches of London. It is my hope to do several more in the early months of the new year. In the evenings, I’ve been trying to get some packing done.

Last night, I watched Greyfriar’s Bobby, a poignant movie about a little Skye Terrier that mourned for 14 years on the grave of his master after he died in the late 1800s. The city of Edinburgh made the dog an honorary Friend of the City and gave him free run of the streets. There is a statue of the dog that came to be known as ‘Greyfriar’s Bobby’ (as it lay on his master’s grave in Greyfriar’s cemetery) in Edinburgh today to honor the values of loyalty and faithfulness. My friend Delyse Fernandez had told me about this movie a couple of years ago and I was able to order it on Love Film. Com.

As my first semester comes to a close and I pull my suitcases shut, I cannot help but think what an eventful four months these have been and how dearly I have come to adore this city and how intimately I have grown to know it . I can sincerely say that I have taken fullest advantage of the many benefits that this posting has afforded me. It truly feels as if I have been on vacation for the past eight months and as I start to think of the arrival of my friend Jenny-Lou Seqeuira on Thursday, I know I have one last leg of my Fall semester here in London to anticipate with pleasure.