Meeting Friends–Old and New–Mercers Hall and More Theater

Wednesday, March 20: London

Today was devoted to meeting up with old London friends who either go back a long way with me or are recent but very firm buddies. After 8.00 am mass, I took a bus to Holborn to eat my very favorite breakfast while in England—which is not English at all! It is an almond croissant and a hot chocolate at Paul’s Patisserie. This is a Belgian chain that has no presence yet in the USA—hence, whenever I get the chance to enjoy one of its treats, I go for it. It makes baked goods that are second to none and this was precisely the first breakfast that Llew and I had eaten the very first morning that I had arrived to live in London, four years ago. So as I nursed my croissant and my hot chocolate, my mind went back to that morning which had proven to be the harbinger of such an incredible year in my life.

Off to Euston to Meet Emma:
With about 45 minutes at my disposal, I took a bus from Kingsway to Euston for my first appointment of the day—a meeting at the concealed Café Rouge to meet Emmy Sweeney, my colleague at NYU-London, whom I had gotten to know and grew fond of when I had lived in London. Emma arrived just a few minutes after I did and, as you might guess, we spent the next hour and a half simply catching up on all the exciting things that have happened in our lives. We discovered, in the process, that we have so much in common. But before we knew it, it was time for me to say goodbye, after making the great discovery that being in Euston, I could easily get to Harrow and Wealdstone on a superfast train instead of taking the Tube. Emma directed me to the platforms and left.

Meeting Bash in Harrow:
I had about an hour to spend with my friend Bash whom I had gotten to know four years ago in London. Over the years, Bash has stayed friends with me and sportingly driven me to spots of interest around London on memorable daytrips that have introduced both of us to wonderfully charming venues. This time, all we could afford was an hour together at Café Nero in South Harrow which Bash often uses as an ad hoc office. Once again, I downed a coffee with the intention of saving my appetite for lunch later on. And once again, Bash and I chatted nineteen to the dozen knowing that was all the time at our disposal.

Lunch with Bina in Harrow:
Bash drove me back to Harrow and Wealdstone station for my next appointment with my childhood friend Bina who lives nearby. We had grown up together and go back a long long way to our school days in Bombay and to nights spent studying together for our high school board exams. Bina and her husband Navin are now empty nesters and their home in which I have stayed on many past visits to London seemed different without the presence of their kids, now both at “uni”.

Still, when Bina arrived at the station to pick me up and drive me to her house, it gave us the opportunity to catch up on so much. A great chef, she had created a simple but delicious home-cooked meal for me with rice, chapattis, dal, spinach with cottage cheese and a chicken curry. How good it felt to have a genuine Indian meal after such a long time! Much as I would have liked to stay on, I was on horseback, for I had more appointments to keep later that evening. Bina dropped me back at the station, I jumped into the superfast train and was delighted to reach Euston in under 10 minutes. It was simply incredible!

Exploring Fitzrovia:
Since I had an hour to spare before my next appointment, I wandered to Fitzrovia to continue the last bits of Karen’s Bohemian Ink Walk. At Fitzroy Square, I discovered the neighborhood in which one of my favorite novelists, Ian McEwan lives and had a chance to visit the Indian YMCA, in which Mahatma Gandhi had lived while he was a student in London. The hostel is still impeccably maintained for essentially Indian students and I thought it was a good place to keep in mind for future long stays in London.

Lenten Sermon at the Mercer’s Hall:
Then, I was on a bus again making my way to Bank for a rather interesting interlude with a Benedictine monk who would be preaching a Lenten sermon in the imposing and quite gorgeous Mercer’s Hall on Ironmonger’s Lane at Cheapside. My friend Michael is a Chaplain to the Mercers who, he explained, were wool merchants. The Worshipful Company of Mercers has their London headquarters at Cheapside and are among the rare companies whose premises actually contains a chapel inside it.

It was just before the service that I met my dear friend Loulou who was also invited to join the service by the Colcloughs. How happy I was to see Loulou again! I introduced her to Cynthia who had saved three seats for us and for the next hour or so I gave myself up to the wonderful choir, the stirring readings, the excellent sermon preached by a Catholic clergyman in an Anglican chapel and to the pomp and pageantry that characterize such events in a setting that was little short of sumptuous.

The hour long service was followed by a wine and snack reception during which I introduced Michael to Loulou. He pulled me aside to show me a wonderful sculpture of the Dead Christ that had recently been discovered deep in the bowels of the building and which probably precedes the Reformation when it might have been concealed underground. It will be at the Tate Museum for a little while before finding a permanent place in the Mercer’s Hall. Meanwhile, drinks did the rounds—I opted for a glass of sherry as the sandwiches and “things on sticks” were offered by wait staff. We had to leave before the desserts appeared, however, as Loulou and I had theater plans and we did not wish to be late.

The Judas Kiss at the West End with Loulou:
So off we went on the Tube to the Duke of York Theater in the West End to see yet another drama—The Judas Kiss by David Hare, based on the life of Oscar Wilde and his clandestine homosexual relationship with the very young Lord Alfred Douglas known as Bosie. I had chosen to see this play as I have a soft corner for Rupert Everet who played Wilde. I had seen Everet on stage before, several years ago, in The Importance of Being Ernest also by Oscar Wilde, so it was great to actually see him play Wilde. Having said that, I must also state that I had difficulty recognizing him—he was made to put on enormous weight for the role. The play is a sad commentary on the hypocrisy that surrounded homosexuality in the 19th century in the UK and the terrible discrimination to which Wilde was subjected simply because he did not possess a peerage in the way that Bosie did. What I did not expect, however, was the stark male nudity on stage that would probably not be acceptable in the States. Young gorgeous bodies cavorted about without the slightest self-consciousness and yet it appeared perfectly natural within the context of the script.

As in the case of Rosemary, so too with Loulou—we simply had to get somewhere after the play to sit and chat. We chose Café La Rocha, another little French café right opposite the theater and there we enjoyed a cappuccino as we brought the curtain down on a lovely evening with similar promises to get together again soon.

The Suburb of Chiswick and its Historic Houses

Mar29

Tuesday, March 19, 2013: On the Outskirts of London

A Daytrip Ahead:
I had devoted this day entirely to my new friend Raquel, a fairly-new American expatriate in London, and our plans to see some spots in Chiswick on the outskirts of the city. We have a mutual friend named Amy based in New York who brought up together in cyberspace. After my oatmeal breakfast and a shower at Amen Court, I intended to join up with Raquel but she called to inform me that she had an urgent doctor’s appointment and would be delayed.

Food Shopping and A Brief Visit to the National Gallery:
No problem, I thought. This lull in my unceasing activity would give me pause to get to the National Gallery which is one of my favorite places in London and where I always go, on every single visit, to say hello to my favorite canvasses. I would also be able to do some of my food shopping for I hadn’t accomplished much in that department thus far.

After 8 am, Mass, I took the bus and went directly to Sainsbury at Holborn to pick up masses of Bourbon Chocolate Biscuits and to Marks and Sparks for my Fruity Flapjack Biscuits. A quick nip into Waitrose at Holborn to buy Ainsley Herriot’s powdered packaged soups drew a blank—I realized I would need to get to a larger Waitrose for those. Back at Amen Court, I deposited my shopping and sped off by bus to the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square where I spent the next couple of hours visiting my favorite works (Zurbaran’s haunting Portrait of St. Francis, Constable’s rustic Haywain, Stubbs’ Whistlejacket, Gainsborough’s Mr and Mrs, Andrews, Caravaggio’s Christ at Emmaus, Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire, the Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Paul DelaRoche, The Graham Children by William Hogarth, the room devoted entirely to works by Renaissance Italian artist Carlo Crivelli and finally my favorite work in the entire museum, Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Delft). I also spent a while in the museum shop looking for a particular bookmark—Rogier van der Weyden’s Magdalen Reading. What a bummer to discover that it is now out of stock! Oh well! At least I did see much-loved works and although I would have loved to stay longer, Raquel did call to tell me she was ready to keep our date.

Off to Chiswick House and Gardens:
I hopped on to the Tube at Charing Cross to get to Turnham Green Tube Station where Raquel and I planned to connect. What a coincidence to discover that we were on the same train! The plan of action was to get to Chiswick House, a grand Palladian manor in the town of the same name and to explore its fabulous gardens.

Only we discovered as we got out of the Tube station that there were snazzy shops galore to tempt us on Chiswick High Street and, before we knew it, we were dallying in and out of our favorite places—mainly the charity shops which I find endlessly fascinating. Raquel kept exclaiming at the opportunity to survey these shops for although she lives in Central London, she is nowhere close to the main shopping arcades.

Fifteen minutes of a brief walk later, we were skirting the vast acreage of Chiswick House and Gardens. Its dome and Palladian rotunda came into sight as we passed by smartly-attired suburbanites walking their dogs in the garden. Inspired by Andrea Palladio’s Villa La Capra near Vicenza in Italy, the house was built by Lord Burlington, an avid traveler and collector of Neo-Classical art. Sadly, when we got to the main entrance, we discovered that a Camellia Festival was on throughout the month of March which would leave the house open only at the weekends. I was frustrated and annoyed as this is the second time I have made the pricey journey to Chiswick House only to find entry prohibited—three years ago, I was there with my friend Amy and we had drawn a similar blank.

However, since Raquel and I were starving and the Chiswick Café is well reputed, we sat down to have lunch: Spinach Quiche with a Salad, a Fruit Scone with Butter and Strawberry Jam (how can you visit England and not eat a scone, right?) and a lovely Mixed Nut Tart washed down with Elderflower cordial—all of which were simply scrumptious. Over lunch, we got to know each other and discovered that we have so much in common. Don’t you just love it when you hit it off instantly with a new friend?

Lunch done, we strolled at leisure through Chiswick Gardens taking in the follies dotted all over it from ornate gateways designed by Inigo Jones to stone bridges over lilting streams filled with mallard life. While we explored, the sun actually came out to play peekaboo for just a few minutes—a sight that so lifted poor sun-deprived Raquel’s heart that she wished to sit put on a bench and simply bask in it! More photo ops were provided by obelisks and sculpture in the park and although the flowering bushes were still dormant, we had little doubt that summer would soon bring lush color to the space.

Hogarth’s House:
Knowing that the 18th century painter, William Hogarth, lived only a hop, skip and jump from Chiswick House, we asked for directions and used Raquel’s I-phone to find our way to the home of Hogarth along quiet suburban streets with the occasional passing car and giddy uniformed school girl getting home for tea. About fifteen minutes later, we found the spot and entered the brick-walled enclosed garden with its legendary 300 year old mulberry tree.

William Hogarth, one of the most merciless satirists of his time, lived in this late 17th century house from 1749 until his death in 1764. Entry to the house is free and we were also free to wander at will through the rooms that were filled with prints of his many series of engravings such as Marriage a la Mode, Gin Lake, The Rake’s Progress and Beer Street (the originals are in Sir John Soanes House in Holborn) and some items of 18th century domestic life.

A visit to Hogarth’s House would not be complete without a short walk to the church yard of St. Nicholas on the banks of the Thames where his grave might be visited. But Raquel was already exhausted and I had been there before (with Amy). We, therefore, elected to stroll back to the Tube station but not before dallying one more time in the enticing shops and stopping for a cuppa at Starbucks.

More Food Shopping at Waitrose:
Raquel and I parted company on the Tube at Earl’s Court where we needed to make our respective connections. I intended to get to Knightsbridge to pause for a bit at Harrods’s but when I alighted at Gloucester Road, I found myself outside a gigantic Waitrose that carried the Ainsley Herriot soups I’d coveted. So with many of those packets in my bags, I jumped on a bus headed to Ludgate Hill and reached home by 8.00 pm.

Dinner at Has Turkish Restaurant:

As it turned out, I was just in time to accept an invitation from Mark, a mutual friend, to join him and the Colcloughs for dinner. I was delighted as I had no other plans. With the Colclough sons, Aidan and Edward, we made our way towards Cheapside where we found the lovely Turkish restaurant called Has. At the recommendation of Cynthia and the boys, I opted for the Mixed Grill platter which contained grilled chicken, lamb and beef steak—all served with a piquant yoghurt sauce and flat bread. Cynthia’s decision to go for the Mixed Mezze platter was brilliant for she had a variety of offerings from which to nibble. However, my dessert, Kadefi, a sweet treat to which I had become introduced during my Middle Eastern travels in Jordan and Egypt was very good indeed. It was a great way to catch up with all the doings in the lives of my dear friends as well as to find out about Mark’s work in London (he was visiting from New York). By 10.00 pm, we were all back home and I could collect my thoughts and decide how I would spend my last few days in the city.

Drive to Surrey, Shopping, Dinner, Theater

Mar29

Monday, March 18, 2013: London

Off to Woking on a Mission of Mercy:
One of the items on my To-Do List on this trip to London was a visit to my Dad’s cousin, Sybil, who following a stroke, a year ago, was confined to a hospice in Woking, Surrey. Since I am very fond of Sybil and grateful to her for all the hospitality she has showered on me over the years on my visits to London, I was keen to make the time and the trip to see her. Fortunately, her ex-husband Joel of whom I am fond, offered to meet me at Hounslow East Tube station from where he drove me for 45 minutes to the Princess Christian Care Home in Woking where I found Sybil fast asleep at about 11 am. Our visit lasted an hour and I was relieved to find my dear relative comfortable and well cared for by medical professionals who are competent and efficient. An hour later, Joel drove me back to Hounslow station from where I took the Tube for my next appointment.

A Business Meeting at Queen Mary College, Mile End:
Prof. Alison Blunt and I have been in correspondence for a few years now as both of us share similar research interests in the South Asian diaspora—she as a geographer and I in Cultural Studies. When she extended an invitation to me to meet her to discuss our common research interests, I accepted eagerly. Mile End lies at the East End of London not too far from Whitechapel. It has a huge South Asian ethnic, mainly Muslim, population—which makes Alison well-positioned for the studies in which she specializes. Over a lovely warming cup of milky coffee, Alison and I discussed our current and forthcoming publications and the forthcoming projects in which she is collaborating with a number of easily recognizable names in the field. She photocopied some of her recent work for me and we made promises to stay in touch and consider collaborations of our own before I took my leave, an hour later, to enable her to get to a class she was teaching. Queen Mary College has a sprawling campus in the East End and going by the students I saw, I can say that it is multi-cultural and multi-racial and a very fertile ground for the continuation of the studies we are currently undertaking.

A Disappointment at Whitechapel Art Gallery:
Since I was only a few bus stops away from Whitechapel Art Gallery at Aldgate East Tube station, I hopped on to a bus going west with the intention of visiting the gallery that has acquired a great deal of fame for the quality of its ever-changing installations. Alas, when I did arrive there, about a half hour later, it was to discover that the gallery is closed on Mondays. I must say that the lobby was impressive and I have little doubt that I shall make the effort to return to the space on a future visit.

Shopping for Favorite Goodies:
With time to spare before my next appointment, I hurried to Bury Street in Bloomsbury to a small shop I have patronized over the years called Bury Foods where I have always bought my supply of Darjeeling Tea and Border’s Dark Chocolate Covered Ginger Biscuits. Again, I had a disappointment in store—for while my biscuits were available, my preferred tea was all sold out. Still, I corralled my supplies and left the store before walking towards Charlotte Street for my next appointment with my friend Rosemary.

Dinner at Brasserie Zedel and Theater (Old Times) with Rosemary:
My good buddy Rosemary got off work at 5. 45 pm and met me in her office building from where, after an affectionate reunion, we headed off to keep our dinner and theater plans. Rosemary had made reservations at Brasserie Zedel, a vast basement eatery that was part of a huge complex containing a bar, a dance club, a comedy club, etc. Its distinctly French ambiance was quite exciting to me and when we sat ourselves down and surveyed the menu, Rosemary settled on two starters while I had the Boeuf Bourgignon, a most hearty concoction served over mashed potatoes in a gigantic Yankee-sized portion that was flavorful and succulent—maybe the best I’ve ever had. Again, it warmed the cockles of my heart for we had walked across the city from Fitzrovia to Shaftestbury in a downpour and I was grateful for the steaming stew.

Rosemary and I settled the bill, decided to have coffee and dessert after the play and hurried off to the Harold Pinter Theater on Panton Street to watch a Harold Pinter play—Old Times, with a dazzling star cast consisting of Kristen Scott-Thomas, Rufus Sewell and Lia Williams. In classic Pinter style, the play was confusing, bewildering, open to multiple interpretations but riveting in the quality of the acting and the brilliance of the dialog. However, at the end of the show, both of us felt the need to sit somewhere with a coffee to try to piece together the disjointed bits of what he had just seen and understood. Together we were able to cobble a sensible conclusion to a largely plotless drama.

Then off we went to Piccadilly to Café Richoux—a sort of intimate, atmospheric French coffee house that is so popular in London and that I have grown to love. We sat down with coffee and shared a large slice of Dark Chocolate Hazelnut Mousse Cake which was simply fabulous. As we chatted about our impressions of the play and caught up with so many other aspects of our lives, time flew but we kissed and parted—Rosemary to take a bus to Battersea where she lives, me to get to Amen Court on another bus—with the promise that we would meet again, hopefully soon.

St. James’ Chapel, Bohemian Walk, Spencer House, etc.

Mar29

Sunday, March 17, 2013: London

Service at the Royal Chapel of St. James’ Palace:
Whenever I am in London, I make it a point to attend Sunday services at one of the extraordinary historic chapels or churches in order to admire their architecture and treat myself to a brilliant Anglican sermon. In keeping with this personal tradition, I had voiced to Michael my desire to attend service at The Royal Chapel attached to St. James’ Palace which was scheduled at 8. 30 am. Needless to say, I had done my research and had discovered that this was meant to be a private chapel exclusively for the members of the royal family stationed at St. James’ Palace (which is located at the end of Pall Mall). Now, of course, it is open to members of the public for worship on Sundays in the winter. After Easter, services shift to the newer Queen’s Chapel on Marlborough Street (which, no doubt, I shall visit on a future trip to London).

Cynthia and her son Aidan decided to come along with me. How thrilling to hear Mass in a palace! A real royal palace that is still used by the current monarchy, that is. In this Old Chapel, Elizabeth I had worshipped. King George III and his Queen Charlotte had brought their 14 children to services here. Queen Victoria had married her beloved Prince Albert in this space. We trooped in, took our seats in the choir stalls and awaited the arrival of the main celebrant who happened to be a personal friend of the Colcloughs—Fr. Scott. While we waited, I had the opportunity to admire the fabulous Commonwealth Window which features a massive tree of Life whose branches carry the names of every single one of the countries in the British Commonwealth as well as the stunning ceiling designed by none other than Hans Holbein with its repeating motif of Agnus Dei (Lamb of God). I was ecstatic to worship in this environment added to which the service was simply moving. Fr. Scott preached a meaningful sermon and although there wasn’t the superb choir that I also associate with Anglican worship, there was the Eucharist which I received. Overall, I was so pleased to have had the privilege of worshipping in this hallowed space and as we left the chapel to wander off, I couldn’t help thinking that my day had started off beautifully.

A Walk in Bohemia:
A few years ago, my colleague Karen who was teaching a course on Literary Bloomsbury at NYU-London with me, had devised a walking tour of the area that I had always wanted to follow myself. Since the next item on my agenda was a visit to the National Gallery of Art and since it does not open until 10 am, I had an hour with which to play around and thought it best to take a bus (No. 9) from Pall Mall and then to connect to the 24 at Trafalgar in order to get to Woborn Square where her walk began.

But first, since I actually passed by NYU’s campus at Bedford Square where I had once held offices, I could not resist getting to the main door to knock on it. As I half expected, the door was firmly shut since it was a Sunday! Oh well…at least I tried to get in for old times’ sake.

Now Woburn Square, London’s smallest, is right behind Birkbeck College where I used to teach classes a few years ago. In fact, my classroom window used to look out on to this square. This time, I paused to take a picture of the 1999 sculpture of The Green Man by Lidia Kapinska which was accompanied by a small plaque with a quotation from Virginia Woolf’s novel The Waves. I crossed the square and the street to enter Gordon Square which is dominated by an old stone church (which when I checked I discovered was open only on weekdays!). Gordon Square is most closely associated with the literary coterie that came to be known as The Bloomsbury Group. At the house at No. 50 is a black plaque that commemorates the contribution to the intellectual life of such luminaries as Virginia Woolf, her sister Vanessa Bell, her husband Leonard Woolf, the historian Dora Carrington, the literary critic Lytton Strachey, the economist John Maynard Keynes, the philosopher Bertrand Russel, the novelist E.M. Forster, and the artists Clive Bell and Duncan Grant. They brought a lively, brainy curiosity to this corner of London in the early 20th century when their experiments in literature and art breathed new life into creative production. Generations of literature aficionados have come calling to these residences to pay homage to their literary heroes. I myself paused in reverence at No. 29 where Virginia and Vanessa Stevens had lived while still unmarried in the home of their father, Lesley Stevens. Of course, their respective marriages would lend a fantastic synergy to their endeavors and make them household names.

In the gardens of Gordon Square, I discovered a sculpture of India’s best known poet Rabindranath Tagore by Shenda Amery that I found deeply moving. And since the church on the square was closed, I walked in the uncomfortably cold drizzle to the next block–Tavistock Square. It was in exploring its gardens that I arrived at the sculpture of Mahatma Gandhi seated serenely on a pedestal surrounded by sculptures of other eminent contemporaries: Leonard Woolf and Virgina Woolf. Tavistock Square attained notoriety as the site of one of the awful London bomb blasts that had taken place on July 7, 2005, killing several people on the bus on which it had been planted. There is a small plaque on the iron railings attached to the British Medical Association building on the square, designed by one of my favorite British architects of all time, Sir Edwin Lutyens, that marks this sad occurrence.

From Tavistock Square, I walked a few block north to get to Woburn Walk, a tiny pedestrian street rife with Victorian bow-windowed shops that hark back to an earlier area. The streets gas lamps and fat cobbles make it a favorite location for the shooting of period films and as I walked through the glistening street slick with the lash of relentless rain, I was transported to another era. The Irish poet W. B. Yeats had lived in a house on this street as did Charles Dickens right above a small eatery called Wot The Dickens!

Visit to St. Pancras Church, Euston:
I had to end my walk at this point in order to make it in time for my next appointment, but I have to admit that I simply could not resist a quick visit into St. Pancras Church, Euston, which was right next door to Woborn Walk. This unique church was also on my list of Churches To Visit and I was very pleased that being there on a Sunday allowed me to actually enter the church and catch the very end of a morning service. What makes St. Pancras so distinctive is its neo-Greek design inspired entirely by the Erecthion on the Acropolis in Greece. Indeed, it is built on a rectangular plinth held up by four Caryatids—or Grecian Vestal virgins—that are a striking feature of the side of the church. After spending a while in prayer and admiring the interior with its plain but very beautiful marble columns, I circumnavigated the exterior of the church, took a lot of pictures and left—wondering repeatedly about the variety of architectural styles one finds in this curious city.

Tour of Spencer House:
I hopped on to a bus then to get to Spencer House on Pall Mall, but that’s when things turned awry. It happened to be the day of London’s St. Patrick’s Day celebration and by 10.00am, Trafalgar Square where the major celebrations were being held was turned into an emerald green sea of enthusiasts wearing Kelly green outfits and hats. Buses had stopped plying around the Square and I found myself minus transport to get to Spencer House where I had made plans to meet Kent again. I was grateful for the London SIM card that enabled me to inform him of my unexpected delays as I hurriedly covered the distance across Pall Mall on foot. Meanwhile, Kent went ahead and purchased two tickets (12 pounds each) for our strictly-timed hour-long guided tour of Spencer House, which I had always wanted to visit but to which I had somehow had never gotten down.

Spencer House is open to the public only on Sundays. It is the London home of the current Earl Spencer, brother of the late Princess Diana. As a little girl, Diana would have spent her growing years in this house when she wasn’t ensconced on the family’s country estate called Althorp (pronounced All-trip) in Northamptonshire where Princess Diana is buried. The current Earl has been refurbishing Spencer House slowly and has leased a part of it to the Rothschild Group who sponsored the renovation. Luckily for the Spencers, the house was never bombed during the War and has remained intact through the centuries, the only aristocratic 18th century private home in London.

Spencer House was built in the Palladian style by John Vardy in 1756-66 in the heart of tony St. James for John, First Earl Spencer. It is indeed a showcase of classical design and as I followed the tour guide, a venerable elder who spoke as if he had a century ahead of him to finish his tour and not the skinny one hour allotted, my eye roved freely over the splendor of my surroundings. It is impossible for me to go into detail about a home that simply beggars description. Suffice it to say that if you cannot make it to Castle Howard in Yorkshire or Blenheim Place in Oxfordshire to see the handiwork of John Vanbrugh, then you must make the trip to Spencer House to get a slight taste of how the other half lived. Neither expense nor time nor trouble had been spared to create a home so opulent that you wonder how one could possibly feel at home in it. Filled with paintings, sculpture, porcelain, plus a library of showy leather tomes, the tour wound us through eight of the state rooms, each more impressive than the last. From every window, there are fabulous views of Green Park that occasionally caught a watery ray of sunshine. Since no photography is allowed in Spencer House, I had to content myself with getting a couple of shots of the superbly-appointed loos in the basement, better than any in a five-star hotel.

Sunday Roast Luncheon at the Oxford and Cambridge Club:
It’s a good job the Oxford and Cambridge Club where Kent and I had made plans to lunch was only a stone’s throw away for we were famished at the end of the tour of Spencer House and ready to chow down. Having had the Grand Tour of the premises the previous day, we headed straight for the magnificent dining room that is flanked by larger-than-life sized oil portraits of William IV and his flamboyant son George IV. The dining room was fairly full by the time we arrived there at about 1. 30 pm. We decided to go with an appetizer and a main. Kent chose the foie gras while I got the duck terrine with fruit chutney (which was amazing) and for our mains, Kent got a veal roast while I decided that in such a traditional setting, it would be most appropriate to have a traditional English Sunday Roast—this came with roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and a selection of veg (I had roast potatoes, minted peas and pureed swede). Oh, how yummy it all was and how gracious, if very slow, was the service. Alas, again, I’d have loved to linger…but I had to leave then if I were to make it on time all the way to Wimbledon where I had an invitation to Afternoon Tea.

Afternoon Tea at Wimbledon and Dinner at Amen Court:
A longish ride on the Tube with a connection at Earl’s Court and a ten-minute walk along a quiet residential street got me to the Wimbledon home of my Blog follower Murali Menon who has, over the years, become a friend. While usually Murali and I meet briefly over a cuppa or a coffee in London, this time round I was keen to meet his wife, Nina and his son Angad about whom I have heard so much through Murali’s own blog called Jest a Mon. The Menons extended an invitation to their home and put out a warm and generous Afternoon Tea spread for me. Alas, I could not do it justice as I was simply bursting with my humongous Sunday Roast. But I did tuck into Nina’s wonderful Lemon Polenta Cake whose nutty texture and flavor were unique as well as her Cheese Toast and her selection of Middle Eastern snacks from Marks and Sparks. Indeed her steaming cups of tea with lemon were very welcome as the rain continued to lash down in chilly spurts. We had so much to talk about; but best of all was getting to know the bright and vivacious Angad whose knowledge of art history was simply astonishing in one so young. Not surprisingly, he told me he intends to be an art historian when he grows up! Indeed, he was able unhesitatingly to pick out his favorite canvas in the National Gallery (the equestrian Portrait of Charles I by Van Dyke) and talk in informed fashion about the Impressionists and Pointilism. And he is still on the wrong side of ten! We played a couple of rounds of Twenty Questions and kept Angad engaged as the evening sped by.

Murali was kind enough to accompany me on the stroll back to Wimbledon station from where I made my way back home to the Colcloughs for dinner: store-bought Indian Butter Chicken with Pilaf and Naans and Ice-Cream for dessert.

So what can I say about my second day in London? Well, once again, horrid weather had made it a bummer but I was well en route to accomplishing all the items on my To-Do List and I was not disappointed.

Yesss! March 2013. Varied First Day in London Again!

Mar29

Saturday, March 16, 2013:
London’s Varied Delights

The prospect of spending a week in London never fails to fill me with delight. This time round, however, I must admit I was not quite so enthusiastic. The weather this winter-spring has been terrible, going by reports on my Twitter feed from my British Tweeps. Still, since I intended to spend time mainly with friends rather than traipsing the countryside, perhaps I ought not to have felt quite so disheartened when I touched down to chilly temperatures and leaden skies.

I arrived again in London in middle March 2013 at the end of a wonderful week spent touring Portugal. I boarded a British Airways flight to London’s Heathrow airport at 7. 00 pm. at Lisbon airport. My flight was delayed by half an hour and I arrived at London not at 9 pm as expected but more like 10 pm. I hopped quite easily onto the Piccadilly Tube Tube line, got off at Holborn, hopped into a cab for the last ten minute ride to St. Paul’s where I would spend the next week with my dear friends Cynthia and Michael Colclough.

who had stayed up to greet me although it was close to midnight and who offered a soothing English cuppa as soon as I stepped through their door (last night).

Cynthia and Michael Colclough also spoiled me daily with huge oatmeal breakfasts made from scratch with slow stirring over a stove—what the English call Porridge—jazzed up with the addition of honey, ground cinnamon, dried cranberries and raisins. It is rather a meal in itself and keeps me going quite easily until lunch time pangs.

My days in London begin with Cynthia at Mass at 8 am at St. Paul’s Cathedral where Michael is the Canon-Pastor. Perhaps the most evocative part of my home stays with them are the hourly tolling of the Cathedral bells—those deep sonorous bongs that never fails to charm me—which I hear from my room which is only seconds away from St. Paul’s imposing steps and dome. As always, the Baroque interiors of Sir Christopher Wren’s ecclesiastical architectural masterpiece excites my heart and soothes my soul and it is partly for these reasons that I look forward to daily mass when I am with the Colcloughs in London.

Outlet Shopping Spree in the East End:
My first mission, after breakfast, was to buy a weekly bus pass at the Underground Station at St. Paul’s. For under 20 pounds, I had an Oyster Card that would allow unlimited use of the red buses that I simply adore in London and whose use I have mastered.

We set out at 9 am, because it was raining and we knew our mission would take longer, Cynthia (who wished to accompany me on my first major shopping spree) and I caught bus No. 242 to get to the East End—to Hackney where is concealed one of London’s lesser-known secrets—a series of designer outlet stores where bargains might be had all year round. I had purchased a Burberry classic khaki trench coat from the Burberry outlet three years ago and it was to this store that I returned—this time, to purchase a classic black quilted riding jacket with the characteristic Burberry signature tartan detail on the collar and upturned cuffs. How thrilled I was to find that the store had undergone a major facelift since the last time I was there—it is now huge, cavernous, well-organized and holds a treasure trove of clothing items from amongst which I easily found the jacket I had come to buy—in my size and in the exact style I fancied. As for the price, well, what can I say? It was less than half the price I’d pay in retail and I was simply delighted. And what’s more, I would recover VAT tax on it at Heathrow airport on my departure—which made it an even better deal! My visit to London had gotten off to a fabulous start and I was excited.

Cynthia and I stepped back into the downpour, stopped off briefly at Acquascutum and Pringle which also have outlet stores in the same area and then took the bus back home.

Exciting Chance Encounter with the New Archbishop of Canterbury:
Now I ask you, what are the odds that I would run slap bang right into the new Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby the very week of his installation as the Church of England’s highest prelate? But that was quite simply what happened to me. Now Michael had mentioned that the Archbishop would be arriving at the Cathedral that morning for a prayer service and I had half a mind to attend it. But then, since it would interfere with the rest of my carefully drawn up schedule of the day, I dropped the idea and set off on my shopping spree.

Well, guess what? Just as Cynthia and I were crossing Paternoster Square to get to her home at Amen Corner with our buys, who should I see walking directly towards us but His Eminence himself in the company of a small coterie of faithful laity. Cynthia slunk of quickly and said goodbye but I joined the small handful of people to get some really good pictures of the cheerful priest and then accepted his invitation to join him in prayer in that significant square—right by the sculpture of the Good Shepherd (Pater Noster) where he raised his voice and prayed in the annoying persistent drizzle. I have to say that it was an extremely stirring sight—to be there, just a few feet away from this eminent man whose very modesty and rejection of pomp and splendor has already endeared him to millions was a very moving experience and I am so glad I had that opportunity. Of course, I took several pictures of him and of Richard Chartres who is the current Bishop of London and who was also in his entourage.

On Portobello Road:
I stashed my buys at Amen Corner and said goodbye to Cynthia as I made my way to Portobello Road on yet another mission. A pair of vintage diamante and pearl ear-rings that I had bought from a vintage jewelry dealer in Fairfield had been pilfered from my baggage, a year ago, when I had flown to London afrom Kennedy airport nd I was keen to find replacements. If anyone would carry a pair similar to the ones I had stolen from me, this little vintage jewelry store on Portobello Road would.

Persistent rain did not deter vast armies of people—mainly young folk—who converged upon Notting Hill for a jaunt through the faux-antique stalls of the Saturday Portobello market which I have myself frequented through the years. However, this time round, as I was on a mission, I made a beeline for the jewelry shop, had a long trawl through their offerings and was both disappointed to find the pair I was seeking unavailable and well as appalled bv the prices—for vintage jewelry definitely costs at least double in the UK compared to prices in the US. Naturally, I left the shop empty-handed, looked for a bus and hurried off to the next appointment on my agenda.

Matinee Theater Date (Quartermaine’s Terms) with a Former NYU Student:
Kent Lui and I go back a long way—he had taken my courses over a decade ago at NYU and had repeatedly used me as a reference for the jobs and the graduate studies he pursued at Oxford after NYU. Currently employed by Lloyd’s Bank in London, he is a suave, cool man about town, originally from Hongkong, but so well-traveled that he is now a Global citizen. Kent and I had made plans to meet at the Wyndmar Theater on Charing Cross to watch the 2. 30 pm matinee show of Quatermaine’s Terms, a drama starring the one and only Rowan Atkinson (of Mr. Bean fame) who has successfully made the transition from playing child-like characters on TV to serious theater (I had seen him three years ago playing Fagin in Oliver at the Drury Lane Theater in London).

I arrived a few minutes before Kent did, picked up the tickets from the box office that I had ordered online and looked for a loo. It was still raining and Kent arrived looking bedraggled after his journey from Bayswater. After an affectionate reunion, we settled down in our fabulous seats to enjoy quality drama. Quartermaine’s Terms does not boast much by way of a plot but the performances were sterling, starting with Atkinson who did a stellar job holding the dialog together—for the play is simply about a single, ageing, lonely English Language school teacher in Cambridge whose future stretches out painfully ahead of him with little to punctuate its monotony. The complex lives of his colleagues contrasts with his and in their minor dramas, he sees reflected the emptiness of his own uneventful life. I was pleased that Kent enjoyed it as much as I did as we left the theater to walk briskly in the rain to the next venue.

Afternoon Tea at The Oxford and Cambridge Club:
One of the delights to which I looked forward on this trip to London was my ability to become a member of the famed Oxford and Cambridge Club where as a Senior Associate Member of St. Anthony’s College, Oxford, I am entitled to join. Kent, who graduated from the Said School of Business in Oxford, was already a member and it was his endorsement plus that of his classmate that enabled me to acquire membership. Naturally, I was thrilled and eager to explore this hallowed institution and Kent gave me the marvelous Grand Tour of the many impressive libraries, the snooker room, the several dining halls, the well-appointed lobbies and the basement squash and sauna rooms. Membership also entitles one to use of the many rooms with en suite bathrooms but because those were occupied, we could not explore them. Being suitably impressed by my grand surroundings, I expressed my gratitude to Kent for having accomplished the paper work on my behalf and we settled down for a pot of tea on what was still a wet and depressing afternoon. However, we could not linger too long as I needed to get back to Amen Court, the Colclough residence, to change for dinner.

Dinner with my Former English Neighbors at the Babylon Roof Gardens, Kensington:
One of my great pleasures in returning to London is looking up my former neighbors at Holborn, Barbara and Tim, who are now good friends and who invariably host a memorable dinner for me in their spacious flat which is just next door to the one I had occupied when I lived in London. As Tim was once a West End chef whose skills have only sharpened with time, meals at their home are astonishing; this time round, however, he wished to introduce us to one of his favorite London restaurants—the Babylon Roof Gardens at Kensington run by the Virgin Atlantic Group and owned by its flamboyant CEO Richard Branson.

As the Colcloughs were also included in this special invitation, Tim and Barbara arrived at Amen Court where the car that they had ordered for the evening followed. We piled in and I was afforded a wonderful tour of the city by night albeit under dark and soggy skies. An elevator zipped us up to the restaurant which, for some inexplicable reason, was filled to the rafters with hordes of single women dressed to kill . After we settled down with glasses of chilled Bolinger, we ordered, having made the decision to go with a main dish and “pudding” (no apps). My choice: Grilled Cod with a Bacon and Mussels Casserole served with fingerling potatoes—and it was wonderful. But dessert truly stole the show: it was a Chocolate Praline Mousse with Lemon Sorbet. After the rather spartan meals I had eaten all week by myself in Portugal, it made a welcome change to indulge in so sophisticated a repast and to wash it down with the excellent red wine and the dessert wine called Tokkai that followed—all thanks to Tim’s gastronomic genius. Conversation flowed easily around the table as we caught up, enjoyed the stunning view from over the roof garden of London’s well-illuminated landmark buildings and felt thoroughly pampered by the personalized service that Tim’s intimacy with the restaurant wait staff brought us. Indeed, we felt thoroughly spoiled by the end of the evening.

The taxi dropped our generous hosts to their building in High Holborn before leaving us at our own doorstep at the end of what had been a truly packed and very productive first day in London for me.

So was I glad to be back in my favorite city in the world? You Bet!!!

Last Whole Day in Paris–How it Flew!

Jul15

Thursday, July 12, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
I felt that slight flutter of panic when I awoke this morning–assaulted by that feeling that there were things I hadn’t quite finished doing in time for my departure tomorrow. After a quick breakfast based mainly on leftover scraps of bread and preserves, Llew and I left with our friend Cynthia and went straight to Marks & Spencer on the Champs-Elysses to run an errand for our friend Sylvia. It was also a chance for us to take Cynthia to the festive avenue as Paris got ready to celebrate Bastille Day.

Shopping on the Champs-Elysses:
One short ride on the metro later with a stop at George V (“George Le Cinq”), we were striding along the Avenue that was beautifully strewn with bleu, blanc and rouges banners in readiness for the Quatorze Juilliet festivities. At Marks and Sparks, we found the Battenburg Cake we were seeking and with several bars in our bags (some to take back to India), we set off on our next errand:

Visit to the Church of the Miraculous Medal:
Almost every Indian and Pakistani Catholic in Paris seems to know the Church of the Miraculous Medal on Rue de Bac. Cynthia was keen to pay a visit there and within a short time, we were inside the beautiful church with its heavenly blue altar and its mosaic work. Although it was a weekday, the 12 noon mass was just about to begin and the church was filling fast. We made our visit, went into the shop to buy a few of the medals that are very efficacious in case of sickness and left the church.

Bountiful Le Bon Marche:
Since Le Bon Marche, Paris’s snazzy department store, was just around the corner, we went in there so I could show them the beautiful Le Corbusier furniture in the lobby. Since Le Grande Epicerie is just across the road, we went in there to buy sandwiches for our lunch. Cynthia decided to buy us dessert, so at the pastry counter we indulged in chocolate pastries, Paris’ famous Opera pastry (named after the Opera building by Charles Garnier) and a mini box of macarons. With all this dietary induglence, I can see myself going on a strict diet when I return to Bombay. God knows I have piled on the Parisian pounds. And God alone knows how or why French women do not get fat. It has to be their staple diet: cigarettes and cafeine in all the coffee they guzzle.

Chocolate Purchases–Two for the Road:
Since I hadn’t yet managed to find the chocolates that were recommended by the Paris Gourmet on the internet, my eyes lit up when I spotted Foucher on Rude du Bac. I simply had to step in to buy a few of the recommended croquants–spice-filled chocolate cookies. However, the ones that were offered to us were dark chocolate discs studded with what felt like Rice Krispies. We bought a bag anyway and munched on them as we left the store. Not too far away was Le Maison de Chocolat–there are several of these sprinkled around Paris. The Rigoletto Noir I sought were not available, however. The assistant informed me (in French, mind you) that the temperature conditions in her store are not condusive to the storage of that particular type of chocolate which are affected by condensation on their surface. The chocolates were, therefore, unavailable. Quel Dommage! With little time left to spare, we headed home to munch on our sandwiches and our cakes and then it was time to leave our apartment to see Cynthia off at the station.

Au Revoir Cynthia:
Cynthia’s Eurostar Chunnel train was scheduled to leave from Gare Du Nord at 6. 18 pm. By 5.00 pm, we were at the station so that she could clear Immigration and other formalities for her return to the UK. We had spent 4 days with her and they had simply flown–but how great it had been to meet and reconnect with our friend. She marveled at the amount we had managed to cover! Saying goodbye was not easy but she swore she had thoroughly enjoyed her first ever trip away from her husband Michael and, hopefully, it will not be her last. We took last-minute pictures and then off she went.

Back home to Pack:
Llew and I got back home and set ourselves to the task of packing our suitcases and clearning and cleaning out our apartment. In a very systematic way, we managed it for we came to the conclusion that it was best for Llew to take back all my Paris items and things I would not be using in India. This meant that he was better off taking two lighter suitcases and leaving me with one. Somehow, despite severe baggage restrictions from Air France, I managed to fit in all my stuff including the heavy loads of research notes, files and books that I have carried with the intention of finishing up the writing of the manuscript of my book in Bombay. I had awful fears about being confronted with the nighmare of paying for extra baggage.

A Last-Minute Visit from Livia:
At 8.00 pm on the dot, when most of our packing had been accomplished, my French friend Livia arrived to say goodbye. We had a fantastic evening with her as she kept us in splits. It was so much fun. We discovered that as a hobby, she takes pictures of Hollywood stars, following them around the world (New York, Paris, Cannes) and getting to the sites of their engagements with the hopes of shooting their portraits. She showed us the scores of pictures she has managed to capture over the past fifteen years–indeed she described this hobby as a “passion” and said that she will continue to work at it for as long as she is able.

Livia joined us for a meagre dinner based on whatever we had left as we needed to clear up our frigo and cupboards before our departure. In fact, she was kind enough to take away some of my supplies with her (extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, etc). After about 2 hours, it was time to excuse ourselves as we still had so much to do. After she left, we continued working on the dribs and drabs that we had scattered all about the place and managed to finish our packing and clean up the apartment.

It was about 11.00 pm when we went to bed having set our phone alarm for 6. 30 am with the intention of leaving our apartment at 8.00 am which was the time at which we had arranged to have the taxi pick us up. As I lay in bed, I could not believe that my Parisian dream had come to an end.

In some ways it felt as if I had been in Paris forever–I had learned the city like the back of my hand and could find my way around its center with my eyes closed. Yet, in other ways, it seemed as if I had only arrived yesterday for time had flown so fast in the face of the many things I had managed to accomplish and all the miles I had put on to my personal odometer.

Tomorrow, I thought, I will write another blog post assessing my impressions of the city and its people. But for now, it is time for me to close my eyes and bring the curtain down on yet another day and yet another lifetime’s adventure.

A demain!

Versailles! Piece de Resistance of our Rambles

Jul14

Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Versailles, France

Bonjour!

Finalement, I suppose, it was irresistible. I mean you cannot spend a good chunk of the summer in Paris and not go to Versailles! So, we scrapped Giverny, caved in and made the royal pilgrimage in quest of Louis Quartorze’s domain on the outskirts of Paris. Besides, our friend Cynthia said she preferred to prance around a chateau than dawdle in a garden–even if it happened to be Monet’s and had appeared a thousand times over in his paintings. Also, as she effectively argued, Versailles offered a chateau AND gardens–the very best, in fact, by none other than Andre Le Notre. It was getting to be a bit of a no-brainer, really.

So we set off after a breakfast that was still based on leftovers in the frigo–brioche and baguette and pain au chocolat with coffee (tea for our frend from across the English Channel). The journey by metro was painless: the A train goes straight to Versailles Rive Gauche station from where the Palais is only a short walk away. We changed at our “favorite station” (Not!)–Chatelet Les Halles–and were at our destination (together with hordes of other ‘royalists’) in a little more than an hour–past the miniature Statue of Liberty that holds court on Pont de Grenelles.

At the Tourist Office that is within sighting distance of the Palace gates, we purchased our tickets: 18 euros got us the Grand Tour: in addition to the main Palace and the Gardens it included the Grand Trianon and the Petite Trianon which is the estate of Marie-Antoinette (M-A). Although I have been to Versailles twice before, I never did ‘do’ her estate (referred to as her ‘domain”), so it made sense to cover it on this visit.

Dodging the Hordes:
We congratulated ourselves on paying 2 euros extra for what we thought would allow us to beat the ticket lines at the gates. But we were sadly mistaken. There were no lines for tickets–what was winding around in serpentine fashion all about the gigantic courtyard in front of the glittering gilded gates was the line to enter! We simply had to worm ourselves in somehow because if we were to join it and get in the kosher way we’d be exhausted even before we’d set foot into the chateau!

With the ease of a pro, our friend Cynthia stunned us by finding an opening in the queue and before we could say “Le Roi Soleil”, we were in! It was a bit of a magic trick that I still can’t fathom. There is no way strait-laced Llew would have stood for such short-cuts from me! Still, how thrilled we were when we finally had our audio guides in our hands and were facing the altar at the Royal Chapel which is the first real stop on the tour.

Wandering around Versailles:
A royal hunting lodge had existed at Versailles since the days of Henry IV when la chasse was a monarchical pastime. But, if you recall my blog notes after visiting Vaux Le Vicomte, you will remember that Versailles as we know it today came into being when Louis XIV (The Sun King) was seized with jealousy. He was invited to attend the Opening Ceremony of his finance minister, Nicholas Fouquet’s new chateau–the Vaux le Vicomte–created by the Big Three: The Architect Le Vaux, The Interior Designer and Painter Charles Le Brun and The Landscape Designer Andre Le Notre. Well, when Louis compared his piddly estate to Fouqet’s new showpiece, he went ballistic and immediately imprisoned poor Fouquet who died while inside. Livid Louis then commanded The Big Three to create a chateau for him that would outstrip Vaux many times over. Probably shaking in their chaussures, The Big Three gave him–Ta-Daah! Versailles–a palace that is so OTT (Over The Top) that every other royal residence pales into insignificance when viewed against its grandeur.

Not that Louis XIV is solely responsible for Versailles’ splendour. Louis XV and XVI added to its size and substance–the last even building an opera house in the palace. In later phases, it was Jules Hardouin-Mansard, Louis XVI’s architect, who had a huge hand in fashioning the form that the palace took. In fact, it was while Louis XVI and his wife Marie-Antoinette were sleeping in their beds that the enraged mob that had just sacked the Bastille and had marched all the way to Versailles from Paris barged into the royal apartments to take the king and queen into custody. M-A managed to rush into her husband’s bedchamber (you would have gathered, by now, of course, that royalty kept separate bedrooms) where she was spared for one more night–but ended up in Paris and the Conciergerie the next day, anyway, where they were both subsequently guillotined. As for Lolly-lovin’ Louis XIV, well, he just died in his bed at the ripe age of 71 with the satisfaction of having lived in the most elaborate home in the land.

And it is this elaborate home that we had arrived to explore. In fact, it is after one sees ‘homes’ such as these that one understands why the starving French rebelled against their kings and terminated their monarchy. Interestingly, after the monarchy ended in 1789, following the uncertainties of the French Revolution, most of the original furniture at Versailles was ransacked and sold. There were plans to set fire to the palace–which, fortunately, was spared.

The audio guide took us through the initial rooms where we looked at a lot of splendid paintings of the royal heads that had once lain in its various beds and of the buildings and its gardens. These were punctuated with short films which were also very enlightening and helped us piece the seams of history. But as we walked deeper and deeper into the Royal Apartments, the rooms got larger and more ornate and the genius of Le Vaux and Le Brun became very evident indeed. Aside from its furniture (which the curators are still trying to recover and return to their original positions), the rooms in Versailles are notable for the ceiling paintings many of which are the work of Le Brun and Hardouin-Mansard. The commentary points out note-worthy pieces of furniture, gifts to the monarchs from other dignitaries of Europe, interior decorative elements such as violet marble fireplace mantles and hand-embroidered bed hangings and the preferred lifestyle accoutrements of the occupants of the space. The grandest gallery of all is the famed Hall of Mirrors which must have twinkled from the light of thousands of candles whose flames were reflected in the mirrors that line the walls of the room. The tour ends in a room that contains, among other paintings, the massive one by Jacques-Louis David of the Coronation of Napoleon (one version of which hangs in the Louvre in Paris). We did thoroughly enjoy the tour but were starving and ready for lunch before we undertook the daunting task of visiting the gardens.

Lunch at Brasserie de la Girandole:
To my huge disappointment, we discovered that the Grand Parterre was completely out of bounds to visits as they were preparing for a party and had a shamiana and furniture to put into place. This meant that we could not appreciate the stately bronze sculptures of Greek Gods that surround the reflecting pools. Left with little choice, we walked down the steps towards Le Notre’s box-edged flower beds that were a lovely blanket of soft summer shades: pinks and mauves mixed with white–as we made our way to the restaurant for a meal. We chose the sit-down service at Brasserie de la Girandole (which means the Pinwheel Brasserie) as we badly needed a rest. It is amazing how exhausting these jaunts through royal chambers can be!

Lunch was Cynthia’s treat and we chose well: Roast Chicken (a son jus–“in his juice”) with fries for Llew, Confit de Canard (roasted duck breast) with sauteed fingerling potatoes for me and a Croque Monsieur with Salad for Cynthia. I enjoyed my duck very much indeed and did justice to my meal. Although I had no room for dessert, Llew and Cynthia had vanilla softie ice-cream cones before we found the energy to continue our exploration of the extensive lawns.

Le Notre’s Gardens at Versailles:
The Gardens of Versailles are extensive–so extensive that your eye cannot even travel as far as the Grand Bassin. It stops short at the Neptune Fountains (which, irritatingly, were also not playing when we visited). I always feel shortchanged when museums or gardens charge you full price and close off part of the premises–it is simply unfair not to reduce the entry fee if you are not going to allow visitors to get full value for their money. Anyway, now that I have finished ranting, I will say that the fountains without water jets might as well not have been there–they did nothing to enhance my pleasure in the gardens.

In Marie-Antoinette’s Domain:
We did make a sharp right turn at this point to go on to the Grand Trianon, the estate of Marie-Antoinette and for the next hour, we explored a much smaller palace which, for the most part, was occupied by the ladies. The concept seemed to me similar to the Moghul zenana or the Turkish harem–for it was a place in which the ladies could seek their entertainment and pleasure far from the prying eyes of the outside world. More gorgeous interior design and decoration is in evidence here–albeit with a feminine touch–giving full indication of 18th century tastes in finery. Here too the gardens that surround the properties were beautifully planned and planted, the colors of the flowers coordinating perfectly to allow wonderful photo ops: reds and violets and whites. It is impossible to describe it all, but I will say that the Malachite Room was my favorite in this section–it is one in which the gigantic blocks of green stone known as malachite that were gifted to the French monarchs by the Russian Tsar, were carved into table tops, a wash basin and compotes. The effect is truly stunning because it is so rare a material. As the 16th century made way for the 17th and 18th, other notorious royal mistresses were ensconced in this space–such as Madame de Pompadour and Madame du Barry, both ‘favorites’ of Louis XV!

The Petite Trianon is a smaller castle that became M-A’s favorite and one in which she spent a great deal of time. As time went by, she turned it into an entertainment area where she could pretend she was just a simple shepherdess and play bucolic games in the grounds with her ladies-in-waiting! This, I suppose would allow her to imagine how the other unfortunate three-quarters lived. Sadly, by then, we were wilting with fatigue and simply did not have the stamina to plough through those parts. So we gave up and asked for the way out–it was a walk of over a mile to get back to the metro station and, needless to say, we were drooping.

We spent the rest of the evening very quietly at home recuperating over drinks and then dinner–more home-cooked fare: melon and smoked ham for starters with buttered baguette, cheese-stuffed ravioli in a tomato cream sauce with sausages and bacon with green beans for a main and fresh apricots for desserts with Boursin cheese with figs and walnuts. Yum, yum and more yum!

I was simply too exhausted to stay up writing my blog–which explains why this one is so tardy!

A demain!

Impressed (As Always) By The Impressionists

Jul11

Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
After our tiring day yesterday, we took it easy with a later get-up than usual. After breakfast (packaged pain au chocolate and baguette with preserves and coffee), showers were done and we were ready to leave for Giverny. The weather was not ideal–cloud cover promised an overcast day. Still, we hoped sunshine would poke through at some point.

It was while we were on the metro literally that we changed tracks. It was much too late a start for a trip so far out of the city, I thought. Let’s get to the Musee D’Orsay instead and hope for better weather tomorrow–when Giverny might seem like a rosier prospect. So, we got off one train and hopped on to another and then we were at the serpentine queue outside the Musee.

Musing Through the Musee D’Orsay:
The Musee d’Orsay is, hands down, my very favorite museum in Paris–so I saved the best for last. Our friend Cynthia had never been to it, so it made sense to wait until she arrived in Paris to take her there. But, trouble is, it seems to be everyone’s favorite museum! The line had to be seen to be believed. Never have I ever seen this sort of crowd attempting to get into a museum containing art works–not at the Louvre or the National Gallery in London or the Met in NY. It was a sight for sore eyes! How wonderful to know that people could mob a museum in the same way as they would a Bruce Springsteen concert!

One of the reasons I love the museum so much (apart from its Impressionist collection, of course) is the venue: The Gare d’Orsay that once ran tracks to Nantes and Toulouse and Auvers out of Paris was converted into a space to house the national collection of Impressionist paintings. I had first visited the collection almost thirty years ago, as a backpacking graduate student in Europe, at a time when the space was brand-new and all of Paris was buzzing about the movement of the Impressionists from the Musee de Jeu de Paume on the Place de la Concorde to this new space. This time, three decades later, all of Paris is buzzing about the recent new renovation that has taken place inside that has re-grouped the paintings so that they are no longer chronological but massed in sections by Collections: the paintings shown at the first Impressionist Salon at the end of the 1800s, for instance, followed by a whole lot that belonged to a personal collection, etc. It is a tad confusing, to my mind, as my historically-oriented brain prefers chronology to make developments in the art world clear. Still, it was a good visit.

While we still were full of beans, we decided to go and see the Masterpieces of High Impressionism first–on the fifth level. The floor was packed and I mean just mobbed. Even on free Sunday, I did not feel so suffocated at the Louvre. This was just insane. Gallery after gallery went on like this. It took away much of the pleasure of our art perusal and I cursed myself for waiting until the last minute of my stay in Paris to review these works. What was I thinking???

Manet’s Dejeuner Sur l’Herbe, the painting that scandalized polite French society at the end of the 1800s when the frank gaze of the nude woman sitting besides her fully-clothed male friends had discomfited Parisians, was our first big stop. From there we were jostled through rooms that held the beautiful Balcon by Manet (I love this work) that features a very lovely young Berthe Morrisot (his sister-in-law) with two other friends. Claude Monet’s Waterlilies, his series on the Cathedral at Rouen (seen at varying times of day under varying levels of natural lighting, thanks to Monet’s obsession with the impact of light on his subjects), Degas’ best known Ballet Dancers, Henri Toulouse-Lautrec’s best-known Can Can Dancers including La Goulule and Jane Avril were all on display together with Henri Fantin-Latour’s monumental painting that shows the group of Impressionist friends in Manet’s atelier watching with rapt attention as their friend unveils his masterpiece. We also saw Cezanne’s early and late works from his Still Life with Apples and Oranges to his Card Players (it was really easy, in his landscapes, to see why he was such a huge influence on Picasso and Braque and why they acknowledge their debt to him in their creation of Cubism). I really love to go to the Orsay to see works by the lesser of the celebrity Impressionists–Alfred Sisley and Camille Pisarro whose soft depictions of snow-covered streets or orchards bursting into spring flower have always appealed to me.

Lunch at Cafe Campagna:
After we had satisfied our artistic hungers, more basic ones compelled us towards thoughts of lunch–so we made our way to the new cafe named the Cafe Campagna after the two Brazilian interior designers, Humberto and Fernando Campagna who have conceived of it. The space is dominated by the huge clock that crowns the exterior pediment of the railway station. From the new cafe, you see the back of it. Extremely futuristic in conception, the cafe is lit by huge bell-like lighting fixtures that hang low above the diners, a wall of shiny navy blue shards of glass pieced together to form a striking backdrop and low mobile ‘walls’ composed of orange wires clumped together. These can be moved around and repositioned wherever one wishes to create an instant partition. The overall effect was simply lovely.

Cafe Campagna offered sit-down service and although the menu wasn’t extensive, it was very good. We ordered Salade Bombay–a truly yummy concoction of greens, roasted raisins, caramelized onions, sweet pieces of mango, slices of chicken breast and a really great dressing that was heavily spiced with curry powder. I absolutely will re-concoct this at home. We also ordered a Croque Monsieur. France’s humble toasted cheese sandwich was taken to new gourmet heights with the addition of a whole baked goat cheese (chevre) placed on top. As you cut into it, it melted all over and created another flavorful layer on a sandwich that was already bursting with great taste from quality ham and Gruyere cheese. The pasta with pesto sauce and parmesan cheese could have had a bit more sauce added to it–it was a tad too dry. Although the chocolate eclairs doing the rounds were profoundly tempting, as usually happens, we had no room for dessert. Still, the meal was just great (and not just for a museum menu) and very reasonably priced for the excellent sit-down service we had received. I am glad I followed the advice of my NEH colleague Casey who had recommended we eat at the new restaurant.

Back to the Impressionists:
Fortified by our excellent meal, we made our way down to the second level to see the work of the Post-Impressionists, chief among these being Van Gogh and Seurat. And one again, we faced the masses or rather the heads of the masses as they congregated around Van Gogh’s best-known works: His Bedroom at Arles, one version of Starry Night, the Church at Auvers Sur Oise, his portrait of his friend Docteur Gachet. There were Seurat’s Le Cirque in which his Pontillism intentions were very well explained and several works by Signac, Bonnard and Vuillard. (I cannot wait now to revist the best of Van Gogh’s work at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam at the very end of my summer of travel–in late-August, on my way back from India).

The second level is also packed with superb sculptural works by August Rodin and Aristide Maillot (whose hotel particulier I had visited a few weeks ago, now called the Musee Maillot). You zigzag your way through these table-top sculptures as you get in and out of the painting galleries.

On the ground floor, there are several more important twentieth century French works from Manet’s Olympia (inspired by Ingres’ Odalisque) to one of my favorite paintings of all time, Millet’s The Gleaners (a work that was a massive influence on the early Vincent Van Gogh). There are massive canvasses on this level that take the viewer through a maze of art developments to Symbolism. We ended our perusal of the collection with a look at Monet’s Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe which was his answer to Manet’s work. Monet’s is much larger in size and scope, features many more individuals (all fully-clothed) and was cut up by the artist into fragments which were then dispersed all over. It was only rather recently that one part of it was brought back from a museum in Moscow to reunite with a piece that had remained in France. The story of this painting was just as interesting as the subject and the people featured in it. It really did make a fitting end to what had been a really fruitful and fulfilling if deeply fatiguing day for us.

Although we had taken several ‘rests’ through our wanderings in the museum, we were dead on the bus that we boarded from right opposite the museum to take us home.

Last-Minute Shopping:
We got off at Porte d’Orleans to do some last-minute shopping for items I wish to take to India–port wine for my Dad, Pringles for my little niece and nephew, cheese for me, Amora mustard to send back home to Southport with Llew. We walked slowly home down Boulevard Jourdan to our building and then sank back with steaming tea and chocolate cake.

It was a good time to fill the evening chatting and catching up with our friend Cynthia. We had so much to talk about that time simply flew. Soon it grew darker outside the window–time for dinner. I put together the last bits and bobs from the fridge together to create a meal: Melon with Smoked Ham for a starter with Pain Aux Noix from Poilane and Bordier Butter, Ravioli with Bacon and Sausages in a Tomato Cream Sauce, Fresh Sliced Strawberries and Cream for dessert.

We hope to get an earlier start tomorrow and better weather for a possible trip to Giverny to see the gardens and the house that inspired and gave birth to Monet’s best-known works.

A demain!

On the Seine with Cynthia

Jul10

Monday, July 9, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
Today, our friend Cynthia arrived from London on the Eurostar (Chunnel) train from St. Pancras station. Llew and I took the metro to Gare du Nord to meet her at 10. 57 am. It arrived on the dot. Cynthia was in Wagon No. 1 which was at the ultimate end of the platform and so, was one of the last passengers to emerge. It is simply terrific to see her again–we last met in Connecticut in May on one of her visits to the US.

Back home on the metro, we stashed Cynthia’s light bag, had a bite–a smorgasbord of all the items in our fridge that we need to finish up as the end of our tryst with Paris draws near. There was cheese and fruit and nuts and Eric Kayser’s pain aux noix. Oh, and lots of Laduree tea because Cynthia, to whom I introduced the Melange de Maison, has become a huge fan.

Then, off we went. We took the metro and here is what we covered. You are warned!!! You might become fatigued simply reading this list (so imagine what it was like for poor Cynthia who was subjected to the Third Degree Cold Turkey!!!)

1. Metro to St. Michel to get to Ile de la Cite.
2. Visit to Shakespeare and Co Book store (We left Llew there to browse as Cynthia and I set off to discover the Cathedral of Notre Dame).
3. Serpentine line at the Parvis de Notre-Dame. So we strolled off to see Saint Chappelle instead.
4. Longer queue at Saint Chapelle–plus Cynthia had visited it and had vivid memories of it. Llew and I had visited only three years ago–so no need for us to return, we thought.
5. Stroll to the Conciergerie to see where Marie-Antoinette spent her last wretched days. (Please note that everywhere poor Cynthia was subjected to short history lectures).
6. Stroll across the Pont St. Michel for some photo ops.
7. Stop at Fontain St. Michel to take pictures for Cynthia’s friend who has an apartment close by.
8. Walk through the Latin Quarter to see Little Athens.
9. Visit to the Church of Sainte-Severin.
10. Unexpected Treat: A high school choir from Iowa was giving a concert inside. We listened to a few songs and then left. Cynthia loved the ancient Gothic church.
11. Browsed through another bookstore–The Abbey Book Store run by a Quebecois from Canada.Later, we introduced Llew to it.
12. Back to pick Llew up from Shakespeare and Co at 3. 45 pm (Yes, we covered all this in about 45 minutes and on our feet!). Then, back to the Abbey Book Store.
13. Stroll together through the Parvis of Notre-Dame to the Garden at the back for a sit-down.
14. Visit to the Memorial de la Deportation (which marks France’s deportation of Jews in 1944).
15. Stroll along the Pont de L’Archeveche to see the locks that line both sides.
16. On foot across the bridge that connects the Ile de la Cite with the Isle de St. Louis.
17. Walk along Rue de St. Louis to get to Berthillon for ice-cream.
18. Ice-cream Break!!! Cynthia and Llew had Chocolat Noir. I had Pistachio. Both delicious!
19. Down the steps to the quais of the Seine to enjoy our ice-cream while waving to the bateau-mouches.
20. Up the stairs again and down the metro stairwell at Pont Marie to get to Concorde.
21. Walk down the Rue Royale to get to Laduree’s Salon de The. (It was then 5. 15 pm).
22. Lovely long tea at Laduree. We had steaming individual pots of tea (I tried their Darjeeling–very good!) and pastries: we had Raspberry-Rose Eclairs, Chocolate Squares and Vanilla Macarons. Cynthia’s treat–and it was terrific.
23. Out of Laduree and into the Church of St. Marie de la Madeleine, Napoleon’s Church built for the glory of his army. Fabulous classic Greek exterior in imitation of the Acropolis.
24. Another unexpected treat in store: A high school choir was soon to sing at the altar (it was almost 7.00 pm). Turned out to be the choir of the Cathedral School of Peterborough, UK.
25. Just when I told Cynthia that Michael, her husband, might know someone in the school, Cynthia recognized someone who was darting past. He turned out to be their friend Gordon! Quel coincidence!!! They exchanged greetings and Cynthia introduced him to us.
26. We waited to listen to a few songs and then left after lighting a candle at the altar.
27. Walked along Boulevard St. Madeleine to the Opera Garnier to show Cynthia one of Paris’ most beautiful buildings.
28. We circumnavigated the building to see Charles Garnier’s ingenious design.
29. Across the street, we went to the see the impressive interior of Galleries Lafayette, especially the dome.
30. Inside, Cynthia found a perfume she can only very rarely get in the UK: Eau de Givenchy. She bought a bottle just as the huge department store downed its shutters for the day and threw us out!
31. We left the store to look for a metro station to get home. It was 8.00 pm.
32. But, en route, we got sidetracked as we stepped into a Monoprix to do some food shopping.
33. Unbelievably, we walked into our apartment at 9. 30 pm simply unable to account for the last one and a half hour!

So that was our day!!! No, Cynthia swears she is not foot sore, but maybe she is simply being polite.

We had dinner together at home: Green Salad with Balsamic Vinaigrette with lovely huge striped tomatoes; Quiche Lorraine with Haricots Vert, Chocolate Cake (specially sent by Michael from London for my birthday–so I finally did have a birthday cake, after all!) which we enjoyed with cream and choco-caramel ice-cream.

Great end to a great day! Lovely to have our friend with us and we are looking forward to enjoying the next few days with her.

A demain!

A Birthday on the Seine by the Effiel Tower

Jul9

Sunday, July 8, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
I had stayed up till 12. 15 at night blogging, so I really did see my birthday dawn while the rest of our household snored: Llew and our French friends from Normandy, Jacques and Florence. They continued to snooze through a sun-filled morning but, eventually, we all dragged ourselves out of bed to eat petit dejeuner. I made scrambled eggs with bacon and we ate it in our dinette in our eat-in kitchen with a variety of French bread (baguettes, brioche, pain du chocolate) and coffee.

Unable to decide exactly how we should spend the morning, Florence the architect, wished to see the Fondation Le Corbusier. Unfortunately, we discovered that it was closed on Sundays. Instead, she recommended the Musee des Arts Premier, known locally and better as the Musee de Quai Branly. Since this place happened to be located right by the Eiffel Tower, it made sense for us to take a walk around the iconic monument, the Palais de Chaillot and the Trocadero gardens.

Memorials to Jews at Bir-Hakeim:
But first, since we got off the metro at Bir-Hakeim, I wanted to find out a bit about the history of the place in Northern Africa for which the metro station is named. It is the site of a pivotal victory for the French in World War II and there is a small exhibition at the station to inform the passer-by of this important juncture in war history.

However, my aim was to stride down the Rue de Grenelles to try and find the monument to the French Jews who were rounded up and penned inside what was known as the Velodrome d’Hiver (Vel d’Hiv for short), a former stadium which no longer stands. The venue served as the first collection point for Jews who, in 1944, were deported to Auschwitz, many never to return. Although the French authorities state that the razing of the stadium had nothing to do with its notorious Nazi past, I find that hard to believe. The conditions under which they were held and the suffering their underwent during the five days of itnernment before they were sent off to Drancy and then to Auchwitz is superbly delineated by Tatiana Rosnay in her novel Sarah’s Key (which is also a movie starring Kristin Scott-Thomas).

We found the monument to the Jews just a few feet away on the Boulevard. It consists of a plaque that details the unfortunate collaboration of the Vichy-France government of General Petain with Hitler. There were a few steps leading up to the plaque, small flower beds on both sides and a wreath to mark the spot where so many Jews were holed up. It was, like most such memorials, a very moving sight and after taking a few pictures, we moved on.

Gazing up at Eiffel’s Tower:
Hard to believe that we had left Paris’ most popular tourist attraction for our last few days–and for very good reasons. We’ve been there before (several times–Llew has even taken the elevators up although I have never done so). The wait on line was two hours as there was only one elevator in operation. So it was not a priority. Besides, we have been passing by it several times in the metro trains–so have ‘seen’ it often.

Eiffel’s Tower is one of the world’s buildings that no matter how often one has seen it, there is another detail to be noted for the first time. For instance, I had not realized that just above the arch that supports the entire structure is engraved the names of France’s most distinguished engineers. Florence pointed out a few interesting structural details to us and it was great to have her studied eye accompany us on our perusal of Paris’ best-designed buildings.

We had a blast as we attempted to get pictures of ourselves and the entire length of Eiffel’s great work: Jacques actually lay down flat on the pavement. A little while later, Llew followed suit and while he was still on the ground, was requested by another couple of tourists to take their picture. “Five Euros”, he said, with a perfectly serious face, much to their confusion! After a great deal of hilarious laughter in which we actually did stop traffic (an open top tour bus stopped right next to the spectacle to entertain the passengers inside), we moved on.

The Musee de Quai Branly:
Thanks to Florence, I became introduced today to the work of France’s most innovative contemporary architect Jean Nouvel at the Musee de Quai Branly. We walked alongside the Eiffel Tower to arrive, first of all, at his Jardin Suspendu (“Hanging Gardens”)–a veritable glory of potted plants (I recognized coral bells, ivy and even hosta!) that made up one entire wall of a six story building! It was simply unbelievable! We actually looked for the irrigation mechanism that keeps the wall watered and it was practically invisible although we could feel the shower of drops that kept the environment moist!

It was then that Florence told us about Jean Nouvel’s aesthetic: he attempts to shut off urban noise to introduce the sounds of nature–such as running water and birdsong. In the case of this building, he achieved it by creating a tall thick wall of glass. Incredibly, just as we walked past it, we shut off the traffic that zipped by the Eiffel Tower behind us and might as well have been entering a rain forest. I repeat–it was incredible!

Past the most glorious perennial gardens we went–oakleaf hydrangea hangs out in great big blossoms. There were many varieties of ferns and grass. Clearly Nouvel believes in the artful combination of nature and urbanity and he has done a brilliant job on this building with its colorful cubes jutting out of a plain surface, its dome-like structure at the very top and its Guggenheim Museum-like spiral main building that you climb in gradual stages to arrive at the main floor. The collection itself is color-coded, each hue representing a very different part of the world and its culture–from Asia, Africa, Oceania and the Americas. This is essentially the kind of art Llew finds attractive. It is not really my cup of tea as my taste is far more classic. Still, I got my kicks learning about Jean Nouvel and discovering, to my surprise, that I have actually been to quite a few of his international creations (and did not know that he was the architectural vision behind them): the Opera House in Lyon, for example, that I love; the Tower Agarba in Barcelona, Spain, and although I did not know it, the new Louvre in, of all places, Abu Dhabi. Overall, this was a brilliant introduction to the work of another ‘artist’ that I have discovered in Paris.

On to the Palais de Chaillot and Trocadero:
We walked briskly then past the Trocadero Gardens to the viewing platform overlooking the Eiffel Tower known as the Palais de Chaillot to get some good pictures of the tower as a group. The sun had its cap in again which meant that we got pictures without shadows–a good thing for photography, but not otherwise. However, we did not stay too long as our friends needed to get back to the train station for their evening train back to Normandy. We reached home in record time.

Late Lunch Chez Nous:
Our quick arrival home gave us the chance to put together a late-lunch for our friends before they boarded their train back home. I rustled up my orange mayonnaise and served it with a green salad with ripe figs, cherry tomatoes and salted almonds–deelish! This was followed by a store-bought goat cheese quiche and caramel ice-cream for dessert. We said hasty Au Revoirs, made promises to meet again soon and then they were off!

Finals Afternoon at Wimbledon:
By this time, the men’s final match was well and truly underway at Wimbledon. Poor Llew was very disappointed as he could not get the match on our TV set–we do not have premium cable channels in our apartment. However, we did view it on BBC’s Live Sports feed. After a bit of blogging, I jumped into the shower to get ready for our evening’s appointment with our hosts, Joyce and Lester.

Dinner at Bouillon Chartier:
Bouillon Chartier does not take reservations. We were told to queue up outside and await our turn! It is a huge place–a sort of canteen–that once used to cater to workmen but is now a renowned restaurant. I read about it in Lunch in Paris: A Love Story with Recipes by Elizabeth Bard and had decided to try it out. My NEH colleagues had also said how much they enjoyed eating there. They had described it as “a fun place”–so it seemed like a good choice.

We decided to meet at 7. 30 but our friends only turned up at 8. 15 as they wanted to watch the end of the tennis match! We watched heaps of people go in before us as we grew more tired and hungry waiting on line. Just when we decided to go inside without them, we spied Joyce who told us how impossible it was to find parking. Anyway, at about 8. 30, we were seated in a bustling interior with a lot of 19th century atmosphere. The black-clad waiters, wearing the knee-length white aprons moved around as if on roller-skates. Menus were literally tossed at us–long white flyers that are probably printed each day. We made our selection from the limited items and then our meal began. A bottle of red wine was ordered for the table and it stimulated our appetite for what lay ahead.

Alas, the meal was not all it was cracked up to be. I enjoyed my entree–a celery remoulade, made with celeriac which is rather rarely found in the States. Llew chose the fois gras served with a strewed prune and a toast point. Since we shared, I have to say that the appetisers were probably the best part of our meal. For a plat, I chose the steak with pepper sauce and fries, Llew chose lamb chops with fries, Joyce got the duck confit and Lester ordered the entrecote. While my steak was great (the sauce was particularly flavorful), Llew’s chops were a huge disappointment: they were full of fat leaving almost no meat to be eaten and exceptionally dry. For dessert, having found Peach Melba on the menu and out of nostalgia for the ones he had eaten in Quetta and Murrie in Pakistan, Llew chose it. It was nothing other than a canned peach half with a dollop of vanilla ice-cream!There was almost no raspberry sauce (an essential component to a Peach Melba) in sight. Massive disappointment for him. I ordered the Profiterole, a dessert I love. I have to say that it was just okay. The choux bun was sizeable and it was filled with vanilla ice-cream and smothered with chocolate sauce but it wasn’t very tasty. Overall, I’d say we had an especially uneven meal in terms of taste and quality.

Coffee Chez Nous:
Our friends were kind enough to offer us a ride home and we insisted they come upstairs for a night cap. About a half hour later, after driving through Paris by night, we arrived at our place and sat down with lovely cups of Laduree tea. But since it was close to midnight, Joyce and Lester did not stay long. It was a nice end to an evening in which the company was far better than the food. What the outing proved for rme is that you can actually get a not-so-great meal in Paris.

At close to midnight, I continued blogging while Llew fell asleep. I had been especially pleased to talk to my family members in Bombay and the sound of their voices truly made my birthday special. To those of you who are reading this blog and did send birthday wishes my way, a million thanks. I hope you also whispered a wee prayer on my behalf. You are special people and you make my life rich and meaningful. Thank-you.

A demain!

Rochelle's Roost

Welcome to Holly Berry House!

Meeting Friends–Old and New–Mercers Hall and More Theater

The Suburb of Chiswick and its Historic Houses

Drive to Surrey, Shopping, Dinner, Theater

St. James’ Chapel, Bohemian Walk, Spencer House, etc.

Yesss! March 2013. Varied First Day in London Again!

Last Whole Day in Paris–How it Flew!

Versailles! Piece de Resistance of our Rambles

Impressed (As Always) By The Impressionists

On the Seine with Cynthia

A Birthday on the Seine by the Effiel Tower