Tag Archive | Paris

Rambles in the Haute Savoie with Old Friends

Thursday, May 21. 2009
Rumilly, Annecy and St. Felix in the Haute Savoie

Thursday dawned on what was Ascension Day—a long weekend in Catholic France. With the kids and Genevieve at home, it was the perfect day for us to go on a long drive to the Haute Savoie region which sits at the base of the French Alps. It was here that Genevieve was born and raised in a small village called Rumilly and it was here that I had spent several weeks one summer, about 23 years ago with her lovely family members. Though her dad Raymond passed away about 12 years ago, her lovely mum Lisette still lives in the village and it was her with whom I have often corresponded through the years that Genevieve was too busy raising her family.

On the Road to Rumilly:
Genevieve and I chatted non-stop all the way to Rumilly as she drove. There was so much with which we had to catch up—she wanted to know all about my family members, my past Indian students some of whom she remembered well from our tours of North India and my neighbors in Bandra, Bombay. I wanted to know about her family members and the many friends to whom she had introduced me when I had traveled with her in France (both in the Haute Savoie and then in Paris and Lyon). Before we knew it, we were in the lovely green clad foothills of the Alps passing by the picturesque villages that dot the landscape all the way across the border into neighboring Switzerland. Indeed, this drive took my mind back to so many years ago when Genevieve had driven me through so many parts of France from the south where we had visited her cousins in Provence and then the South of France where in the chic cities of Nice and Cannes and St. Tropez, I had spent time with her sister Chantal.

When we did arrive in Rumilly on Rue du Stade, I received a lovely warm welcome from her mother Lisette. No doubt the years have taken their toll on her. The bustling busy person I remembered has been replaced by a frail and rather slow woman whose voice has changed very much but who exuded the same hospitality and generosity of spirit that I remembered so well. Both of us hugged warmly, delighted to be seeing each other again.

I am most impressed by Lisette’s computer skills, the fact that she regularly visits my website, reads this blog daily in its French translation and is the one who gives Genevieve my annual family news that she receives through my annual holiday newsletter! She very proudly took me into her office to show me the space she has set up for herself with her computer and her printer. It is here, at the age of 80 plus that she communicates with her grand child in far away Ireland. How marvelous it was to share this aspect of her life with her!

We moved then into the kitchen for an aperitif, a rosé wine, as Lisette got ready for lunch. It was her immense generosity that had led her to invite me to lunch at a nearby restaurant and them to include her children (the ones who could make it), so that they could meet me. She had made reservations in the village of St. Felix at a lovely wayside place called Le Pot au Feu and it was there that I met the other Tougnes—Henri (Genevieve’s brother) and his daughter Julie, Brigitte (Genevieve’s sister) and her husband Jean-Claude.

We were a merry party indeed as we settled ourselves down to a marvelous typically French meal that included deep fried frog legs served in a lemon and parsley sauce (delicious) and a dessert of raspberry tart with a tasty custard center. Red wine flowed as did bread and the conversation was scintillating as we had so much to say to each other. They wanted to know about my assignment in London, the attitude and impressions of Americans towards the French and about my family in India and the US. It was lovely indeed and I was pleased that Lisette was able to join us fully in the happy conversation. When we had spent several hours eating and drinking at one of those French meals that always seem to go on forever, we finally stood up to leave.

On to Annecy:
Genevieve and I said our goodbyes to the rest of the company as we were headed to the beautiful Alpine town of Annecy where Lisette had taken me so many years ago by train from Rumilly and which I remembered with deep affection. It was great to be able to visit this place again and I was pleased that it was only a fifteen-minute ride away. Genevieve found parking easily and we walked a few meters on to the Old Town where the atmosphere has been well preserved to reflect the quaintness of an earlier era.

We spent a lovely two hours together in this beautiful town. Genevieve had not been to Annecy in a very long time while I remembered so many parts of it—from its island prison, its lake (le Lac d’Annecy), its Bridge of Lovers (Pont des Amants) and the medieval quality of its wrought-iron bridges as well as its hill-top fortress.

What I did not remember were the crowds for the long Bank Holiday weekend had attracted hordes of tourists and holidaymakers all of whom brought a lively energy to the place. In fact, Lake Annecy was full of boats and paddle craft and in the warm sunshine of a summer-like afternoon, so many folks had taken to the water. But like all such resorts, whether seaside or mountainside, Annecy is expensive and a small piece of handmade soap weighing no more than 100 grams cost almost 10 euros as I discovered to my great surprise!

Back to Rumilly:
On our way back to her mother’s place, Genevieve gave me a driving tour of Rumilly, the little village I remembered so well. Not much seems to have changed in this little sleepy place and on this holiday weekend, it appeared particularly deserted. Both Genevieve’s mother and brother live here and with her sister not too far, you can say that the family has stayed very close to its roots. I did recall its church, its lively market square with its weekly market from which Genevieve’s mother had once purchased strawberries (the first ones I had ever tasted) and some wonderful goat cheese and it was these memories that stayed with me as we drove around.

We were soon back at Genevieve’s mother’s place where we were able to say our final goodbyes. I do not know when I will see Lisette Tougne again and I was grateful that it was through her diligent correspondence with me that I have been able to stay in touch with Genevieve for so many years of our lives.

We took many pictures in Lisette’s lovely garden with its lavender irises and its blood red roses that climbed on a trellis all along one side of the house. Behind, in the back garden, Lisette has created a small hen coup where two beautiful hens were strutting around. They provide the eggs she eats as well as fruitful occupation through which she passes her days.

Dinner at Flunch:
The Ducote boys and Frederic eagerly awaited our arrival for we returned to St. Didier far later than we had expected. It had been decided that we would go out to dinner (much to the delight of the boys who love to eat out) and the Ducotes chose a self-service place called Flunch—a chain that is usually found near large supermarkets.

Driving past St. Didier, I was able to see its center square that surrounds its pretty church—it is always the church that creates the meeting point for folks in European villages in France as well as Italy. At Flunch, where we arrived just a few minutes later, we chose a variety of foods from salads to cold cuts to entrees, grilled foods (no marks for guessing that the boys went for hamburgers as they seem to be deeply enamored with American food–the grass is always greener on the other side, isn’t it?) and a number of desserts. Since both Genevieve and I were still full with the lunch we had eaten, we chose a selection of salads and vegetables, all of which were very tasty indeed.

Once again, I did not go off to sleep for a very long while. But I stopped letting it bother me, focusing instead of the marvelous opportunity I had been presented to spend a day with my old French friends with whom I go back so many years and to savor the experience of having spent such wonderful quality time with them. I know it will provide me with memories that I will carry with me into the next twenty-odd years.

Lyon At Leisure

May23

Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Lyon, France

On Wednesday morning, I woke up feeling sleep-deprived. My body clock wakes me up by 7 am, no matter how much or how little sleep it has awarded me. Still, I felt confident about finding my way into the city independently and after a shower in their beautiful old-fashioned bathroom up on the third floor of the chateau-like Ducote home, I descended to the stillness of the kitchen in search of breakfast. Genevieve and sons had started their day long before me; Frederic was out by the pool working on the landscaping. I found myself a bit of baguette and with Frederic making a magical appearance to fix my café au lait, I was all set to start my adventures for the day.

On the Metro to Lyon:
I went out in search of a completely different part of Lyon today taking the metro to Saxe-Gambetta to look for the French couturiers who apparently sell their wares for a fraction of the prices in the big stores on this shop-lined street. I could not have been more disappointed. There was absolutely nothing to be found and using the same metro ticket (that is valid for one hour in the same direction), I took a bus to the northern part of the city called Croix-Rousse where the canuts (silk-weavers) once used to live in a labyrinth of narrow streets that today house a multitude of small shops and street markets that sell fresh produce and artisinal cheeses. Though I was pleased to be in the midst of a completely ignored part of the city, a particular store I sought called Braderie de Chariot d’Or (on Rue du Chariot d’Or) turned out to be another damp squib and with little choice, I took the metro once again to arrive at the Hotel de Ville stop so that I could explore the Musee de Beaux-Arts.

The Musee de Beaux-Arts:
Perhaps the best part of Lyon’s Musee de Beaux-Arts is its spectacular building. Once a monastery, it has been reconfigured to display a collection of wonderful paintings that are considered to be among the best outside of Paris. However, to anyone who has visited and knows the work of such marvelous places as the Louvre in Paris, the National Gallery in London or the Metropolitan Museum in New York, the really stunning part of this museum is its building. In fact, the best part of the building is a long room called the Refectory where the monks once used to dine. This has been recently restored and the end result is a receptacle of astounding bas relief sculptures in Plaster of Paris that are so detailed and so deep as to be almost three-dimensional. They portray the lives of a number of saints and do so with such lavish detail in a purely Renaissance style that they stun the viewer.

I was rather hungry by this point and decided to find sustenance, first and foremost, in the very cool interior of the museum’s restaurant. There I ordered the Chef’s Tea Time Special which was a combination of four tiny desserts and a drink of my choice—I chose a tall glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice as the day had been warm and I had started to feel parched. The desserts were fresh fruit served with Chantilly cream, a cinnamon mousse, a sweet yogurt served with a raspberry coulis and a tiny rum baba—all of which were perfect little morsels that made me feel very sophisticated and very French indeed as I sat and nibbled at them.

They also provided the pep-up I badly needed after my rather disappointing morning, so it was with renewed enthusiasm that I went in search of the Highlights of the museum’s collection, very helpfully detailed on its map. The ground floor housed a number of marble and bronze sculptures, many of which were outside in the Sculpture Gardens. Works by August Rodin are the star attractions as is a large painting of the Ascension of Christ by the Italian Perugino. The first floor is notable for its antiquities which include an Egyptian sarcophagus, the Gates of Medamud from the reign of Ptolemy, a fifth century bas relief sculpture from Persia and a Greek female Kouros. The Italian section had some wonderful wooden sculptures from Tuscany while the French section had a Renaissance bust of a 15th century Frenchwoman that was very lovely indeed. Of special note was the Art Nouveau bedroom designed by Hector Guimard for his wife that belongs to the 1909-1912 phase of his work.

The second floor of the museum was notable for paintings by rather well-known names such as Lucius Cranach and Veronese (indeed these works were superb) as well as a number of really great ones by Rubens and Rembrandt. It could easily take a whole day to see the entire collection at leisure and I am pleased to say that most of the galleries were completely empty when I was there (which would have made their contemplation even more pleasurable); but I decided to focus only on the highlights in the leaflet, though I did often stop to inspect a painting and the curator’s note if another one caught my eye.

It was the Modern Art in the extension that was also very interesting such as the works by Picasso and Fernand Leger and a number of really enchanting works by the Impressionists especially Renoir who was very well represented in the museum.

Almost three hours later, I made my way out of the museum and crossed the Pont de Lafayette to arrive in the third section of the city—the most modern part where the roads are wide and lined with beautiful buildings in a warm color palette—ochre and sand and yellow and pink. It was from a metro station in this area that I took the underground back to Gare de Vaise but not before I purchased a cranberry and almond tart. It was also at this time that I realized that the stores were closing up for the long Ascension Day Weekend which is a bank holiday in Catholic France. I made sure then that I bought a magnet and a post card of the city and then hopped into a train that took me to Garde de Vaise from where I caught the bus that took me back to Genevieve’s home.

Another Companionable Evening:
Later that evening, I sat down to dinner with the Ducotes. It was a lovely Rice Salad that Genevieve fixed us with Chicken Cordon Blue (which is one of my favorite French dishes—gruyere cheese and a thin slice of ham sandwiched in a chicken breast that is then shallow fried). These meal times with the family were always great fun and I fully enjoyed interacting with them at the end of the day and telling them about my adventures.

I went to bed, sans coffee, hoping to catch up on my sleep, but I had no such luck. Sleep continued to elude me and again it was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally fell asleep.

Lyon, Here I Come!

May23

Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Lyon, France

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonjour France! Arrival in Lyon

May23

Monday, May 18, 2009
London-Lyon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May17

Sunday, May 17, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

National Trust Houses in Hampstead–and Buying a Vintage Bureau/Desk

May16

Saturday, May 16, 2009
Hampstead, London

When I awoke this morning at 7 am, I thought it would be a weekend day like any other–I did not think I would end the day with a really valuable purchase. Of course, I had heaps of things to deal with, not the least of which was completing my grading and entering my grades into the sheets as I would like to hand them in tomorrow. I brewed myself a cafetiere of good Lavazza coffee and climbed back into bed which has become my favorite place to work in partly because this flat came without a desk of any kind. I had considered buying one in the very beginning when I first moved in here in August, but I always wondered how I would carry it home to the States and the item of furniture just simply never was purchased.

I also booked my tickets to get me to Stanstead airport on Monday for my flight to Lyon and then my return ticket for the trip from Gatwick next Saturday. I ended up buying one ticket on National Express, the other on Easybus as that was most economical!

More morning tasks involved downloading, editing and captioning the 145 pictures I took while Chriselle was here–all of which ate into my time and made me miss her terribly. My flat seemed curiously empty without her lively presence and I know I will always cherish the extraordinary week we spent together.

The sun peeped out, then disappeared, then peeped out again–all morning long. Every time it shone full upon the earth, I considered going outdoors to enjoy it and then the raindrops would fall and I would reconsider!

Finally, at about 1 pm, I finished most of the tasks on my To-Do List and decided to shower and step out. The day seemed too good to waste, so what the heck…there were a few walks left in my book that I wished to complete. My idea was to get to Hampstead Heath to see the properties run by the National Trust as I do have an annual Royal Oaks Foundation Membership (the American equivalent). But God, what a time I had getting there! There was some march on; so no buses were running along High Holborn. I walked to Holborn only to find that there were no buses plying along Kingsway either. I had no choice but to take the Tube–I had preferred not to as I have a bus pass and it is, by far, the most economical way to travel around London. Well, I reached Bond Street and was all set to transfer to the Jubilee line when I heard announcements stating that the Jubilee Line was not in service this weekend. Darn! Well, then I started to think of the most creative ways to get there, and long story short, I reached Hampstead Heath at 3. 15 pm after making at least 3 bus changes!

Heavenly Hampstead:
Deciding not to waste any more time, I headed straight for Fenton House which is run by the National Trust. It is reached by a very easy uphill climb from Hampstead Tube Station. By the afternoon, the weather which seemed not to be able to make up its mind had cleared completely and the sun shone beautifully upon one of the prettiest parts of London. I do not know any other capital city (well, maybe Paris) where you need travel no more than ten miles to find yourself in the midst of bucolic rustic lanes and carefully cultivated gardens–so that the urban landscape seems far away in the distance.

Hampstead hasn’t changed at all since the 1700s when it first attracted the elite, thanks mainly to its views. During the Victorian Age, the grand red brick buildings proliferated, bringing a stately elegance to the maze of narrow cobbled streets that fringe the vast expanses of the Heath–an open park-like space that offers arresting views of the city including, far away in the hazy blue yonder, the outlines of the London Eye.

Fenton House and Garden:
Fenton House is a 17the century brick home with classic lines set in a stunning formal garden.
I left my rather heavy bag at the door and began my exploration through one of the most heartwarming properties of the National Trust that I have seen so far. The house has a complicated history but it derives its name from James Fenton who owned it in the late 1700s. His portrait hangs at the entrance as if sizing up every visitor–and I heard from one of the guides that there are 15,000 per year that come through that impressive porch. They have been doing so since 1952 when the Trust took over the House–which has resulted in frequent changes of the carpeting!

The home is very tastefully furnished in the style of the 18th century. Minimalism is the order of the day and despite the fact that the house is a receptacle for some of the most beautiful collections I have seen in recent times–mainly keyboard instruments and porcelain–they are so skillfully corralled in a variety of vitrines, wall units and cabinets that there is not the slightest sense of ‘clutter’ to mar the visitor’s enjoyment of the domestic space. I have learned a great deal from these visits to old English country homes and I am determined now to take some of these lessons in interior decoration home with me to Southport, Connecticut, and to incorporate them into my own domestic decor. I have always loved the English country style, of course, and our Southport home is decorated very much in that vernacular…but I feel I have miles to go.

Here, dark furniture, large occasional porcelain pieces and china accessories, oil paintings and subtle watercolors lend their charm to the rooms. John Fowler (of the English interior decorating firm of Colefax and Fowler) is responsible for the decoration of one of the rooms–his signature yellow is evident on the walls as are the floral drapes and sofa upholstery. There is also a John Fowler wallpaper design that climbs the main stairwell that goes by the name of Prickly Pear! Now, how very English is that!!!

Of course, for a lover of porcelain like myself, there can be no more breathtaking space than a home that includes the work of every prominent European factory including Chelsea and Meissen. There were human figurines, animals, cottages, tableaux–each of which told a story–birds, flowers, fruit. You name it, George Salting collected it, then bequeathed his collection to his niece, Lady Katherine Binning, who added to the collection. The end result is a marvelous treasure trove of painted and fired delights that stirred my imagination and thrilled me no end. The depth of color and the quality of the glazes were superior and proclaimed their price–and at the lower end were the Staffordshire animals that were once mass produced and given away as prizes at country fairs then used to garnish the mantelpieces of humble rustic cottages. These too found a way into Lady Binnings’ heart and were accumulated with pleasure.

For the musician and historian, the gaggle of keyboard and stringed instruments would be equally enthralling for there was a spinet, a virginal, a harpsichord, a lute, a hurdy-gurdy and other old world pieces that are valuable not merely for their historic significance but for the decorative touches that distinguish them.

The rooms are superbly laid out and seem almost lived-in–yes, that’s what I most loved about this house. I did not feel as if I was in a museum but in a real home that had once been inhabited and loved by real people. Everything about this house is worthy of a visit–indeed a second visit and perhaps I might return as I do love Hampstead dearly and I fall in love with it a little more each time I visit. I have the happiest memories of solitary walks taken along its serene streets and of sitting on benches on Parliament Hill as lights fell softly over the city at dusk.

After I had explored the three lovely floors of Fenton House, I stepped out into the garden that includes a beautiful apple orchard, rows of gently waving catmint in full blue bloom and, in the heart of summer, fragrant lavender bushes. There are neat topiaries shaped into curvaceous orbs and fanciful pyramids…and benches everywhere, coaxing the visitor to sit awhile and take in the quiet splendour of these surroundings. I was completely enchanted and it was with difficulty that I tore myself away to go on and explore the second property that is close at hand and also owned by the National Trust.

The Goldfingers’ Domain–Modernism at 2 Willow Road:
But much as I wanted to linger, I did want to get to 2 Willow Road, another National Trust property that is located just a ten minute walk from Fenton House. It pays to remember that though the closing time at these homes is listed as 5 pm, last entry is 4. 30–so I had to tear off in a massive hurry to make the deadline!

I knew nothing about these homes before I set foot in them, which is what made my rambles in them even more adventurous. Willow Road could not have been more different from Fenton House. This is an example of a Modernist home–one that went on to influence a great deal of the homes that were subsequently built in London. Owned by Budapest-born architect Erno Goldfinger who made London his home following his marriage to artist Ursula Blackwell (an heiress of the famous Crosse and Blackwell English pickle company). They had met in Paris early in the 20th century, fallen madly in love, and spent the next fifty odd years together in this interesting home overlooking the Heath. And yes, Ian Fleming (who was known to Erno) did name one of his James Bond novels after this extraordinary man.

Of course, for a traditionalist such as myself, this home was fascinating only in the most academic sense as I simply do not identify with this aesthetic. It is basically a glass and concrete block with little exterior embellishment to catch the eye. Indeed, it sits rather incongruously in a block of pretty homes and appeared from the outside like a primary school building.

However, it was interesting to learn (through a film) about the vision and life of this couple who shared artistic inclinations and created a synergistic relationship that was manifested in the company they kept in Hampstead among other artists and writers and in the unique home they created together.

Here too, three storeys take the visitor on an engaging journey into the heart of a marriage. The Goldfingers raised three lovely children in this home and garden–they are interviewed in the film and they speak candidly of their lives as children with their visionary parents for company. The house is also filled with contemporary paintings as Ursula had trained in Paris and knew a few of the artists who became big names as the century marched on–such as Max Ernst and Frank Leger. There are Henry Moores in the house as Moore was a good friend of the couple as were Barbara Hepworth and Ben Nicholson who also started their careers in Hampstead before they moved to St. Ives in Cornwall. Much as I took in everything I saw, I found it difficult to connect with the space–though I have to say that having lived for almost a year in this small, minimalist London flat with its stark white walls and Ikea style furniture, I do see the virtue in living with little. Even Chriselle who lives in a crowded one-bedroom apartment commented on how serene my flat made her feel mentally. Yes, there is a great deal to be said about fighting the urge to accumulate–a virtue that my sister-in-law Lalita has mastered. There is certainly much of my Connecticut clutter that will disappear when I get back home at the end of the summer. When I am not writing, perhaps I shall spend the coming fall de-cluttering!

‘Mystery in Hampstead’ Walk:
After 5 pm when the house closed, I turned to the ‘Mystery in Hampstead’ Walk in my book 24 Great Walks in London and followed it through some of the most delightful lanes such as Flask Walk and Downshire Hill, all of which skirted the Heath. I passed by a home that was once lived in by John Constable who, when he left his beloved Stour Valley in Suffolk behind to earn a livelihood as a portraitist in London, made his home in Hampstead.

Everywhere I walked, the air was fragrant with the scents of a million wisteria petals that hung in copious bunches from grey vines. Rhododendrons are beginning to bloom in a variety of hot, torrid shades from magenta to purple. The lavish fronds of the chestnut plumes are beginning to fade away but I have had my fill of them over the past several weeks and am ready now for the coming attractions of summer–such as deep red roses that I have started to see climbing stone walls and waving at me from gate posts. I cannot wait for the full-blown flowers of the summer.

I passed the homes of more rich and famous people who over the centuries have added to the varied landscape of Hampstead’s intellectual life from Daphne du Maurier’s theater manager father Gerald to John Galsworthy to Admiral Barton who, on the roof of his three storyed home, built a quarter master’s deck and fired a canon to celebrate royal birthdays–an occurrence that led author P. L.Travers to base Admiral Boom’s home in Mary Poppins on this fanciful property.
Of course, Hampstead is synonymous with the name of my favorite poet John Keats but since I have visited his home before–the one in which he composed my favorite poem of all time (Ode to a Nightingale) and fell in love with his next-door neighbor, the lovely Fanny Brawne, to whom he became engaged but could not marry as tuberculosis claimed him prematurely in Rome. Through all these quiet country lanes, as you pass by the grave-filled yard of a stone church or peek into the flower-filled front garden of a rectory, you will fancy yourself a Victorian or Edwardian maiden who picks up her parasol and lifts her skirts gingerly as she traverses the pathways of her home turf. It is only when you venture a little outside London and explore these country lanes that you realize why walking was such a favored activity in the old days. It is my great love for walking (among a host of other things–not the least of which is my fondness for keeping a diary!) that convinces me that in a past life I must have lived in England at the turn of the 20th century!

Spying a Vintage Desk in Flask Walk:
Then, just when I was homeward bound, at the end of the long walk, I happened upon a narrow cobbled lane and decided on impulse to explore it–Flask Walk is peculiarly named but is quite charming indeed. It was then that I spied it–the most beautiful oak bureau-desk with a pull-down lid, a warren of cubby-holes within and three narrow drawers in the base. I stopped dead in my tracks thinking, “This is exactly the kind of desk I have been looking for all year long!” Just as my mind was racing ahead wondering how I could possibly transport it home, I noticed that the dealer, a brusque woman named Jackie who was smoking like a chimney, was packing up for the day.

The desk stood rather forlornly all my itself and I simply could not pass it by. I did not dare to ask for the price as I expected it to be in the hundreds of pounds. When I did pluck up the courage to approach the dealer for the price after gazing at it longingly for a few minutes, I thought I had misheard her. I asked her again and when she told me the price, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She was almost giving it away as a gift!!! I wasted no time at all in telling her that I would have it. I was so afraid that she would change her mind. It was then that I asked if she could hold it for me until I made arrangements to have it picked up.

“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Holborn”, I said.
“Oh, just put in a black cab, darlin”, she said.

I began contemplating my choices, when a man stepped forward and said he would take it home for me. Mind you, it was only later when we were chatting in his car on the way to my flat that I discovered that Matt did this for me purely as a favor as the ride had taken him right out of his way since he lived in Hampstead and not in the city as I had assumed. This was surely my lucky day, I thought, as we agreed on a price for delivery, the bureau changed hands and was placed in the trunk of his van. He took me home and helped me to load it into the elevator in my building and brought it inside my flat for me. All the way home, we talked about places that would be able to ship it home for me to the States. I guess I have my work cut out for me in the next few days as I figure out the best (and least pricey!) way to get this marvelous piece home.

Oh, and I forgot to say that what sold me on the piece was the linen fold carving in the front panels–the same linen-fold panelling that is all over the walls of Hampton Court Palace and Sutton House in the East End (which I have talked about in an earlier entry). That and the acorn-shaped pulls on the drawers did it. I simply had to have the piece–it would be my big England purchase and one that I will always remember as I sit and write the rest of my life away.

I spent the evening pruning through my books and files. There are several I am going to leave behind in London and tons of paper I will need to toss as I start to pack for my end of month move. Since the bulk of these items will go as Printed Material by Royal Mail at a special rate and the majority of my clothes will be carried in my suitcases on the flight back, I am hoping I will have enough shipping allowance left to transport my vintage bureau home. It may not be a hundred years old (and, therefore, not technically an antique) but it is certainly antiquated (probably dating from the early 1930s) and at the price I paid for it, I could not have gone wrong.

I was tired when I sat to eat my dinner (alone, after a long while) as I watched the Eurovision contest on BBC 1–a huge European cultural event and one about which we hear practically nothing in the States. By the time I wrote this blog, it was a little after midnight and I was ready to hit the sack very pleased with myself indeed about where serendipity had led me this afternoon.

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

May11

Monday, May 11, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

London Pass with Chriselle–Day Three

May10

Sunday, May 10, 2009
London

Both Chriselle and I awoke around 7 am today having had difficulty dropping off to sleep. Still rather jetlagged, she was groggy in the morning. Knowing, however, that I did want to catch the 8 am. Communion Service at Westminster Abbey, she was quick on the uptake and within a half hour, we left my flat for the short walk to Fleet Street from where we took Bus 15 to Westminster Abbey while the rest of the city was still sound asleep.

Communion Service at Westminster Abbey:
The service was quick, quiet and rather sparsely attended. What made it special, however, was not just the female celebrant (a rather unusual sight for Chriselle though something I have become accustomed to in England) but the fact that the church was just splendidly decorated with flowers in breathtaking vignettes, each of which depicted a creative theme. We discovered, at the very end, from the female vicar, that it was the result of the work of the members of the National Association of Flower Arrangers who come in once a year to transform the Abbey entirely. At any rate, it made a magnificent backdrop for Chriselle’s first church service in the UK and I was glad she had a chance to see this sight.

A Visit to Westminster Cathedral:
Then, because we were so close to it, I suggested we make a visit to Westminster Cathedral, the Catholic church down the road whose Byzantine style architecture, both inside and out, make it quite stunning indeed. Mass was almost ending when we walked in, which allowed us a few minutes to pray quietly for my mother (since it is Mother’s Day today in the USA). Chriselle did think the church was special and completely different in style and structure from the Gothic Westminster Abbey from which we had just emerged. It is becoming increasingly astounding to her, as we traverse the city, how brilliant is the architecture of each structure we pass and she said to me, just this morning, “Mum, I see what you mean. Every time we round a corner, my eyes feast upon yet another striking building that I feel compelled to explore”. I think she is slowly beginning to understand why I have always nursed such a passion for this city.

A quick visit to Starbucks saw us emerge with mocha lattes that were superb in our empty stomachs until I made an idiot of myself by dropping a large quantity of it all the way down my grey cashmere cardigan while in the bus on the way home. Fortunately, we were only a few meters from home and I was able to rush to my sink and get the worst of it off within minutes.

It was during breakfast that Chriselle wished me a Happy Mother’s Day and presented me with a truly beautiful card whose words were deeply moving primarily because it seemed as if she had written the printed words in them herself. Ever since she has been a young teenager, Chriselle has managed to find me cards that have seemed deeply relevant to that special phase in my life and this year, with me spending so much time away from her in London, the words in the card reflected perfectly well her feelings at being so distant from me. It was a poignant moment indeed and I was close to tears–both at the depth of her feelings and her candid and very lovely expression of them. I thank God for her and bless her and feel profoundly enriched by her presence in my life, especially since I have spent most of the last year on my own. Indeed, if I was delighted to have Llew with me at Easter, I thought it was superbly significant that I had Chriselle with me on Mother’s Day and I felt as if a very special Providence had brought us together at this time.

The Tower of London:
With breakfast done (toasted rolls with Boursin cheese and coffee), we set out on our adventures for the day, heading again to Fleet Street to catch a bus to the Tower of London. To our great good luck, one of those lovely old Routemasters came trundling along, allowing us to climb to the upper deck on those old-fashioned spiral steps (as in the Bombay buses) and take our seats in the front. It was not long before we got off at the Tower, but not before I pointed out to her the remains of the old Roman Wall of what was called Londinium.

The lines at the Tower were daunting but we were relieved to discover that London Pass holders could go directly to the entrance where we joined one of the Beefeaters (Yeoman Guards) on a guided tour of the main attractions of the vast complex that comprises the Tower. As usual, we were informed and entertained by these well-trained folks who took us through some of the most important and grizzly parts of British History as we moved from one courtyard to the next. Highlights, of course, include Traitor’s Gate (through which so many political prisoners accused of treason were led to the Tower), The Tudor courtyard in which the ravens with trimmed wings are plentiful (folklore has it that when the ravens have all flown away, the White Tower will collapse), and the block upon which so many historical figures including Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey were executed.

When I had last visited the Tower, 22 years ago, the original wooden block had remained in position evoking an eerie sense of the gruesome executions that had taken place upon the spot. On this visit, we found a sculpture by Brian Catling with a lovely few lines engraved all around a glass disc that said:

Gentle visitor, pause awhile
Where you stand
Death cut away the light of many days
Here jewelled names were broken
From the vivid thread of life
May they rest in peace while we walk the generations
Around their strife and courage
Under these restless skies.

A rather lovely way, really, of remembering those personnages from history who, in most cases, met an unjust death.

It was time then, for us to join the eager hordes queuing up at the entrance to the Tower that contains the Crown Jewels. Walking through the many rooms that took us deep into the chamber with its steel reinforced doors where the most precious Jewels are kept, we saw three short films, all of which depicted the occasions upon which the jewelled signs and symbols of the British monarchy were used. Everyone gasps, of course, when they see the Cullinan Diamond in the sceptre and the Koh-i-noor diamond in the crown of the late Queen Mother. But there are emeralds and rubies and sapphires the size of small eggs that are just as stunning and in beholding the magnificent workmanship of these items, we felt as if we had received our money’s worth.

A visit to the Princes Tower showed us more crowns and scepters and maces and trumpets and all such other items associated with the coronation of England’s monarchs. Chriselle,whose knowledge of British history, is rather hazy, is slowly beginning to put them in chronological order as she discovers bits and pieces of their colorful lives. It is a great deal to drink in at one go but she is slowly processing it all and asking me a lot of very relevant questions.

The last thing we needed to see at the Tower was the White Tower itself, one of the oldest parts of the building which is currently playing host to a special exhibit on Henry VIII rather appropriately entitled Dressed to Kill. We saw a large amount of contemporary armor but I was disappointed as I had hoped to see some of his courtly robes–none of which have survived, I suppose. Still, over all, we saw a variety of items in the Tower that could easily have allowed us to spend the entire day there if we had done the tours at leisure.

The Tower Bridge and Exhibition:
A call home to my mother in Bombay to wish her for Mother’s Day punctuated our day after which we sat on a bench eating our lunch time sandwiches as we were starving again. Then, having rested our rather aching feet, we set out in search of the City Cruises Pier to catch the next ferry to Greenwich. When we discovered that the next one was due to leave 45 minutes later, it was Chriselle who suggested we use the time to walk over Tower Bridge.

The London Pass allowed us to enter the Tower Bridge Exhibition and we then treated ourselves to the next half hour learning about the ingenious engineering that went into its design for the Bridge needed to satisfy the sense of aesthetics of the Victorian cohort that was involved in granting the commission for its construction as well as the ability to sustain human and vehicular traffic while opening up to allow for the passage of tall ships. A tall order indeed!

When construction began, teams of divers dug into the soft clay that is the base of the River Thames and the construction of the two posts began. Two short films that we saw before and after crossing the east and west walkways, 142 feet over the river, introduced us to the intricacy of design and scientific precision that allowed for its construction as well as the creation of the mechanism of the drawbridge. From the walkways, we had views of the city stretching all the way down the curving Thames to the glass and concrete skyscrapers of Canary Wharf and the O2 stadium at Greenwich as well a the domes of Sir Christopher Wren’s National Maritime College. It was truly a marvelous tour and we are so glad we found the time to take it. The tour also included a visit to the Engine Room but we were worn out and needed to make our way to the boat in order not to miss the next sailing.

Thames Cruise to Greenwich:
We did not have the best guide on our way to Greenwich. I have taken this cruise before (in September with my students) when I had found the commentary quite compelling. Still, Chriselle who listened carefully, laughed a great deal at his jokes and found him amusing. What made the cruise special for me was the incredible weather–indeed we could not have asked for a better day to mess around on a river! The last time I had taken this cruise it was cold and rainy and miserable and today, it was spectacular. We bought ourselves a cold beer on board and split the bottle as we enjoyed the sail and when the domes of Greenwich came into view, we made our way down to the pier to be able to get off as quickly as possible.

Our first stop was the National Maritime College which allowed Chriselle to take in the grandeur of Wren’s architecture and notice his indebtedness to the classical structures of Greece and Rome. In this space, I made sure she saw The superb Painted Hall by Thornhill where the frescoed ceiling and walls are supposed to be second only to the work of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel. Right opposite is the Chapel where the plasterwork on the ceiling is so stupendous that it is reminiscent of the Jasperware produced by Josiah Wedgwood in his factories at Stoke-on-Trent. Chriselle loved every bit of these buildings and took a number of pictures. By this point, however, she was feeling rather beat having been on the go for three whole days and not quite having recovered from jetlag.

The Royal Observatory and the Prime Meridian:
Still, she decided that we should bravely press on and pass the Queen’s Palace in front of the Park where the Royal Observatory is located. We were struck by the tourist crowds everywhere though a lot seemed like local folks enjoying a Sunday in the Park with their Kids! At the Royal Observatory, we made a bee-line for the Prime Meridian and had to take some funky pictures which standing astride it with our feet in alternate hemispheres. We decided to skip a look at the vast variety of clocks that were on display here and take a breather instead in the park were we spent a long while resting and relaxing and massaging our aching muscles while watching picnicers enjoying their strawberries and cream, their pasta salads and chilled beer.

When we felt ready for the next bout of walking, we set out again–this time we nipped into the National Maritime Museum as I did want Chriselle to have a look at the uniform of Lord Nelson which became bloodstained at the Battle of Trafalgar where he was wounded and passed away. Having seen this exhibit, as well as Lord Frederic’s gilded barge, we made our way outside and basked again in the golden sunrays.

At the pier, Chriselle had a horrid experience having stopped to sample some spreads and condiments from a market stall. She picked up what she thought was a sun-dried tomato only to discover that it was a pickled jalapeno pepper that had her hyperventilating though she spat it out almost as soon as she popped it into her mouth. The fortunate part was she had asked me only a second before if I wanted to share it with her and I had declined! What a good job I did! The next thing I know I was plying her with chocolate that I found in my bag and ten agonizing minutes later, she returned to normal!

We took the stairs then that led us to the Greenwich Tunnel, passageway that runs under the River Thames, another remarkable feat of late Victorian engineering (built in 1902) that I wanted her to experience. Over on the other side, after a short ten minute walk, we took the elevator up hoping to catch the Docklands Light Railway to Green Park where we had Afternoon Tea reservations at The Wolsley Hotel–we thought it significant that since it was Mother’s Day, we could have Tea together in this grand place.

Only by this stage, Chriselle felt seriously out-of-sorts and we decided we would perhaps abandon our plans. What finally nixed it for us was the dislocation of the rail network that closed the DLR down, put us on the Tube (Jubilee Line) at Canary Wharf where we discovered that we could only go as far as London Bridge and, what was worse, the Piccadilly Line wasn’t running either. That was it!

Dinner with Tim and Barbara:
We got off at King’s Cross and took Bus 45 and got back home where Chriselle crawled straight into bed and went off to sleep. Two hours later, after I had dealt with my email and tried to reschedule my visit to Paris, we dressed and went over next door to my neighbors’ flat. Chriselle was keen to meet Tim and Barbara about whom she has heard so much–both from me and Llew! In keeping with his reputation for hospitality and generosity, Tim opened a bottle of Harrod’s bubbly and passed around grilled and marinaded artichoke hearts–delicious! It wasn’t long before we were invited to stay for dinner–pepperoni pizza and steamed asparagus, the latter impeccably seasoned with lemon juice and sprinkled with grated parmesan. It went down a treat. With chocolate cheesecake, Tim’s own homemade strawberry sorbet and fresh strawberries, we had a truly fine meal and the company of two of the most interesting friends I have made in London. As always, Tim and Barbara entertained us with their jokes and stories and it was with difficulty that we tore ourselves away from their flat and called an end to the evening.

We promise ourselves a less strenuous day tomorrow but are pleased that we made the best possible use of our London Passes–something that we would recommend without hesitation to anyone planning a visit to London for the first time.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day One

May8

Friday, May 8, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome Chriselle! And Jubilee Walk–Part 5

May7

Thursday, May 7, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rochelle's Roost

Welcome to Holly Berry House!

Tag Archive | Paris

Rambles in the Haute Savoie with Old Friends

Lyon At Leisure

Lyon, Here I Come!

Bonjour France! Arrival in Lyon

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

National Trust Houses in Hampstead–and Buying a Vintage Bureau/Desk

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

London Pass with Chriselle–Day Three

London Pass with Chriselle–Day One

Welcome Chriselle! And Jubilee Walk–Part 5