Tag Archive | Tower of London

Sight-Seeing in Sussex: Chichester, Arundel and Petworth

Feb22

Sunday, February 22, 2009
Chichester

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pausing in Portsmouth

Feb20

Friday, February 21, 2009
Winchester and Portsmouth

The Hampshire landscape still looked rather autumnal–a blanket woven of beige and sandy hues–as we made the half hour drive from Winchester to Portsmouth. I was a little surprised at how large Portsmouth is–I guess I expected another little dinky town like Winchester! But, of course, I was aware that Portsmouth has been the head quarters of the Royal British Navy for a long while. In fact, Llew and I had visited Portsmouth many years ago though we did not really get as far as the historic dockyard. This probably had to do with the fact that neither one of us is a seafarer and navy history has not been our cup of tea.

So it wasn’t with huge excitement that I alighted from the coach with my students and received the tickets (priced at 18.50 pounds for all attractions) that gave us free run of the area. Unlike Winchester, where there weren’t many kids to be seen, this place had attracted a large number of families out at Half-Term Week to see a bit of their historic landmarks. And possibly because my expectations were so low, I was completely bowled over by everything I saw and the guided tours we took. Robert Pinkerton had handed me tickets that allowed us to board the H.M.S. Victory at 3. 30 pm for a guided tour–this allowed us an hour to see the rest of the complex which includes a number of museums and special exhibits and the hull of the Mary Rose, a Tudor ship that was Henry VIII’s favorite war ship.

The harbor is dominated by a modernist structure that, for a moment, made me believe I was in Dubai for it resembles the facade of the Al-Burj Hotel. This one at Portsmouth is the Spinnacre Tower, its newest attraction. I saw people on the two highest floors and I can imagine how stunning a view they must receive, on a clear day, of the sea, the Isle of Wight and the southern English countryside. Alas, I had no time to find out for myself, as I did want to see the Mary Rose.

Again, I have to say that I wasn’t sure what to expect. The ship had been built in 1534 and by 1550, it had sunk on one of its skirmishes with the French. It was only a few years ago that sonar technology made the location of the wreck definite and elaborate arrangements were made to bring it to the surface. The ship had broken in two along its cross section and a portion was rescued from the sea bed with everything it contained (including the skeleton of a dog who had been trapped in a door as the ship went down). These items are displayed in the Mary Rose Museum (which I found fascinating and in which I would have loved to have spent more time).

However, just gazing at the wreck itself (now in dry dock and undergoing conservation) was enough to raise the hairs on my neck. I recalled all the lines from the sea faring novels and comic books I have read (“Shiver my timbers, boy…who told you to come out of the crow’s nest?”) and I was enthralled. The audio guides that were provided upon arrival gave great detail about Tudor life at sea, about sea warfare and about the raising of the ship. It was indeed quite brilliant and time flew so quickly that before I knew it, I had to join my class for the tour of the H.M.S. Victory.

This ship, quite splendidly refurbished and impeccably maintained in rust and black paint, was the vessel upon which Lord Nelson breathed his last during the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805–one of England’s most decisive sea victories. I joined a group of about thirty students and was placed in the charge of a guide who was poker faced and had the most dead pan expressions as he mouthed his monologues. But then, later, I realized, that he was probably trained to remain detached as the information he disclosed was so astonishing as to make me feel squeamish on more than one occasion.

A tour of the ship taught us a great deal about naval life in the 18th and 19th centuries and most of it was shocking. Examples: the sailors caught rats in the galleys below deck, sold them among themselves and used them to supplement their frugal shipboard diets; the ship’s doctor (known very appropriately as the surgeon-barber) had a range of instruments that looked as if they belonged in a carpenter’s chest–and this surgery was performed without any anaesthesia at all and while the patient was stone sober; after being flogged repeatedly, even for minor misdemeanors, with a cat ‘o nine tails (I finally discovered after I saw one why this whip is so-called), the miscreant was sent down to a doctor who, in an attempt to keep infection off his torn and skinned back, rubbed salt and vinegar into his wounds–you can see why I was squeamish and thought my knees would buckle. The sado-masochism of the captains and bosons of the time was touched on and I felt truly glad that I did not live in those often inhuman times!

A large part of the tour involved Nelson. We saw the spot on the deck at which he was hit by a bullet that went through his shoulder, punctured a lung, shattered a couple of his ribs and tore through his spine. His blood-stained clothing was striped off (and is now the chief exhibit of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich where I had seen it last Setpember). He was then taken below deck and attended by the ship’s surgeon and its captain, the famous Hardy, all of whom knew, of course, that there was nothing that could be done for him. As he lay dying, he received the news of victory and said, “Thank God, I have done my duty”. Earlier he had motivated his crew by declaring, “England expects that each man will do his duty”. About three hours later, he died requesting Hardy to kiss him, a line into which much more than was intended has been read. There is a very good painting that depicts his final moments (but without much historic accuracy as most of these romanticized versions of such occasions are) and which made a fine backdrop for the telling of the tale. I have to say that from the first word the guide uttered to the last, I was completely engaged.

The tour also included a visit to the very bottom of the ship were gunpowder was stored in huge barrels in a copper lined chamber and to the ballast area where the ship’s stores were maintained. I learned more about naval warfare and the seafaring life on this single hour-long tour than I think I have ever learned anywhere else and I was hugely grateful that I took it.

On my way out, I rushed through the Mary Rose Museum once more to see the original canons and guns that had been brought ashore and to hold in my hands an original cannon ball from the wreck–which gave me a massive kick! I can see why the venue is so popular with kids (especially boys) whose excitement was palpable and infectious and made me think of my young days in the company of my own parents as a little girl visiting places of educational interest in Bombay.

On my way back in the bus, I read the final chapters of The Prisoner of Azkaban which became extraordinarily complicated as the story reached its denouement. The miles flew past as outside my window a salmon and acquamarine sky indicated sundown and the end of another active, fascinating and hugely educational day of my life in the United Kingdom.

I arrived home at 7. 30 after seeing my students safely in their dorms, then spent about four hours on my PC catching up with email and planning some future trips to Paris and Belgium.

I then went to bed at 11. 30 pm. on a very happy note having received news by email that Chriselle was granted leave from work, has booked her tickets on American Airlines and will be here in London with me during the first week of May! The weather will be so much nicer at that time and I would like to make some plans for what will probably be our very last mother-daughter trip before she gets married. I am almost besides myself with joy at the prospect.

Wessex and Winchester Cathedral

Feb20

Friday, February 20, 2009
Winchester and Portsmouth

Holborn was stirring slowly when I took the bus along Gray’s Inn Road to King’s Cross and found my way to NIDO, our student dorms on Pennington Road. Despite being told several times that our departure was scheduled for 7. 45, six of my students thought it was 8. 15 am and did not show up. The coach left at 8 am sharp with six students missing. They took the train from Waterloo and arrived at Winchester where they joined us later in the day.

Moira Ferguson and Alice Coltenfeanu were in the coach with me as we swung out of London (past the suburbs of Chiswick and Putney) and drove through Hampshire. I realized that this was the route Stephanie takes to work each day as the signs for Andover/Salisbury began to show up on the motorway. We made one pit stop about ten minutes before we arrived in the charming but very tiny town of Winchester where we parked by the towering bronze sculpture of Alfred the Great, King of the ancient Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Wessex. He was he who united the warring factions of the neighboring counties. Though the Romans had made Wessex their base long before Alfred’s reign (having been in Wessex between 40 and 400 AD), it is he who is credited with making the town that eventually became Winchester a seat of power by creating mints all over so that the people would have monetary security as well as encouraging commercial activity on what is now the High Street. As I walked along the High Street, noticing its older (mainly Tudor) structures, I realized how many millions of feet had trodden these streets over the centuries and I felt awed.

There has been a Mayor of Winchester for almost as long as there has been one in London and it
was at his ‘house’–called the Mayor’s Abbey–that our walking tour of the town began with a trained guide. It was the Romans who redirected the flow of the River Itchen towards the outskirts of the town and the result is a number of fast flowing canals that wind around pretty gardens that were just starting to bloom. I saw more clumps of snowdrops and loads of primroses. The sun was out and a more welcome sight I haven’t seen for days as it poured its golden rays upon the cathedral walls.

It wasn’t long before we were entering the precincts of the grand Cathedral for which the town is famous (remember the song “Winchester Cathedral” of the 1950s?). No matter how many cathedrals I visit in the UK, they always come upon me with a mixture of surprise and awe–surprise that in the so-called Dark Ages (what an insult to the achievements of that era!) such a level of architectural expertise existed that could allow the construction of crypts that went way down into the soil bed and upon which the weight of so many thousands of tons could be supported; and awe at the craftsmanship of the carvers who then went on to embellish these structures with their talent. No doubt, it was these structures, speaking so eloquently of the religious ardor of the time, that kept so many of them employed for a lifetime.

The guide explained so many aspects of the exterior of the Cathedral and pointed out the importance of the Bishops of Winchester in their role as ecclesiastical prelates. We passed by the Bishops Quarters, lovely Tudor structures with their exposed beams and stucco walls, then went beneath the walls of the town above which is one of the smallest churches in the UK and the only one left in the country that is actually built upon city walls–the Church of St. Swithun-at-Kingsgate. Just past it is the home where Jane Austen spent the last six weeks of her life with her sister Cassandra. She came to Winchester as her doctor was based in the town to seek treatment for her illness that could have been Hodgkinsons or Addisons Disease (no one is sure). Her brother was Archdeacon at Winchester Cathedral–a fact that granted permission for her to be buried in the nave, one of the last burials to be conducted in the precincts of the Cathedral. There is a brass memorial to the author on the wall nearby. In the Fisherman’s Chapel, where 17th century Issac Walton has been buried, there is beautiful stained glass window referred to as the Compleat Angler window. Later, we went down to the crypt that was actually flooded (as water still seeps into the crypt from the water bed below) and saw the sculpture by Anthony Gormley of a solitary man brooding–these sculptures, of course, are cast from his own body after he wraps himself in cling film! My students and I had seen a bunch of his sculptures at Crosby Beach in Liverpool, a few months ago, when we had made a trip to that lively city.

Unfortunately, we did not have a chance to see the famous Winchester Bible as the library that contains it was closed, but we did marvel at two things: the choir stalls carved of oak which are the oldest in the country and were just exquisite in their details and the main stained glass windows which seem like a modernist design but are a result of the piecing together of the original stained glass windows that were blown out during the Civil War. The long nave of the Cathedral is equally imposing and since all the chairs were removed, the interior did not seem as much like a church as it did a museum! The best part about doing these class visits at this time of year is that the crowds are nowhere to be seen and you very often have the place to yourself for quiet contemplation.

Then, when we had said goodbye to the guide, I took directions from her and climbed the steep incline along the High Street to arrive at what are the only surviving remains of Winchester Castle built during Norman times–the Winchester Great Hall. The exterior is lovely (exposed black stone set within creamy mortar) as is the main portal and when we entered it, it was even lovelier. The mood was sombre and quiet which befit, I believe, its most famous exhibit–the Round Table of King Arthur. This is set high on the wall and must be quite immense in size for it looks huge though placed so far above us. It resembles a giant dart board and looks as if it were made yesterday. Recent studies have proved that it is not the actual Round Table though this one is at least 700 years old. A portrait of King Arthur adorns one part of it while the names of all the other knights are imprinted in a lovely Gothic script all around the circumference. The rest of the Hall is notable for the names of the knights who served the church through the centuries and for a magnificent bronze sculpture of Queen Victoria seated under a gilded canopy that was placed there to celebrate her Diamond Jubilee.

It wasn’t long before I grabbed a few post cards as souvenirs and a sandwich, a cheese scone and a chocolate covered flapjack and with this lunch, I joined my students on a bench overlooking the statue of Alfred and awaited the return of our coach.

A half hour later, we were on our way to Portsmouth. See my next blog entry entitled “Pausing in Portsmouth’ for an account of our amazing visit there.

Winchester was truly a lovely town that encompasses a great deal for the history buff and the architecture enthusiast to mull over. The fact that the sun was out on a spring morning made our excursion memorable and I left the place, astonished as its tiny size, but struck by how many elements of interest can be contained within so small a space.

London’s Seedier Side: Two Walking Tours of the East End

Feb13

Friday, February 13, 2009
London

The Prisoner of Azkaban is marching along nicely. One hour long reading sessions at dawn and at bedtime will, I think, get me through the tomes (which grow in size with each volume) before I am gone from here.

Alternate Soaks, phone calls to Bombay, email correspondence, proofreading blog entries–all of that kept me busy through the morning. But the thing that ate most of my time and got me most frustrated was trying to find reasonably priced airfares for our proposed flight from Rome to Istanbul just before Easter. After trying every possibility, I came to the crazy conclusion that it might be best to use the budget airlines to return to London from Rome, then take another flight from London to Istanbul! Llew green lighted the scheme as most financially feasible and tomorrow, I shall try to make our bookings.

In the midst of all the internet research I did to try to find some fun things that Llew and I can do on Easter Sunday (as we will be spending it together here–yyesss!!!), I finally did something I had been meaning to do for weeks–book a ticket to the Royal Horticultural Society’s Chelsea Flower Show, In fact, this was on my list of things to do before I leave London! I have been reading about this legendary flower show–perhaps the world’s best–for so many years in the Home and Garden magazines to which I subscribe in the States. So, I was determined to buy myself a ticket.

When I finally got down to it this morning, I discovered that it is scheduled the very week (May 19-23) I will be in Lyon, France, with my French pen pal of 37 years, Genevieve Tougne-Ducote. Genevieve and I have not seen each other since 1989 and I was so looking forward to meeting her and her family–husband and two sons. Fortunately, the day I return from France is also the last day of the show and since my flight arrives at Stanstead at 10.30 am, I will certainly be able to catch the last three to four hours of the show–which will be ample, I think.

Then, for technical reasons (they need my credit card registered to a UK address)my online purchase would not go through and in desperation, I called my friend Rosemary and asked her to make the purchase for me with her credit card. She readily obliged and I will reimburse her in cash. Delighted, just delighted, that I did get tickets to the show and will actually be able to make it, despite my travel plans, I decided to go outdoors and enjoy what had shaped into a lovely day with robin’s egg blue skies and a cheerful winter sun. I showered, decided to do the Jack the Ripper Walk from my book–24 Great Walks in London–and left my flat.

The reason I chose this macabre walk was because I had scheduled a walking tour of Spitalfields with a Blue Badge Guide for my students of Global Cultures at 5pm. I knew that Brick Lane is located in this general area and since my students are studying Monica Ali’s Brick Lane for my South Asian Studies class, I thought it would make sense to take them there to explore the area and see it for themselves. We were scheduled to meet at Liverpool Street Station at 5 pm, so it made sense to do another walking tour of the same area in the afternoon with a good long break in-between in a coffee shop to rest my legs.

The Jack the Ripper Tour began at Aldgate Underground Station and took me past such interesting sights as the following:

1. The Church of “St. Botolph Without Aldgate” (so-called because it lay beyond, outside, or without, the gates of Aldgate). Also known as the Prostitutes’ Church as most of the street walkers of the area worshipped here.

2. Various locations in which the six women that Jack the Ripper killed were found or were last seen. These included a few pubs in the area around Whitechapel.

3. Petticoat Lane (so-called because 18th century under-jackets called petticoats, worn by men, were sold on this street). Today, it is a thriving street market, mostly frequented on Sundays by tourists. I found it very disappointing and totally lacking in atmosphere.

4. Old Spitalfields Market: A Victorian indoor market (similar to Old Covent Garden Market or Smithfield Market). Both this place and Petticoat Lane were on my list of places to see before I left London–so I guess I can say, Been There, Done That.

5. The Jame Masjid at Fournier Street, just off Brick Lane. Interesting because it was once a Huguenot Chapel, then a synagogue and is now a mosque.

6. Rows and rows of row houses (attached houses), many of which were destroyed during World War II (remember all the TV footage we have seen so often of the late Queen Mother touring the ravaged East End after the London Blitz?). These once housed the Huguenot silk weavers and giant wooden bobbins are now hung outside these homes. This is especially true of Wilkes Street and Puma Court. This was the most atmospheric part of the walk and appealed to me the most.

7. Christ Church, Spitalfields, built by Nicholas Hawksmoor (pupil of Sir Christopher Wren) in the early 1700s. An imposing Baroque structure, its spire rises tall into the sky and its four columns in the front flank a semi-circular pediment that gives it a very distinctive look. Inside, after restoration, it exudes peace and serenity and has fine stained glass windows.

This walk took me to some of the seediest parts of London I have seen so far. There was garbage in the gutters, houses and neighborhoods that looked badly in need of refurbishment or at least a lick of paint, rather ratty looking shops and Mom and Pop businesses. Now I understand why they say the East End is one of the most neglected parts of the city and why they hope the coming Olympics in 2012 will rejuvenate the area.

However, it is also one of the most diverse parts of the city and I saw a variety of races living in harmony together and a number of global cultures coalescesing quite effortlessly. Amazingly, just a few blocks past the rather run down streets were the towering glass and concrete structures around Liverpool Street Station where the large corporations have set up shop–RBS, for instance. Just a few yards ahead is Bank, so-called because the Bank of England (aka the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street) is located here and one day, when the weather gets better, I shall explore these old solid 18th station buildings and the warren of streets that unite them, on foot.

I arrived at Liverpool Street Station at the end of this walk and found myself a quiet spot in a Burger King where I rested for over an hour and read the free local eveninger–“the london paper”! At 5 pm, I made my way to the Upper Concourse to the meeting point outside McDonald’s where my students and I were supposed to meet Rachel Kolsky, our guide. We were all very punctual indeed and our walk began with Rachel pointing out many interesting features of the area, such as:

1. Kindertransport Sculpture: This sculpture by Frederick Meissler depicts the Kindertransport children. She told us the moving story of the 10,000 European children who were brought to England in 1939 just before the outbreak of World War I and were placed in English homes. I had never heard of this aspect of War history before and was fascinated and moved to tears by Rachel’s retelling of the scheme and the impact it had on the children who are scattered, today, all over the world.

2. Dennis Severs House: Built by an American expatriate in the East End who took an old Huguenot house and converted it into a ‘museum’ of sorts to recreate the era of the old silk weavers. It is a must-see, I think, and I will definitely carve out some time to see it though visiting hours are rather erratic.

3. Homes on Hansbury Street, deliberately kept in a decrepit state, because they are used today as movie sets for period films and TV series. The insides were also true to those bygone eras and were fascinating to peer into.

4. The synagogue on Hansbury Street and the many stories associated with it. This taught me about the arrival of the Jews into the East End (they lived on the outskirts of the City as they were not permitted within the City reaches), their persecution and expulsion under Edward I, their return to England under the more hospitable Oliver Cromwell, their persecution again in the Victorian Age and their move out of the East End to the Western suburbs such as Golders Green, Hendon and Edgeware in the 1970s to be replaced by Bangaldeshi immigrants.

5. Brick Lane: This stop told us about the arrival of the Bangla or Bengali immigrants into the UK from the time of the lascars (Muslim ship hands) who, in the late 1800s, jumped ship in England and made their home in the East End to those who arrived at the end of World War II to provide labor during the era of acute labor shortage in England and then the most recent ones who came during the Civil War in 1971. We touched on Monica Ali’s novel as we surveyed the endless chain of Bangladeshi restaurants, sweetmeat shops, sari emporiums, video stores, etc.

The appetizing aromas of spices assailed our nostrils and made me long for a curry stop except that it was freezing by the time we finished our walk about two hours later and all that my students and I could think of was getting back home to our warm dwellings and hunkering down for the evening.

The walk taught me why you can find really excellent bagels in Brick Lane (the Jewish run bakeries still stay open 24 hours of the day and make really authentic, delicious, boiled bagels on the premises). I can’t wait to try one with lox (smoked salmon) and cream cheese, capers, lenon juice and chopped onion. It is one of my favorite things to eat and I frequently fix myself this treat for breakfast at home in the States.

It is true that having done two walks in one day, I was very tired when I got home. I made myself comfortable on the couch while eating my dinner (I picked up canneloni stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese from M&S, what my neighbor Tim refers to as his “larder”) while doing my Alternate Soaks (if ever I needed them, it was this evening!) then checked my email and got ready for bed.

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in Lewisham

Feb10

Tuesday, February 10, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In 1066 Country–Battle and Hastings: Where England Began…

Feb1

Sunday, February 1, 2009
Battle, Sussex

For some inexplicable reason, I am still waking up at 5. 30 am. While this gives me time to stay on top of all the things I want to do, I keep wondering if I am getting enough sleep and keep checking my eyes for dark circles and unsightly bags!

I left my flat at 8 .15 am after a cereal and yogurt breakfast to meet Stephanie outside Wimbledon Tube Station. We had talked on the phone yesterday and decided that despite the forecast of a snowy afternoon we would stick with our plans to visit Battle in East Sussex. With Stephanie behind the wheel, her GPS and my Britain Atlas by our sides, we felt well-equipped to find the fastest route to get there.

But we were distracted en route by signs for Hever Castle and Penshurst and since Stephanie shares with me such a consuming interest in Tudor and Elizabethan History, we decided to make a detour to visit these sites: Hever Castle is the ancestral home of the Boleyns–the same one from which emerged Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII and mother of Queen Elizabeth I. Penshurst, as I recalled vaguely, is the ancestral home of Sir Phillip Sidney, Elizabethan courtier-poet and contemporary of Edmund Spenser..

We passed the most beautiful Kentish countryside along the way. Though the fields are barren at this time of year, sheep still grazed as they have done through the centuries, oblivious to the few cars that sped past them. Oast houses (in which hops are dried) with their peculiar conical roofs punctuated the rambling country lanes. Old stone churches with squat towers and clock faces beckoned. Rambling, almost crumbling, gabbled houses that turned out to be pubs sported the quaintest names (The Shy Horse, The Little Brown Jug) and dotted the pasture land to make for some of the most appealing sights in rural Kent. I know that I will always carry images of this part of the country in winter in my heart wherever I might roam.

Unfortunately, we found the stately rambling home called Penshurst that sits in the midst of vast property, parkland and gardens to be closed until March. However, I gazed upon it and so many names rushed through my mind–Sir Phillip Sidney, of course, Elizabethan courtier-poet, who from this grand estate made such a mark upon the court. Then, of course, there is Ben Jonson’s famous poem “To Penshurst” which I had studied as an undergrad and have never forgotten. Penshurst is a compilation of honey toned walls, towers and turrets that speak of a romantic past and of royal antecedents. How marvelous it was for me to look upon what Jonson called “an ancient pile”. I took a few pictures of the exterior and hoped we would be able to return when it opens its doors again to visitors for the new season.

We met with the same fate at Hever Castle which was also closed and which will reopen in March. I realized that these stately homes are closed in the winter as it is too expensive to heat them. While we did get a glimpse of Penshurst from the outside, Hever lay concealed behind high walls–all we saw was the Tudor Gatehouse. Again, we resolved to return on another trip and made our way down south towards the Sussex coast of England to Battle.

Ironically, the town Battle derived its name from the Battle of Hastings which was fought here in 1066. It was called the Battle of Hastings because the battlefield was closest to the town of Hastings! Yet, because it became such a revered site in England, a whole new town developed around the battlefield and it seemed fitting, I suppose, to name the town Battle! It is this strange coalescing of history and geography that never fails to fascinate me, especially in ancient countries like England. Be that as it may, we arrived in Battle, starving and ready to eat an ox.

Battle is a quaint town with a very picturesque High Street. Tudor structures with black gables and exterior beams have been converted into pubs, tea rooms and gift shops. They make a very charming impression on the viewer but we resisted the impulse to explore as our hunger led us to the nearest meal. Our first port of call, therefore, was a pub called, appropriately enough, The 1066, where we decided to have a very proper British meal–Fish and Chips, of course, with thick tartar sauce and ketchup on our fries (chips). It was delicious and particularly warming on this frigid afternoon. The tall gates of the Abbey towered right by our window and after our hearty meal, we went straight to the entrance of the Abbey to find out how to access the battlefield.

Our 6. 50 pound entrance fee provided us with an audio guide that also entitled us to watch a short documentary film that was beautifully made. It described, very effectively, the origin of the enmity between Duke William of Normandy and the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson that ended in the arrival of hundreds of Norman ships and troops that vanquished the English forces on October 14, 1066. (I can never hear that date mentioned without remembering my History of Literature classes with Dr. Homai Shroff at Bombay’s Elphinstone College. It was she who had told us that if there was one date we could commit to memory from the vast annals of British History, it ought to be 1066! And I have never forgotten it!!!) Well, England came under French rule and would never be the same country again as its language, law, customs and traditions became influenced by the Normans.

At Battle, we, visitors could actually walk around the Battlefield and see where the bloody fighting took place. We visited the ruins of the church built by William, who subsequently became known as The Conqueror, in accordance with the Pope’s directives, in 1070 in reparation for the bloodshed and suffering he had caused. This church was subsequently destroyed by Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1532 but the Refectory building, the cloisters and the monastic dwellings with their beautiful fan vaulted ceilings, etc. can still be inspected and it made for a stirring visit indeed.

There is a also stone marker on the site that shows the exact spot where Harold fell fighting and upon that very spot stood the altar of the church that William built. These very evocative moments in British history that go back to a time when the United States of America was not even a concept make such visits richly rewarding for me and I am so glad that Stephanie shares my enthusiasm for history and for such folk lore.

We would gladly have spent more time at Battle but large snowflakes began to come down and paint the town with a light whitewash! We decided to start our drive back to London as Stephanie wanted to avoid driving in the snow. But, to our enormous shock, when we reached the car park, our car would not open, try as we did to get the handles to turn. After a few frantic moments, Stephanie called Lexus’ Road Assistance Service and they promised to send a technician out to help us.

This unexpected wait took us into a very old Tea Room called A Taste of Battle where we settled down with large hot chocolates and a warm fruit scone which we piled with clotted cream and strawberry jam. I could certainly think of worse things to do on a snowy day than curl up in a warm rustic tea room with an English cream tea! In fact, within minutes, a large number of other people came tearing out of the snow and shook the flakes off their coats as they settled down to warming cups of tea.

It wasn’t even ten minutes before Stephanie received a call from the technician telling her to meet him at the car park. It turns out that the remote signal on our key fob was conflicting and crossing swords with other signals being emitted by other cars in the parking lot. These were making our car reject the signal from our own key! The technician set it right in minutes and we were on our way deciding to drive through the nearby town of Hastings. The clerks in the Battle Abbey had told us a joke about Hastings which went like this: Hastings is a one-horse town that would have been exciting if there were a horse in it! Still, we decided to see it for ourselves (primarily because a TV show I have enjoyed watching for a while called Foyle’s War is set in Hastings in the 1940s). Alas, Hastings on this dull and dreary winter’s afternoon with the snow coming down looked nothing like its depiction on the small screen and I was disappointed.

The flakes came down larger and faster as we found our way back to the highway and home to Wimbledon where Stephanie dropped me off to the Tube station and returned to her own flat. I caught up with a number of small chores and sat down to write my blog as well as get myself prepared for my classes tomorrow.

Goodbye to Berlin–And Back to Great Britain

Feb1

Saturday, January 31, 2009
Berlin-London

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

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

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

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

Berlin’s Cathedrals and Museums

Jan31

Thursday, January 29, 2009
Berlin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Day Trip to Rochester in Kent

Jan25

Sunday, January 25, 2009
Rochester

Rochester, in my mind, has always been associated with Charles Dickens who spent a good part of his adult life and based the locations and scenes of many of his novels on this city on the River Medway. When Stephanie told me of her interest in exploring various parts of England, I thought of going to Rochester as neither one of us had been there before.

I managed to get quite a bit of work done before I left my flat this morning–laundry, ticket reservation for easybus online for my trip to Berlin and back on Tuesday, email correspondence, etc. By the time I finished a substantial breakfast and did my exercises, I left at 8. 50 am when I had meant to leave at 8. 30 am. I decided to take the Tube as the bus would take forever to get to Wimbledon where Stephanie’s flat is located. I reached there in 45 minutes, so that Stephanie was only waiting about 10 minutes in her spiffy navy blue Lexus when I arrived there. It was great to meet her and, as fate would have it, we clicked immediately. She made a quick stop at her flat to pick up her Blackberry which gave me the opportunity to check it out and to discover that it is very similar to my own. We both have one-bedroom flats that are sparsely but very comfortably furnished with state-of-the-art appliances, brand-new kitchens and bathrooms. However, as Stephanie has a very long commute to work, she has decided to move very soon.

We were off within five minutes and, horror of horrors, watched at the street corner before we got into our car as a huge Tesco truck backed right into a liquor store called Nicholas and tore off one of the spot lights that highlighted the name of the establishment. This made me more admiring that ever of Stephanie’s driving skills in this country and her ability to handle a stick shift car on the wrong side of the very narrow streets. She admitted that she was nervous for the first couple of weeks but now has the hang of the British road system and is coping as best she can, though she does have some hairy moments behind the wheel herself.

Using Stehanie’s GPS system, we arrived in Rochester a good hour and a half later passing by some of the southern suburbs of London such as Croyden and Selhurst before we got on to the highway and entered Kent, the Garden of England. Unfortunately, it was a totally miserable day with rain pouring down, not in sheets but in a persistent drizzle. This kept the temperatures very cold indeed and we were both grateful for the warm coats we had pulled on as well as our hats and gloves. The GPS mistakenly brought us to Wouldham, a small village close to Rochester, but we asked for directions and within ten minutes, we found a public car park where we tucked our car away and started our exploration of the town on foot.

Stephanie, who had only eaten fruit and yogurt for breakfast, was starving by the time we arrived in Rochester at noon and wanted to head straight for a meal. We decided to partake heartily of a traditional English Sunday Roast at a lovely pub called The King’s Head on the High Street. To get there, we had passed by the picturesque exterior of the Cathedral and decided to visit it for Evensong at 3. 15 later in the afternoon. We also found our way to the Visitors Center where we received a map of Rochester and some directions on what to see in a day.

The lunch was the highlight of our day! It was hearty to a fault and allowed us to pig out on roast lamb and roast pork served with Yorkshire puddings (that are like American popovers and nothing like the mousse-like creamy desserts we call ‘puddings’ in the States), roasted potatoes, delicious gravy and a variety of vegetables–boiled peas and corn, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. We could not believe that we got a huge platter of food for under 6 pounds! The same meal would have cost us nothing less than 12 pounds in London. Stephanie and I dined well and with the mint sauce and horseradish sauce that accompanied the meats, the meal was fit for a king. The pub had a great deal of old world ambiance which we both found very charming.

Throughout our drive into Kent, I found that Stephanie and I have lots of interests in common, not the least of which is a great love for the English countryside and the delights to be found in such simple pleasures as visiting the local pubs. But while Stephanie has ventured alone into her ‘local’, I have yet to pluck up the courage to do that.

Lunch done, we walked to the ramparts of Rochester Castle, one of the best preserved Norman castles in England, dating from 1088. Stephanie also loves English history and was glad to learn from me about the Battle of Hastings in 1066 that brought William of Normandy (the Conqueror) to England and brought French rule and language to these Anglo-Saxon lands. We also walked to the edge of the castle’s ramparts that overlook the River Medway which was an unsightly shade of yellow! In fact, as a commercial waterway, it has been used since medieval times and it seems to be extremely sluggish at this point.

Then, we were walking along the High Street to Eastgate House, a lovely Tudor building built by Robert Puck in the 1500s and used by Dickens as the setting of scenes both in The Mystery of Edwin Drood and The Pickwick Papers. All the shops along the High Street bear names that are connected with Dickens’ world and it is clear that Rochester is indebted to Dickens for fans of the novelist, no doubt, come eagerly to walk in his footsteps–in better weather, of course.

We decided, then to drive off to nearly Chatham to see the historic High Street in that adjoining town as well as to take a look at the Historic Dockyards. The cold and the rain did not motivate either of us to get out of the car but we were grateful for the opportunity to see this little town though most of the shops were closed on this Sunday evening. Stephanie and I have now decided to do most of our day trips on a Saturday when there is more life on the streets and the shops are full of patrons.

Then, it was time for us to return to Rochester Cathedral (the Church of St. Andrew’s) for the Evensong service at 3. 15 pm. Inside, the cathedral is impressive though rather stark. Its ceiling towered above us but there wasn’t much decoration inside upon its gray walls. We made our way to the altar where the choir was rehearsing in preparation for the service and a little while later, there we were, taking our seats for the evening. We stayed for about half the service and enjoyed the singing of the choir very much.

Then, we were headed back to our car, but not before I managed to stop at a restaurant to request a cup of hot water so I could take my cold medication. My throat feels very sore indeed and my nose has been running continually. I am hoping that I will get over it soon. On the way back, Stephanie and I shared many interesting aspects of our lives so that we could get to know each other better and, before long, we were at Tower Hill and I was hopping into a bus that brought me back home within 20 minutes. Stephanie got home an hour later and called to inform me when she arrived safely.

I am so grateful to my friend Amy Tobin who has brought the two of us together. Stephanie is a marketing whiz. Despite her professional success, she has the time to enjoy her leisure to the utmost. Stephanie is such a fun person and is game to do anything interesting and new. She is a committed world traveler and has been to many exotic parts of the globe–which has given her exposure to many different cultures and she has absorbed them all while still wishing to reach out and discover some more. I know that she will make the ideal travel companion for me and we have made plans to spread our wings far and wide as the weather improves and spring arrives.

I spent my evening getting ready for my trip to Berlin, making a few phone calls to the US and watching Nicolas Nickelby through Love film.com (coincidentally, a film based on a Dicken’s novel).

I have had an amazing week and I have to put myself back into the work mindset as I return to teaching tomorrow after a whole week.

Westminster Cathedral, National Gallery and Lunch at Carlucci’s

Jan18

Sunday, January 18, 2009
London

Since I had resolved when I first arrived here, that I would go for service to a different historic church every Sunday, I did some research last night and discovered that Westminster Cathedral (not to be confused with Westminster Abbey which is Anglican) is the largest as well as principal Catholic Church in the UK and, therefore, well worth a visit. I awoke again at 5 am and continued reading Bombay Tiger in bed before I stirred, took a shower, had my breakfast sandwich (purchased from Waitrose yesterday) and set off.

There wasn’t a soul on Fleet Street as I awaited the bus at 8. 30 am. London is lazy on a Sunday morning and but for the fact that it was bright and sunny, I might have felt a little uneasy waiting at the bus stop while entirely alone on “Grub Street”. Bus Number 11 arrived about ten minutes later and deposited me at the Cathedral within 15 minutes while the 8 am mass was concluding. This allowed me to admire the vast exterior of the cathedral which resembles streaky bacon and is matched by the other streaky bacon buildings in the vicinity which is to say that they are all striped horizontally in red and white! The cathedral is a fanciful Byzantine structure complete with massive dome and towering campanile or spire. It has a grand semi-circular mosaic panel at the entrance which is echoed by a similar one behind the main altar.

Inside, I spent a few moments in prayer at the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament before I was able to admire the grandeur of the main sanctuary that has an impressive baldachino or altar canopy made of eight columns of yellow Veronese marble. The domes are darkened and the cathedral is in the process of being refurbished as was evident from the metal scaffolding that mars the back of it. It is the sheer size of the structure that is most striking but I have to say that it was freezing cold as there was no heating in evidence at all. I shivered throughout the service and wondered why anyone would attend mass in such a cold and uninviting space. The mass itself was short and sweet. There was no choir and no hymns at all (something I sorely missed and which would have added a great deal to the ambiance). Three new altar servers were inducted into the Guild of St. Steven and they received an ovation from the congregation.

I left the church and walked right into a freezing winter wind that whipped all around me as I stood at the bus stop to wait for the bus to take me back to Trafalgar Square. I intended to return to the National Gallery to finish the last 7 rooms comprising the 17th century painters and when I got there at 10.15, I found the Gallery quite empty. As I was saying, Londoners start slowly on a Sunday!

The rooms I saw this time round comprised the work of the Flemish Masters especially Peter Paul Reubens whose canvasses are most awesome in their size and scale and variety of subject matter. I also saw wonderful work by Zurbaran, Velasquez and Anthony Van Dyke including the famous equestrian portrait of Charles I. I will now begin my examination and study of the paintings from the 18th to the early 20th century before I turn my attention to the Tate Modern where the collection continues. What a marvelous journey this is turning out to be! I feel so fortunate that I have the time to study these works in such detail. I am also indebted to the policy that keeps the museums in London free of charge because I know I would not be able to afford to pay a fee each time I entered to view the collection.

Then, it was time to take a bus again and get to Sainsburys to do some grocery shopping for the week. With some cold cuts and cheese, I have ingredients to fix myself a few sandwiches as classes begin tomorrow and I will need to carry lunch. I also bought a couple of quiches as I find it so much easier to eat simple dinners of this kind rather than to cook myself.

Back home, I had time to start writing a letter to my parents before I rang the doorbell of my next door neighbors Tim and Barbara to see if they were ready for our 1 pm lunch appointment at Carlucci’s. This wonderful Italian chain to which they introduced me is extremely popular in London and has a location just a ten minute walk from our place close to the Smithfield Meat Market. We have been here before and it is now starting to feel rather homey! All three of us went for the Lunch Special which included either a Mixed Salad or a Bread Basket, a Pasta of our choice and a coffee for 8.50 pounds. Tim chose the Ravioli, Barbara had the Tortellini and I had a Linguine with Seafood. With beers to go around and coffee and ‘pudding’ (Tim had a Key Lime Tart while Barbara had a Crepe stuffed with Vanilla Ice Cream and a Raspberry Sauce) which I passed on as they ran out of the Tuscan Sponge Cake soaked in rum and served with toasted almonds and chocolate shavings which I had absolutely adored the last time I was there, we had ourselves a really great meal.

Best of all, we caught up on so many things that have happened since Christmas which they spent at Eastbourne. It is always fun in their company and by now they have grown to feel like old friends. I was sorry that I had to turn down Tim’s invitation to join them for a kedgeree dinner on Thursday evening when his nephew will be visiting as I have made plans to see Slumdog Millionnaire with my friend Rosemary Massouras.

The evening passed by as I caught up on some grooming chores, made my sandwiches and a TV dinner. I finished the letter to my parents and emailed it to my brother Roger in Bombay, then made myself comfy on the couch watching an Inspector Lynley Mystery. One long conversation with Llew later, my day came to an end.

Tomorrow starts a new semester. I can hardly wait to meet my students and get back into the swing of an academic routine.