Tag Archive | Ashmolean Museum

Relaxing Saturday in Oxford’s Museums and Visiting Bicester Village

Sep18

Saturday, September 17, 2016

Oxford

I am waking up at 6.30 am now and thinking it is still 4.00 am. The days are closing in on us and it is much darker at 6.30 than it used to be. The weekend, I decided, would be devoted to seeing those bits of Oxford I have not yet had the time to see. Saturday was also for taking things easy—no reason to tear out at the crack of dawn. Subsequently, I watched an episode of Inspector Morse in-between having my breakfast (honey yogurt with muesli and decaff coffee) with the telly on and felt generally relaxed. I love lazing on the couch here with a knitted throw to keep me toasty—this is so much like being at home in Southport, Connecticut. I am truly loving it here.

Finally, after a long chat with my Dad in Bombay and some catching up on my blog (all of which took so much time), I went in for a shower and dressed. By the time I left the house it was 11.00 am. I had a rough idea of where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do…but I was also going to let the whim take me where it would.

The Museum of Oxford at the Town Hall:

So, when I got off the bus at St. Aldate’s and saw a poster outside the Town Hall of Oxford advertising the Museum of Oxford, I decided to pop in there. It was the first time I had ever been there. The Town Hall itself is quite magnificent inside—it has a highly ornamental ceiling with very intricate plasterwork. However, visitors are not allowed to go up there except on a guided tour which is offered just twice a month. Instead, I looked at the two galleries that comprise the museum. It shows how the city has grown since 1066 through maps and has a lot of other memorabilia that puts one in mind of the contribution of this city to the world: the Morris Minor, for instance, was made in Oxford, as was Frank Cooper’s Oxford Orange Marmalade which is still being manufactured. I took a really quick look around and walked out about 20 minutes later.

Down Cornmarket Street and into the Church of St. Michael at North Gate:

Cornmarket was already buzzing by the time I got there and it was all I could do to fight crowds to allow me to enter the Church of St. Michael at North Gate. It is almost a thousand years old and despite many visits to Oxford in the past, I had never been in there. This day was devoted to looking at things I had never seen before. Hence, the detour into this church. Visitors pay a fee to climb the tower and get some nice views of Oxford from the top. I did not feel tempted to do so. Instead, I walked briskly towards the Ashmolean Museum and gave myself up the pleasure of perusing its marvelous collection.

Visiting the Ashmolean Museum:

Arriving at the Ashmolean, I was delighted to find a special exhibit on Rembrandt entitled “Sensations”. It is a series of small and very early oil paintings that depict the five human senses. Many artists, apparently, tried their hands at this theme and because Rembrandt was so unknown when he attempted them, they were dispersed and are only now surfacing to be recognized as part of the series. Only last year, one more turned up. It was found somewhere in the US. The last one, Taste is still missing and might be lost forever—who knows? But in the exhibition were Sight (A Peddlar Selling Eye Glasses), Sound (Three Musicians Singing), Smell (Attempts to Recover a Man who has become unconscious with smelling salts) and Touch (A man’s wars being cleaned and probed by a Quack who causes him deep pain). They are really very evocative of these sensations and I actually felt my knees grow weak at the last one.

Following this viewing, I went in search of the two highlights of the museum—The Hunt by Paolo Uccello that focusses on the vanishing point in art (figures getting smaller as they recede into the distance—one episode of Inspector Lewis has reference to this work) and The Forest Fire by Pietro di Cosimo which presents animals and birds running away in terror from a fire in a forest. They are powerful works most remarkable for their wealth of detail.

Next I wandered through a number of galleries with no focused aim. I spent a lot of time with the china collection for this museum has loads of it. I also returned to its biggest highlight—The Alfred Jewel—which is considered the most important archeological find in the UK. It is a lovely little item in gold and rock crystal that probably adorned the end of a pointer that was used to read medieval manuscripts. It was found purely by chance as peat was being dug out and collected. In the Textile section, I was most taken by a gigantic tapestry that represents Southern England with Oxford and its surroundings in the center and London at the bottom. It is also remarkably accurate, given its age. The Ashmolean is also proud of its ownership of Pocahontas’ cloak and of the tin lantern that Guy Fawkes is said to have carried on the night he hatched the Gunpowder Plot—but as I had seen these items before, I did not go looking for them again.

When I had spent more than an hour at the Ashmolean, I decided to get out and do something else. But then, as I was going on a whim, I saw a bus (S1) at Magdalen Road with a sign saying that it was going to Bicester (pronounced Bister)—so I boarded it and off I went.

Inspecting Bicester Village Outlet Center:

Imagine…when I left my home this morning, I had absolutely no intention of going to see designer outlets. And yet, there I was! It took about half an hour to get to Bicester on the bus that was filled with young Asian kids with extra deep pockets. As I had never been to an outlet center in the UK, it was a good experience. I wondered how they would differ from the ones we are accustomed to in the US. Well, I was about to find out…

There were all the usual British suspects lined up in a row—Burberry (it actually had a line waiting outside to get in), Smythson, Vivienne Westwood, Paul Smith…but also names from the rest of the world’s galaxy of stars: Prada, Kate Spade, Saint Laurent, you name it…I, of course, had no intentions of buying anything, but it was fun to look. What was not fun were the price tags. I had massive sticker shock. Outlets in the US offer far lower prices. There is simply no comparison.

An hour later, I was on the bus again, returning to Oxford. I had some more museums to see before they closed for the day…

Visiting the Parks’ Museums–Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum:

The northern part of Oxford is renowned for three things: gorgeous Victorian Gothic mansions (in one of which I had stayed a few years ago as a lodger), the Natural History Museum and the Pitt Rivers Museum. For old times’ sake, I got off the bus at Bevington Road, just past St. Antony’s College, where I cut across to Norham Gardens to see my former home. I have such happy memories of this place that was run by a Mrs. Longrigg with whom I am still in touch after all these years. I intend to meet her again before I leave, but for the moment, all I did was take a picture of the sunroom above the garage in which I had once stayed.

Then, I walked to the University Park and noticed that the trees have leaves whose foliage is rapidly changing color—I now see rusts and yellows. The temperature is also distinctly autumnal now and I was grateful for my jacket. At the end of the Park near Keble College, there was an emergency situation. It seems that a young woman on a bicycle suddenly had an epileptic fit and fell to the ground, much to the consternation of her young male companion. He laid her on the ground as some passers-by called for the ambulance. I waited for a while until she seemed more stable and had stopped thrashing and dribbling. The ambulance had not yet arrived when I walked away as I found the entire situation deeply disturbing and there was not much I could do to help.

By the time I got to the Natural History Museum, just a few meters away, I realized I had not eaten anything since breakfast—so I went straight to the café and ate a vegetable samosa and a latte. They were both delicious—but maybe I was just starving by then (about 4.00 pm)! Across the Museum I went and descended the stairs to see the Shrunken Heads at the Pitt Rivers Museum (which is one of the plots of an Inspector Lewis episode) and the antiquated knife—which Colin Dexter had woven into one of his Inspector Morse plots. You can see that with not much time left, I made sure I asked specifically for these items and was delighted when I found them. The Pitt Rivers Museum is so fascinating to me that I would love to return to it to spend some more time inside. But at 4.30 pm, they shooed us all out.

Heading to the St. Cross Building:

Part of my plan for today was traversing parts of Oxford on foot that I had not done for a very long time. Walking along South Parks Road, I turned into St. Cross Road where I had once attended lectures in the English Faculty Building. Alas, they are renovating it and it was out of bounds to visitors. I took a picture of the steps and the facade and then continued along the road to arrive at Holywell Road from where I walked to Queens Road to Marks and Spencer to pick up some groceries. Armed with my milk, canned tongue, bread and cream, I arrived at the Porter’s Lodge of Christ Church College ready to attend Evensong at 6.00 pm.

Evensong at Christ Church College:

And so there I was at 6.05 pm when Evensong began (Oxford follows some peculiar tradition which dictates that it begin everything 5 minutes after Greenwich Mean Time—don’t even ask!). This time, the entire choir was in attendance including the little choristers. I realize increasingly how multi-cultural and multi-racial the UK has become when I see black and brown faces among the choir—one never ever saw this sort of mixture thirty years ago! It certainly bodes well for diversity.

The service was lovely, the setting spiritual, the attendees deeply involved. But by 7.00 pm, when it ended, I was tired and kept thinking of going home to a nice hot meal and some relaxing telly—for that’s my favorite way to unwind.

On the bus, I arrived home, 15 minutes later, served myself some of the Lamb Jalfrezi that I had cooked two days ago and ate it with toasted bread with brownies and ice-cream for dessert. I felt like a million dollars at the end of a most enlightening day.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Being an Oxonian All Over Again!

Aug2


Thursday, August 1, 2013
Oxford
The heat in Oxford today was expected to reach record levels. Tony, who is a passionate walker (yes, there really is such a thing in the UK) and who recently walked Coast to Coast—all 200 miles across the UK—suggested a walk up Boar’s Hill before the sun became oppressive. 
            We had breakfast—Sue’s homemade multi-grain bread with elderflower jam (from Fortnum’s—my gift to them), muesli with yoghurt and milk and coffee—and then I was off with Tony. 
              Their home in South Oxford, at Grandpont, has a marvelous location. It is two ticks away from their allotments—plots of land that UK Councils rent out to garden-less folks so that they may grow their own veg–and close to a large park with a swimming pool and tennis courts—unbelieveable! We started off by surveying their allotment—they grow raspberries, cabbage, Brussels sprouts, parsley, corn—you name it. It was fantastic. Sue had recently organized a scarecrow contest and there were several including her female one dressed in a skirt! After she picked a few raspberries, I left with Tony for our walk.
Walking Up Boar’s Hill:
            Almost 30 years ago, the Hall Stewart at Exeter College here in Oxford, who became a good friend of mine, Stan Fuller, had driven us (my friend Firdaus and myself) in his car up Boar’s Hill to show us an old stone church containing a memorial plaque to his grandfather who had been killed during the war in Peshawar (in the North West Frontier Province of British India, now in Northern Pakistan). We never did enter the church as it was closed—but we did have a great view of Oxford’s “dreaming spires” from the vantage point from which Matthew Arnold had perceived them when he supposedly wrote “The Scholar Gypsy”. There is a field there called Matthew Arnold’s Field and I had taken a picture perched on it with hair as long as my knees and a pair of jeans and a wide smile. Well, I was keen to take a picture, 30 years later, at the same spot, so it was great fun to climb up the hill with Tony and try to find my younger self at that spot.
            The walk was fabulous—past the lake and over the railways tracks winding on to London, over a stile and across a field in which horses grazed, over a bridge and across another field until we got to a highway (the A 34 going both to “The North” and “The South”) and on to yet another field where we spied a man taking a census of the butterflies in the area—only in England, kids, only in England!  And about 45 minutes later after the sun had climbed rather high and was pouring its heat upon the earth, we arrived at a spot from where you could get reasonably good views of Oxford’s dreaming spires—or, as Tony cynically put it, its dreaming cranes. For Oxford is undergoing a resurgence and there is a great deal of construction activity going on—cranes can be spotted from a long distance.
            We entered the Chilswell Valley (colloquially named The Happy Valley) and sat down for a while to rest on a bench overlooking the downs. It was delightful and it brought to my mind the novel The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize a couple of years ago.  To reach Matthew Arnold’s field would take a walk of another half hour and we had already walked miles by then and needed to get back. Tony suggested he drive me there later in the evening and we started the trek back to Grandpont which took us another hour.
            By 11. 30 am, hot and tired, I sipped on elderflower water and felt deeply revived. Sue suggested I rest for a bit until lunch when she would walk with me into town so that I could visit the Ashmolean. And that seemed like a sensible plan. An hour later, we were sitting down to Tony’s delicious caponata, a tuna salad with celery and apples, olives and ham and potato salad. It was a very nice summer’s lunch indeed and an hour later, Sue and I headed for the Ashmolean.
Revisiting the Ashmolean Museum:
            The Ashmolean Museum is one of the great museums of the world and, being in Oxford, very much a teaching museum. I had last been there four years ago when it was being refurbished—its treasures were then grouped into two galleries so that seeing its highlights was a piece of cake.  
            This time round, I had a chance to peruse the new galleries—all glass and chrome—as well its older sections (which are really after my own heart). Yes, we did see the highlights: the Alfred Jewel is its biggest treasure: the head of a pointer used to read medieval manuscripts, it is made of gold and enamel and has a beast’s head’s worked into it. Incredible craftsmanship for that epoch. What is interesting is that it was found by a worker digging for peat! I also saw the cloak decorated with wampum (small shells used as currency) that belonged to Pocahontas, the wooden doors (carved in India) that belonged to T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia) and the two famous paintings for which the collection is know: The Hunt by Paolo Uccelo and The Forest Fire by Pietro de Cosimo (both of which I have seen several times before). What I saw for the first time is the Lantern belonging to Guy Fawkes—he is supposed to have held it in his hand when he was exposed and arrested for the Gunpowder Plot to blow up Parliament in the late 1600s. I was also fascinated by the Marshall Collection of Porcelain that was bequeathed to the museum and is intact and arranged (according to the terms of the bequest) in exactly the same way as they were when Marshall owned them. The entire Italian Renaissance collection is wonderful and I spent a great deal of time there but then Sue had to leave and I wanted to see the new shop and the new extension (the South Asian section is enormous).  
 
A Walking Tour of my Favorite Parts of Oxford:
            Then began my tour of the places I most closely associate with my graduate student life at Oxford. I exited the Ashmolean and because I am a dedicated fan of the Inspector Morse series, crossed the street and entered the Randolf Hotel (location of many of the episodes). So famous did the Randolf become internationally, that it now has a Morse Bar named for the super sleuth, which, of course, I entered and dallied in. The Randolf was where our friends Peter and Susan Geib had treated my friend Firdaus and me to Afternoon Tea, many many moons ago (while the Inspector Morse series was actually in its infancy in the UK and the first episodes were being shot there) and seeing people having Afternoon Tea through the street-side windows brought back many happy memories for me.
            I crossed St. Giles and The Broad and entered the Covered Market (also scene of Morse episodes and the more recent series called Lewis) and poked around a bit in a vintage shop before exiting and getting to Exeter College. It was open to visitors and I entered its quad where I always feel a sense of homecoming. Pots of geraniums decorated the steps leading to the Dining Hall (which was shut) but the chapel was open, so in I went to feast my eyes on the mosaics, the wonderfully, newly-refurbished interior features including the tapestry of The Adoration of the Magi by Edward Burne-Jones (an alumni) and the choir loft (location of the memorable last scene in “The Daughters of Cain” in the Morseseries). I have recently become aware that Exeter College chapel was modeled after Sainte Chapelle in Paris, France—which explains the small pieces of stained glass on the windows (royaume) and the spindly spire reaching into the sky.
            I walked out to the Margary Quadrangle which, believe it or not, was under renovation! In 1987 when I was at Oxford, it was under renovation too!! I spied my room behind the cranes and other construction paraphenelia but did not venture to them. Instead I walked underground to the Saskatchewan Room where I had lectured during the International Graduate Summer School on the invitation of the university’s organizers. That too, brought back happy memories for me.
            I did not linger long in Exeter because, as I had realized earlier, part of the romance of that era in my life, derived from the wonderful company of the friends I had made then (and who have remained friends of mine—Firdaus, Annalisa, Josephine). Exeter always makes me miss them and want to be with them, so I left pretty soon and made a left at Brasenose Lane to arrive at Radcliffe Square where, lo and behold, I found the Radcliff Camera under renovation! I walked around to the quadrangle of the Bodleian Library past loads of American tour groups and saw the famous pendant ceiling of the Divinity School which I love behind the sculpture of Sir Thomas Bodley. I hurried then along the High Street to get to Magdalen College to meet my friends Alexander and Jessica for tea.
Tea by the Thames at Magdalen Bridge:
            One of the perks of having a friend who is a Fellow at Magdalen College is that one gets invited to afternoon tea to a café on the banks of the Thames where you can watch punters and swans sail past on the river as well as red buses on the bridge. It was idyllic and meeting my friend Alex and his girlfriend Jessica there was a truly memorable experience. We settled down to chat and to sip our tea and remember the past years when I had punted down the Thames with my class mates. Alex and Jessica were great company and I enjoyed discussing their current academic projects with them and the research in which they are currently engaged as Art Historians. After a long chat when they had to return to work, I pottered around the vast grounds of Magdalen College to take in its Deer Park and its wonderful perennial gardens, its chapel and its dining hall and its beautiful quadrangle filled with white hydrangeas.
Yet Another Walking Tour:
            I crossed the High to get to the Botanical Garden but, alas, they had closed for the day. It was time then to take on another one of my favorite walking tours of Oxford. And here is how it goes: I crossed the High once again and entered narrow Queens Lane (just to the right of Queens College). All the way down I went past St. Edmund Hall and New College to emerge at Hertford Lane in front of the Bridge of Sighs. The Sheldonian Theater was right in front to me and I managed to do something I had never done in all the years and all the times I have been to Oxford:  I managed to get the guard at the gate to let me peek inside Sir Christopher Wren’s masterpiece to see the interior. And there is was: the tiered stands (scene of another one of the Inspector Morse episodes that featured the great Sir John Gielgud playing the Chancellor of Oxford University). I observed the great ceiling frescoes (done by Richard Streeter, I was informed) and the spectacular organ. And this is why I have never been inside—entrance in restricted to those involved in Graduation ceremonies that take place in the Sheldonian and to classical music concerts which I have never managed to attend. So it was an achievement indeed to be able to see the inside of it–and I was thrilled.
            Across the street, I entered the famous bookstore named Blackwells—a massive and well-established Oxford enterprise. I was headed for one particular part of the store—the underground Norrington Room which occurs in the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s largest single-room bookstore. It is so large that it goes down in graduated tiers way below Trinity College which lies next door. Indeed it was a fun place to browse in especially after I spied a book written by the Director of NYU in London, Gary Slapper, prominently displayed on its shelves.
            I also discovered from a book at Blackwell’s entitled Oxford, Then and Now, that the view of the dreaming spires could best be taken from the village of Elsfield and instead of going up to Matthew Arnold’s Field, I thought I would ask Sue and Tony if they could go on to Elsfield instead.
            Across the street I went and on to the end of The Broad towards Balliol College from where I walked back to Tony and Sue’s place. I was really tired but it was 7.00 pm and I had told them I would be back to take them for dinner—so without much ado, off we went.      
Dinner at The Victoria Arms on the Thames:
            Yes, we did make a detour to Elsfield because Sue and Tony thought it was right on our way—and no, we did not get to see much of the dreaming spires—just a rather hazy picture appeared but I was quite content with it.
            Were I twenty years younger, it would have been great fun to punt from Oxford on the Thames to the “Vicky Arms” as this famous pub on the banks of the Thames is known locally. As it was, Tony kindly drove us there. It is the scene of many an episode in Inspector Morse—in fact, it is the one in which he grows philosophical about the waning of life with the receding sun in the last episode The Remorseful Day. So I was doubly delighted that we were at this venue to celebrate my stay with a Thank-you dinner for my hosts Sue and Tony who had gone out of their way to make my stay in Oxford both comfortable and memorable. I was so moved by the setting and the lovely drinks (I had a Pimms—because how can you leave Oxford in summer without a Pimms, right?) and the great food. The punters were a-plenty as they rowed in and left, drinks were downed with merriment in a place crowded with jolly patrons. We had the perfect picnic table, right by the water’s edge where ducks swam past as the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon. I chose to eat a cod loin with Parma ham, Tony had the beef and ale pot pie and Sue chose the Fish and Chips and for dessert, we all had ice-cream—salted caramel and chocolate and honeycomb. Yummiiieee! Meanwhile, we discovered that the Vicky Arms is rich in Oxonian history—It appears in the Domesday Book and Charles II is supposed to have supped there while plotting the political Restoration.
            Because all great things must come to an end, we had to eventually tear ourselves away from that bucolic scene and return to reality—but what a meal and what a splendid evening it had been. I know I will not forget it in a long long time.
            It was about 11.00 pm  when we returned home, quite sated indeed, and although Sue and Tony sat up with mugs of tea, I excused myself and fell immediately in bed.
            Until tomorrow, Cheerio!