Tag Archive | Bruges

The Amazing Roman Amphitheater in the Guildhall Art Gallery

May30

Friday, May 29, 2009
London

I am finally getting to the end of The Order of the Phoenix (which is turning out to be the most challenging book I have ever read!). After my morning laptop routine (checking email, proofreading my blog), I had my breakfast (croissants with the last of the preserves in my fridge as I am still in clear-out mode). I showered and headed off to my office at Bedford Square.

The paperwork goes on despite the fact that I am now officially done for the year. I had loads of papers to print out in connection with expense reimbursements. Next, I spent a good hour trying to get more Anglo-Indians to give me dates for interviews and succeeded with about six more. I badly need about ten more Anglo-Indians to make this research project valid, so if you are an Anglo-Indian and you are reading this blog, I need your help. Please try to get me some more folks who would be willing to speak with me in the next six weeks. I would be most obliged if you would email me and let me know where and how I could contact these people so that my study will become valid.

I had intended to spend one hour in my office but when I looked at my watch, two of them had passed! The corridors at our NYU campus are quiet, almost deserted with all our students having returned to the States. Life seems very different now on campus and the silence is somewhat deafening. I enjoyed working in my lovely basement office with the sun streaming in and watching the rest of the world (and the red buses) go by and I am pleased that I can continue to use this space all summer long.

Off to the Guildhall Art Gallery:
Then I was on the Number 8 bus headed to King Street and Cheapside where I hopped off; but not before I picked up a Meal Deal at Tesco (1 Prawn Sandwich, 1 packet of crackers plus 1 bottle of water at 2 pounds must be the cheapest deal in town!) and sat down to eat on a stone bench facing the ornate Guildhall with other office-goers and pigeons for company. As I gazed upon the Guildhall I realized how similar it is, architecturally speaking, to the guildhalls I had seen in Belgium–both in Brussels and in Bruges. It appears almost church-like but then you realize that there is no cross anywhere to denote any religious significance.

When I had finished eating, I walked into the Guildhall Art Gallery which is free to visitors every Friday. I went through security and then mounted the steps of a building that though built only in the early 1990s blends perfectly in design with the much older Guildhall in whose premises it is located. There is a certain austere grandeur about the Main Gallery which is lined with oil portraits of the Lord Mayors of London who functioned from this building before the new Thames-side one was designed and built by Sir Norman Foster–the oddly-shaped glass cone that feels as if it is collapsing on one side like a misshapen pud!

Anyway, these Lord Mayors are all dressed in their ceremonial robes which include ermine fur-lined cloaks and scepters–almost royalty! It is always great to walk through the centuries through these portraits and to see how fashion changed as time went by–the 18th century folks always distinguished by their elaborately powdered wigs,the 19th century guys with their luxuriant facial hair! There is a rather forbidding Carrara marble sculpture of Baroness Thatcher who looks for all the world like the ‘Iron Lady’ she was nicknamed. The Hall is dominated by a battle scene by John Singleton Copley entitled ‘The Deafeat of the Floating Batteries 1783-91′ featuring the Siege of Gibraltar–which is depicted in several canvasses all over the place. Among the ones I found more interesting than the others was the Diamond Jubilee celebration for Queen Victoria in 1903 in which Her Majesty, splendid in her widow’s weeds and seated in the golden carriage, arrives at the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral where the special service was conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury while all of Victoria’s “foreign’ (meaning European) relatives looked on.

When you descend to the lower floors of the Art Gallery, you come upon some really interesting art work that goes beyond portraiture. There are works by the Pre-Raphaelite School, for instance, and a particularly striking one is by Dante Gabriel Rosseti entitled La Ghirlandata painted in 1873 (of Jane Morris, wife of his friend and fellow Pre-Raphaelite William Morris, with whom he was secretly in love) and a number of really lovely oil paintings by English painters of whom I have never heard. One outstanding one entiteld The Music Lesson by Frederick, Lord Leighton (of whom I have heard, of course) portrayed womanhood in two of its most exquisite forms–through twin portraits of an extraordinarily beautiful woman and an unrealistically pretty child busy with a lute. Their clothing is ethereally Oriental and proof of the impact of the Middle East upon Leighton’s imagination. (I feel sorry that his home in the heart of London is under renovation and will be closed until October of this year. I shall have to visit it on a future encounter with this city!). The gallery is beautifully laid out with most of it constructed underground, so that you descend lower and lower into its depths as you progress into the 20th century. There are also some abstract works in the Modern section.

Making the Acquaintance of Trevor Chamberlaine:
Then, I found myself in a section of the museum where I made the acquaintance of a contemporary British artist of whom I never knew before–Trevor Chamberlaine. He has a retrospective special exhibition going on right now entitled ‘London and Beyond’ and it was quite the most heavenly part of my day. Considering that I have spent the best part of the last year combing every last secret corner of the city and traveling widely all over Europe, this exhibition seemed like the cherry on my sundae (and I said in the Visitors Book). Indeed, Chamberlaine’s unique talent has captured London in its many moods (yes, including times when it is shrouded by mist and sprayed by rain) from ‘Shopping on Old Brompton Road’ (in oils) to ‘Thames Towpath at Richmond’ (in watercolors). Having been to almost all these places, having personally treaded upon the cobbled stones of all these streets, having traversed her riverways and looked upon her infinite variety from a number of perspectives, I was in Paradise as I walked through this Must See exhibition. If you love London at all, if you relate instantly and warmly to realistic depictions of spaces, if you like your art plain, uncomplicated and immediately comprehensible, this exhibition is for you. All I can wish is that I had enough money to take home a little piece of Chamberlaine’s work with me to the States to always remind me of the most marvelous year I have had here.

And it is not just London or other parts of the UK that Chamberlaine has presenged. Indeed, in five rooms, he has taken us on a tour of the world, his subjects ranging from the bazaars of Old Tehran, Iran, to the smaller villages of Armenia; from the Ganges and her ghats at Udaipur to the curlicued wooden buildings of Prague and Krakow. While waterscapes are definitely his forte (and there are many beaches, lakes, ponds, even fountains), Chamberlaine’s perspective encompasses the globe and his curious mind is captured by people in a variety of garb (from burquas and colorful saris to pin striped suits). Get to this exhibition really quickly and take home a clutch of images that will always remain in your heart as I know they will remain in mine.

London’s Recently-Discovered Roman Amphitheater:
So I thought I was going to see some paintings themed around the administration of the city of London. Imagine my shock when I found myself entering the archeological remains of what was London’s long suspected Roman amphitheater–discovered only when the foundation for the Guildhall Art Gallery was being dug! Helllloooo!!!! I mean just imagine the excitement that might have ensued at the time (the early 1990s). A Roman amphitheater in the heart of London! Who Knew???? Here they are imagining they are in the process of building a new art gallery for our times when suddenly they come upon the sand and stones of two millennia ago–with so much of the original circular wall still standing. I bet they were stunned!

So to understand how significant this find is one ought to remember that the Romans conquered England in 43 AD and called their settlement on the rainy island Londinium. By 47 AD, they had established a base here and by 70 AD they had built an amphitheater exactly like the ones that are still standing in Rome (the Coliseum) and Arles (France) and Verona! It was long suspected that Londinium would have had an arena used for gladiatorial combat but nobody knew where this once was located! So this find, I would imagine, would be one of the most significant archaeological digs of the last century in London!

At any rate, the space is now fully protected by CCTV and there are dire warning everywhere that you are not to pick up a pebble if you do not wish to risk prosecution! As you walk deeper into the arena, sound effects automatically emerge (from sensors that detect your presence) and you are transported to an amphitheater complete with blood-thirsty thousands cheering on the gladiators (who, might very likely, have been battling wild animals given the Romans’ penchant for violent ‘sport’). For me, this is such a good example of the manner in which London reveals itself to me wondrously, one layer at a time, so that I often feel as if I am peeling away at the insides of an onion.

Success at the Post Office–At last!
I made it back to the Holborn Post Office at exactly 3 pm (having had Becky make me a few address labels in the morning) to attend to my boxes of books that were still sitting in their premises waiting for my arrival and the labels of which they had run out yesterday. Once again, the same Scots clerk (I LOVE her accent) helped me with the transaction which took all of half an hour!!! Can you imagine? I had to handwrite each address label (though I had fixed printed ones) and Customs declarations forms and then it was done–all 168 pounds of books and printed matter were sent back home to Southport, Connecticut, a total of 30 kilos. I have a lot of files which I have retained as my research will continue in my new flat when I shall spend a lot of time at the British Library (probably accumulating a lot more paper–darn!!!)

Back home, I tried to finish up all my packing as I am taking a joy ride to Calais, France, tomorrow, with my friend Sushil who is making a ferry crossing for some sizeable purchases in France. He has asked me to accompany him and so here finally is my chance to see the white cliffs of Dover once again, up close and personal. I had last seen them about 12 years ago when Llew and I had crossed the English Channel by ferry en route to Normandy where we had spent time with our friends there.

I am amazed at how much stuff I have accumulated in one year. I mean it is just never-ending. The boxes keep filling, my suitcases (all three of them) are full and I am wondering how I could possibly have accomplished this move if it were not for Chriselle’s friend Rahul who will be arriving at 7 pm tomorrow directly from a trip to Amsterdam to help me out and my friend Rosemary who will be lending me the services of her car!!! I mean, how could I possibly have done this? Truly, I have to be so grateful for all the help that has come pouring my way in the past year and I marvel, once more, at the hand of God that works in the strangest of ways. I mean I made contact with Rahul only two weeks ago when Chriselle was here and now I am relying on him to help me move!!!

I was really ready to do nothing more than write (my May newsletter) by the end of the evening and though I went into bed by 10 pm, I did not sleep until nearly midnight as I was still at work on my laptop writing away until the day ended.

‘Brief Encounter’ Gresham Lecture and More Jubilee Walk

May6

Wednesday, May 6, 2009
London

Phew! What a busy (and very productive) day I had! I am trying so hard to get as much work out of the way before Chriselle arrives tomorrow so that I can devote all our time together exclusively to her. I read about 25 pages of The Order of the Phoenix in bed as soon as I awoke at 6. 15 am, then checked and responded to overseas email (a lot of mail has arrived from India even before I am awake and a great deal comes in from the States towards the end of my London day) before I washed and ate my breakfast while watching Breakfast on BBC!

At 8.00 am, I transcribed my interview with Florence Daly, then revised my chapter for the new anthology on The Anglo-Indian Woman which, I have just heard from the publisher Blair Williams, is to be co-edited by my friend Margaret Deefholts and her daughter Susan. And a better editor than Margaret it would be hard to find, so I hope Blair knows how fortunate he is that she has agreed to take on this monumental task–because only a writer knows how much work an editor has to put into getting an anthology out!

When that was done, I graded a bunch of papers on ‘Issues in Contemporary British Politics and Culture’ and truly enjoyed reading my student’s responses to a lot of the topics to which they’ve been introduced during their year in London. By then it was almost noon–time for me to stop for a shower, a light lunch (pizza and cheesecake–OK, not so light!) and then I left for Gresham College to attend another free lecture.

This one by Roger Parker, Gresham Professor of Music, was on the film Brief Encounter and the recurring role played in it by Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number 2. Now I had seen this movie only a couple of months ago and had found it charming but awfully dated. I was curious to see what Parker had to say and in the few extracts he showed from the film and his very enlightening commentary, I learned to ‘look’ in a rather different way at the film–through the eyes (and ears) of a musicologist. I found him a very engaging speaker indeed with a delightful sense of humor to boot and I was sorry to hear that this was his last lecture for the season because he seems to be a much-loved member of the lecturing cohort. Darn! I so wish I had gotten to know about these lectures earlier.

It wasn’t long before I caught the 341 bus from Gray’s Inn that took me to Fleet Street from where I hopped into the Number 15 and off I sailed to the Tower of London to resume the Jubilee Walk. To my good fortune, it was one of those old Routemaster buses which, when I get to ride in them, I always consider an unexpected bonus. It was going to be Part 4 for me and I felt curiously energetic.

The Jubilee Walk Part 4:
This bit took me through a part of London I had never seen before–the East. It is the very heart of London’s Financial District (its Wall Street, I guess you could say) and at the very start of it, I passed by Monument, the 201 foot tall pillar whose height is of much significance. You see, the Monument was erected to mark the horror of the Great Fire of London and its height is exactly the same as the distance from the bakery in Pudding Lane where the fire is said to have originated in 1666 destroying most of the city and reducing it to a heap of ashes. The only upside of this disaster was that the plague was finally eradicated from the city as the carrier rats were drowned in the River Thames in their attempt to escape the flames.

Recently refurbished, the monument glows with a sort of inner light that is hard to describe. The beautiful bas-relief at its base has been stripped of centuries-worth of dirt and grime and the crowning ornament at the very top of the pedestal is glowing with the new coating of gilt that it has recently received. It is possible to climb the 311 steps to the very top to receive stunning views of the city–which today I was sorely tempted to do as it was such a clear day. But I decided not to get sidetracked from my goal (which was to traverse a good part of the Jubilee route) so perhaps I shall keep this challenge on hold until July when my friend and travel companion Amy Tobin is intending to come from the States to spend a few days in London. We had climbed the 500 odd steps to Brunelleschi’s Dome in Florence in March of last year–so I guess we can try to repeat that feat this year at the Monument–if I can twist her arm to do it with me!

Then, I was tramping the pavements again following those silver disks and arriving at the crossroads where The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street aka The Bank of England made her imposing presence felt in the center of a traffic island. It is here that a very striking structure marks the Jubilee Walkway. A conical shaped marker provides the information that I am standing in one of the busiest parts of the city of London. Each day, I read, 350,000 people commute into this area to work. And at night, there are only 5000 residents left here. That explains why on the Bank Holiday Weekend, this area was as dead as the dodo! There was just no one here! I was astounded. I mean, can you imagine, up there in all those countless offices are 350,000 people hammering away at their computers and keeping the (rather sluggish) wheels of the economy turning!

When I finished marvelling at that fact, I turned my attention to the Neo-Classical edifice that is the Bank of England. Ever since I worked at the Reserve Bank of India (following my dad into the institution in which he worked for 40 years) when right out of college and while reading for my Masters in English at the University of Bombay, I have wanted to visit the Bank of England. Little did I know that I would have to wait for so many years, nay decades, before that dream could be accomplished. But no, I did not go inside. I had to content myself with an exterior visit and a few souvenir pictures before I set out again, this time arriving at the equally imposing Guildhall.

It was here that I introduced for the very first time to the Guildhall Art Gallery. I had no idea that such a place existed. And when I popped inside, after I had taken in the medieval building that for a moment made me think I was back in Bruges in Belgium, I discovered that entry was free to “residents of the City”. Now since I live on High Holborn, I am a resident of the “City”; but, of course, I wasn’t carrying anything on me that would proclaim this fact. I mean who goes around carrying any kind of document that contains one’s address? Well, OK, maybe if you drive a car, you might have your driver’s license with you. But otherwise, I can’t imagine that many people might have such a document in their wallets.

At any rate, the security guard, a fellow-Indian from Poona, who was delighted to discover that I was originally from Bombay, informed me that after 3. 30pm entry was free. He suggested I visit the Clock Museum on the opposite side of the quadrangle for free and then return in 15 minutes time. I had, by then, decided that the Guildhall Art Gallery probably deserved a visit all its own and resolving to push off, I made a mental note to return–perhaps on a rainy day!

So I set off again, this time following the route towards the Barbican which I discovered is a mammoth complex that has been created in the midst of a glass and concrete jungle that can be terribly perplexing if one doesn’t have a good map. Indeed, I was in a part of the city that I had never seen before surrounded by modernist architecture–all towering skyscrapers and glinting window panes–that were not my cup of tea at all. It was rather thankfully that I found my way out of the maze. By then I was tired and spying a Waitrose tucked away in a corner of Beech Street, I nipped in for some rum and raisin ice-cream and decided to look for a bus to take me back home. It was only a few minutes before I spied both a bus stop and a 55 that came trundling along to take me along Clerkenwell Street which I recognized immediately from one of the self-guided walking tours I had taken a few months ago–and then, presto, there I was at the intersection of Gray’s Inn Road and only a few yards from home.

A nice cup of Earl Grey (make that several!) with lemon and a touch of honey and a slice of Victoria Sandwich Cake and I was ready to grade the rest of my papers and transcribe yet another interview with John Stringer who is easily the most fascinating Anglo-Indian subject I have yet interviewed in England. Not only did he have extremely unconventional views which he expressed with a delightfully wacky sense of fun but he had the privilege of meeting both Mohandas Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru in his lifetime and he told me about these with the utmost animation. When that was done, I returned to some more email correspondence which is flowing in copiously as my students are sending me the outlines of their final research papers for approval.

I had started working at my computer at 5.00 pm and it was after 9 .00 pm when I stopped to eat my dinner (Chicken Kiev and a salad) while watching New Tricks on the Alibi channel. By 10.30pm, I was in bed, having brushed and flossed my teeth, hammering out this blog and getting ready for my last night alone at home before Chriselle joins me.

Tomorrow at this time, Inshallah, I shall have picked her up from Heathrow and brought her home to my flat. I am counting the seconds until her arrival.

In Bruges–On a Day for Ducks!

Apr18

Friday, April 17, 2009
Bruges, Belgium

What a dreadful day! Truly, one for ducks! This wasn’t the kind of day that tourists can take in their stride—when sudden downpours wet the streets but pass quickly away. This was a steady continuous drizzle that went on all morning and turned the temperature way down low. It made us feel generally miserable especially after we had stayed out for a while and our fingers started to freeze. “We”, was my pal Taraney and myself. She decided to join me on the third walking tour and proved to be great company. Travel writers/travel lovers/bloggers probably just gravitate towards each other. I discovered, before long, that she is also blogging and maintaining a journal based on her travels in Northern Europe. To reach her blog, do click on: http://itinerantaraneh.blogspot.com/

I had awoken at 7. 30 am after a very restful night. For the first time ever since I began slumming it in youth hostels around Europe, I actually slept in a 6-bedded female dorm that did not contain a snorner! You have no idea how merciful that luxury can be! Little wonder that I dressed, packed and got right down to breakfast where Taraneh joined me for muesli with milk, and a bread roll that I filled with salami, cheese and good European butter—indeed a very filling breakfast for a youth hostel. But then, the Benelux (like the Scandinavian) countries do awesome breakfasts—yes, even in the youth hostels.

The Burg and Beyond:
The weather did not stop us from taking George McDonald’s last suggested walk in Bruges entitled “The Burg and Beyond”. With these three walks, I pretty much had all of Bruges covered—minus, that is, the museums. But then I had decided that I would go to the Fine Arts Museum in Brussels and would skip the ones in Bruges (which, by the way, did not recognize my Metropolitan Museum ID card and would not give me a free ticket to enter—which the Musee Royaux des Beaux-Arts in Brussels did!).

We left our hostel at 9 am (after I had checked out and stashed my bag in the unlocked storage area and hoped it would still be there when I returned to pick it up). Within 10 minutes, we were in the Market Square where Taraney went out in urgent search of an ATM machine. When she drew a blank, we began our walk hoping to find something subsequently. I found a flexi-magnet of Brussels in a small souvenir store where I also picked up a postcard. With that search out of the way, we started to read up about the Burg—another large cobbled square ringed by important buildings. As in Brussels’ Grande Place, these were built mainly during the Middle Ages, destroyed by the French, and then rebuilt during the Flemish Renaissance.

The Basilica of the Holy Blood and the Liberty Hall:
Our first port of call was the ornate blackened church with gilded figures adorning its façade—the Basilica of the Holy Blood. This is really two churches in one: on the bottom floor is the Romanesque St. Basil’s Chapel built in 1137-57 and wearing its age on its sleeve—it was small with low fan-vaulted ceilings and some very striking statues inside. I particularly loved the Pieta , a medieval Madonna and Child and a version of Ecce Homo, each of which occupied its own atmospheric niche.

The upper floor, reached by a spiral stone staircase had a really spectacular painted altar. In the beautiful Baroque chapel on the right side in a silver receptacle is kept a Relic of the Holy Blood in a rock crystal phial. This is occasionally brought out and displayed in the hands of one of the church’s officials who sits up on an altar where the congregation can go forward and venerate it. I had a chance to climb the stairs and kiss the relic. In the phial is a small scrap of cloth stained with the blood of Christ obtained after the Cruxificion by Joseph of Arimathea. Count Thierry of Alcase who received it as a reward for acts of bravery during the second Crusade brought it to Bruges from Jerusalem in 1149—says McDonald in his explanatory notes in his book. For me, both, seeing the relic and being able to kiss it, were uniquely blessed experiences and I was very happy indeed to have had such an unexpected opportunity.

Then we stepped inside the adjacent Town Hall (also in the Burg) where we entered the Renaissance Hall of the Liberty of Bruges. There was an entry fee that allowed visitors to walk through the well restored rooms, one of which included the main hall filled with elaborate sculpture and carvings. Since we had decided not to spend time indoors, we walked out of the Parliament Hall but not before we had a quick and quite stunning glimpse of the splendid black marble Dinant mantelpiece and fireplace with a superb carved oak-chimneypiece from 1528-9 by Lanceloot Blondeel celebrating Emperor Charles V’s victory in 1525 at Pavia over Francis I of France. This wooden sculptural group, featuring among others European monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, is so grand and so elaborate that it is said to be one of the finest in Europe.

Canal-side Bruges:
After enjoying these highlights of the Burg, we continued on our walk, which took us through Blind Donkey’s Alley and over a bridge across a canal to the Tanner’s Guildhall. A few short steps away was Rosary Quai, which affords one of Bruges’ loveliest sights—canals, waterside houses, and the Belfry. Despite the fact that it was still coming down in sheets, we enjoyed the ambience and soaked it all in.

When we traced our steps back to the colonnaded fish market where a few fishmongers were hard at their trade, we decided to walk alongside the canal, past two of the prettiest old stone bridges in the town—Meebrug and Peerdenbrug. This brought us to the almshouses named after the Pelican that adorns its front façade. I had begun to recognize these almshouses quite easily by this point: they are small, cute and have low gabled roofs.

At this stage on our route, we were tired and cold as the rain had continued incessantly. We came to the Coupure Bridge and saw the Marieke sculpture based on a song by famous Belgian signer Jacques Brel called “Ai Marieke”. A longish and then rather uninteresting walk took us past the vast Astrid Park with its gold and blue bandstand behind the Blessed Magdalen Church. Taraneh still needed an ATM that was proving to be rather elusive and it was at the Market Square that she finally found one. It was then that we decided to warm ourselves up with a bite at a cozy tea room where we shared a pot of Darjeeling.

Boat Cruise along the Canals:
A very tired Taraneh bid me goodbye at this stage to return for a nap to the hostel. It had, miraculously, stopped raining while we were at our impromptu meal and I began to think again of taking a canal cruise to receive a different perspective of the town. Making my way to the public library, I found a dry spot and ate my lunch there, then went out in search of the one of the jetties from which the boats are launched. Tourists had begun to resurface as if from under the downpour and when I did find a jetty and boarded a boat for just 6. 70 euros for the ride, it was almost 2. 30 pm.

The canal cruise was short (just a half hour long) but was one of the most delightful experiences I had in the town and one I would heartily recommend. Indeed, we passed through the same buildings, quays, islands, that we had seen during the past couple of days, but you see them from a very unique angle. I took so many pictures as I just couldn’t get enough of the charm of it all. In fact, I felt slightly at odds with the passing scenes and thought it might have been more appropriate to be dressed not in jeans and a hoodie but in a flowing black cape with hand made lace at my collar in the manner of the women in the 17th century Flemish paintings of Jan van Eyck, Van Vermeer and Pieter de Hooch! I made the discovery that in the course of my three walks, I had indeed covered every significant nook and cranny of the city and could have given a far more effective commentary than the boat driver did—he did a multi-lingual job (Flemish, French and English) but the information was far too sketchy for my liking. Indeed I had grown to love the medieval town so dearly that I began to feel rather possessive about it!

The cruise was over in half an hour and I alighted and started my walk back to the youth hostel to pick up my bags for my intended early evening return to Brussels—mainly because it was really too cold to linger outdoors for much longer. I found the consignment store again and bought myself a Burberry umbrella and then returned to the hostel where I picked up my bag and made my way to the bus stop headed to the train station—but not before I dressed more warmly and in layers—cashmere cardigan, silk scarf and warm denim jacket.

I was at Bruges station in about 20 minutes from where I boarded a train for Brussels, a ride that took an hour and wended its way deep into the heart of the Flemish countryside as seen in the landscape paintings of the Flanders School. Because it was too cold to venture out again, I opted for the 10 euro dinner being offered at the youth hostel, which consisted of a thick and very delicious vegetable soup, marinated sheesh kebabs served over wild rice and cauliflower au gratin with crème caramel for dessert. Very good value for money indeed. Well fuelled, I returned to my room to write this blog and since I was tired, all at once, I decided to do a bit of reading before falling asleep.

Beguiling, Bewitching Bruges!

Apr18

Thursday, April 16, 2009
Bruges, Belgium

I had a restless night being awoken about 1 am by an unruly crowd on the street outside the hostel window, that kept me awake for a good hour. Still, I awoke at 7. 30 am, very refreshed, dressed quickly, packed and went downstairs with my backpack for my breakfast with my suite mate from Hongkong whose name I did not get. Over muesli, two slices of bread with preserves and cheese and caffe lattes (provided in the 19. 50 euros per night that it costs to stay at the YHA), I chatted with her and then checked out at 9 am. The walk to Brussels’ Central station took me ten minutes. I bought myself a return ticket to Bruges (25 euros) and took the 9. 27 am train to Bruges with one stop at Ghent.

Arrival in Bruges:
I arrived in Bruges exactly an hour later, at 10. 30 am, and followed the instructions (obtained on the website) to St. Christopher’s Inn. I took Bus Number 16 from the station (1. 20 euros for a ticket) to the Bauhaus and then walked for five minutes to the door of the hostel. Again, because check in was at 1 pm, I stashed my bags away and went out to explore the city armed with my guide book borrowed from the Holborn Public Library.

En route, I passed by several consignment stores and ending up buying a bunch of designer scarves to add to my collection (YSL, Gucci, Burberry, Christian Dior, Furla and Louis Vuitton). Only the salesgirl wouldn’t take credit cards, so I ended up giving her most of my Euros, which left me quite cash strapped for the rest of my trip.

The Heart of Bruges:
It wasn’t long before I found myself in a significant cobbled square called the Burg. From there, passing by more chocolate and lace shops, I arrived at the Market Square. Fortunately, the malaise of the day before had left me and the beauty of the city of Bruges so lifted my spirits that I felt like my old self again! Using my Insight Pocket Guide to Bruges by George McDonald, I set out on one of his three main walking tours of the city entitled “The Heart of Bruges”.

This six mile walking tour began at the huge and rather crowded market place through which tourist groups from the East were herded like cattle from one corner to the next. The square was completely taken over by an amusement arcade featuring games of skill. How crass, I thought, as I took in the ugliness of it!

After discovering, from my book, the history of the market place and the buildings that surround the square, I sat on a bench to do some people-watching (and people-overhearing!) and to take in the grandeur of the medieval buildings. Each side of the square is different in style and design. Right in front of me was the Town Hall topped by a slightly crooked flat Belfry with a clock face. On another side, is a row of vivid gabbled houses, now each featuring a fancy restaurant at the base. There is a Provincial House on the third side and the house of the Fisherman’s Guild on the fourth. These give the Market Place a look similar to that of the Grande Place in Brussels, though on a smaller scale. Horse-drawn carriages gave visitors rides around the square and the network of little lanes that radiate from it. But another, more unique, way to see the city is on a canal cruise or boat tour that at 6. 70 euros makes it one of the most affordable to be found in a European city.

It wasn’t long before I realized that Bruges must be one of the world’s most beautiful cities—and among these I count my own favorites, Oxford, Salzburg and Florence. There is not a corner of Old Bruges that does not delight the eye and my camera worked overtime as it tried to record everything: gabled houses, red brick walls, curving bridges over mirror-like canals and swan-filled lakes, cobbled squares ringed by pretty shops selling lace, chocolates and porcelain and pavement-restaurants. Official buildings are richly carved in stone, church spires rise up steeply to meet the sky, streets are completely paved with stone blocks (I finally understood why they are called Belgian blocks in the States!). I walked everywhere, pausing frequently to admire the details on the buildings and soon fell completely in love with this enchanting city. I often sat on the banks of a canal (similar to Amsterdam) or in a quaint and empty square or in an atmospheric church filled with stone sculpture and stirring paintings. It was not a sunny day but at least it wasn’t raining. Though I am something of a glutton for museums, I decided early that this medieval city was too unique and I did not want to waste my two days there being cloistered in a museum (though the city does boast at least two really good ones). I preferred to soak in every sight, every bewitching corner and but for two churches that were on my route, I did not stop indoors anywhere. One of then, the Church of Our Lady contains an exquisite Carrara marble sculpture of the Madonna and Child by Michelangelo (the only one of his major works to be found outside Italy) which was really quite lovely to gaze at.

Soon, I found myself on the ancient brick Bridge of St. Boniface, which spans a narrow canal filled with shaded timber-faced buildings and a flowering cherry tree. It was one of my favorite parts of the city and I took many pictures here.

By 2 pm, I was tired and needed a rest and a good meal. I chose a restaurant recommended by McDonald in his book—Maria von Boergondie) where I chose a typical Belgian dish called a Waterzooi (explained to me by the Belgian couple seated next to me). This was a delicious chicken stew with cream and vegetables served with boiled fingerling potatoes. A two-course meal with boring vanilla ice-cream for dessert cost me 16 euros and since the restaurant does not serve tap water, I ordered a Perrier, which upped the bill to almost 20 euros! Bruges is not an inexpensive city, I discovered rapidly.

Artistic Heritage and Lake of Love:
A good hour later, I was ready to launch on my the second installment of my explorations and chose to do McDonald’s second walking tour entitled “Artistic Heritage and Lake of Love”. This tour took me to the Memling Museum, which I skipped in favor of outdoor scenes. I took in the quiet environs of St. John’s Hospital (of which the Memling Collection is one part) then proceeded towards the Spanoghe Almshouse built in 1680 which took me to another delightful square called the Walplein. This square contained one of Belgium’s best-known breweries: makers of Henri Maes beer. I decided not to take the tour which included a sample to taste and proceeded instead to the Godhuis de Vos, another almshouse that dates from 1713—so tiny, charming and picturesque are these almshouse (how mainly pensioner’s homes) that I felt as if I had strayed into Disney world!

At this point, the tour took me to the Princely Beguinage of the Vineyard that is reached in a very unique way—across a bridge over a canal and through a Renaissance gateway. As if this were not enough, the most uplifting sight awaited me as I entered the Beguinhof—I saw a vast green covered with daffodils in every shade of yellow, a virtual filed filled with them! Visitors were so charmed by what they saw that they sank down on their knees to be photographs among the frilly flowers against a backdrop of white faced Belgian houses that are now home to the Benedictine nuns as the Beguines (a monastic female religious order) no longer exists. The order of the Beguines were founded in 1245 by Margaret of Constantinople and attracted many fervent women through the centuries.

After strolling through the cloistered garden, I visited the museum at Number One that is furnished in the simple manner of the 17th century women of the order. I also visited their small Church of Our Lady of Consolation in Spermalie. Indeed, Bruges was so beguiling that my flagging spirits of the previous day lifted completely and I was filled with so much renewed energy that I wanted to cover every corner of it on foot.

Leaving the serene environs of the Beguinhof behind me, I found myself facing a red brick gabbled building—the Sashuis or Lockkeeper’s House on a long rectangular lake called Minnewater or Lake of Love. Swans and ducks sailed majestically by as I walked along the lake’s banks towards one of the Powder Towers (so-called because it was once used to store gunpowder). I then crossed the bridge over the lake and arrived at lovely waterside Minnewater Park where tulips would very shortly bloom profusely. I rested there for a while with my umbrella held open against a slight drizzle that made pretty circles in the water. The very end of the walk took me past another lovely gated courtyard square that now houses the Municipal Fine Arts Academy.

At this point, having walked for miles around the town, I was seriously tired and started to pick my way home, stopping only occasionally when something caught my attention. Then, at 7pm, I checked into my hostel, found my room and bunk bed and started to write my blog when I was introduced to my room mate—a Seattle student who has taken a Gap Year off to discover the world. I joined her to eat a light supper down in the restaurant attached to the hostel—delicious hot leek and pea soup with bread. For dessert, we ate some of the Belgian chocolate that I had bought in the morning. Then, I showered, brushed and flossed my teeth and went to bed at about 10. 30 pm after what had been an exhausting but enchanting day.

Bonjour Bruxelle! Arrival in Brussels.

Apr18

Wednesday, April 15, 2009
London-Brussles

I’ve wanted to visit Belgium forever—ever since my brother’s friend, when a little boy of nine, once informed us that he was going for a holiday to Belgium. He had meant Belgaum in South India! We’d all had a guffaw but I was never able to get Belgium off my mind. I had once passed through the country by bus en route from Paris to Amsterdam many years ago; but, of course, had seen nothing of the country then. In the years that have since relapsed, I’ve made friends with some Belgians in the States and some of my American friends spent lengths of time when their husbands were posted in Brussels for work. It was time, I decided, to actually get to Belgium myself, so it was with some excitement that I was off—though I had not quite recovered from my travels with Llew into the Ancient Worlds of Rome and Istanbul.

I was excited for yet another reason—this was going to be another first time for me–first time that I was going to travel on the Eurostar line, aka the Chunnel train between England and the Continent that actually travels below the English Channel! It is a feat of engineering that my mind still cannot quite wrap itself over. I intended to savor the experience.

I set my alarm for 5.15 am, was out of my flat at 5.45 am, in King’s Cross Station at St. Pancras which is the hub for Eurostar in London at 6 00 am, “checked in” (i.e. went through security and immigration—just as in an airport), was boarding the train at 6. 35 am and at 6. 59 am, on the dot, we were pulling out of the station and on our way to Belgium. The ride was very comfortable and in the two odd hours it took I did my ‘homework’, i.e. began to read the travel guides I had borrowed from the library with the idea of planning my next few days. It took me a few minutes to get accustomed to the enormous speed of the train as we sped through the Kentish countryside, crossed the River Medway and barreled our way into Europe. I had taken one really fast train, similar to this one, many years earlier—the French TGV (Tres Grande Vitesse) train from Paris to Aix-les-Bains and I do remember feeling slightly disconcerted by its speed at the time.

I have to say that I was a little disappointed as I expected some kind of indication when we launched into the Channel Tunnel, but there was nothing. Also since the train weaves in and out of tunnels all the way out of London, you don’t really know when you hit the Tunnel. (you have a better idea of this when traveling from the Continent to England as you travel over ground all the way until you come to the Tunnel at which point, you remain in darkness for about 25 minutes before emerging into daylight again—that’s how long it takes to cross the English Channel).

We made one stop in Ellsfleet and then in Lille in France before the train changed tracks, left the Paris bound track behind, and headed towards Brussels. Spring had arrived in these parts for the fresh green grass of the cow-studded fields easily indicated that the seasons had changed. It was just a half hour later that we pulled into Brussels Midi station on an exceptionally warm day. As I hauled my backpack/strolley along cobbled streets towards the Youth Hostel where I had made a reservation, I had to peel off my denim jacket because it was so uncomfortable. I was glad I had bought myself an enormous bottle of water from a supermarket at the station, as, for some odd reason, I felt hugely thirsty. Using my map, I found myself at the hostel some twenty minutes later and since check in was not until 2pm, I stashed my bag in the rather high-tech storage room (for 1. 50 euros) and left. Again, armed with my map, I headed out at 11 am for the Grande Place, which was only a fifteen-minute walk away from the hostel.

Discovering Manneken Pis:
Along the route, I was delighted to come upon the famous sculpture of the peeing little boy called the Manneken Pis, which has become an icon of the city. And I was startled to discover how tiny he is! Not more than a foot tall, this little sculpture was the center of so much attention as tourists posed for pictures besides the stone pedestal on which he is propped way up. I have to admit that I joined the throngs and had my pictures taken against the copious jet. And then, a few feet down the street towards the Grande Place—a street lined with lace and chocolate shops galore, I also rubbed for good luck, the right arm on the brass-covered statue of Everard t’Serclaes (I heard a young teenage girl look at it and squeal, “Oh look, Jesus Christ!) who was murdered while defending Brussels in the 14th century. In fact, the brass on his right arm has so worn out that the stone beneath it peeks through, so often has it been rubbed by avid visitors and the city’s own dwellers each time they pass by it.

In the Grande Place:
And then, there it was—the Grande Place of which I had seen so many pictures over the years. It is really a huge cobbled medieval market square, one of Europe’s largest. Surrounded by the most ornate historic buildings, most of which were built during the Middle Ages and then rebuilt after destruction by the French, during the 17th century Flemish Renaissance, they were the headquarters of the various medieval guilds that controlled all artisanal trade in the country during those Dark Ages. As such, they are each crowned by the various symbols of these trades (the Boatman’s Guild House, for instance, is topped by a huge 17th century frigate’s bow). The square also serves today as a daily flower market which brings wonderful color to the center, especially now that spring is here.

It was at about this time that I started to feel deeply exhausted. Occasionally, only occasionally, in the course of my travels, I am assailed by the kind of inexplicable malaise that finds me suddenly dragging my feet. Whether this was because Llew had left only a day previously and I missed him sorely, whether it was because I had spent the previous two weeks with him traipsing through castles, cathedrals and museums and was so worn out that I could not really ‘see’ anything any more or whether it was simply exertion that was taking its toll on me was hard to say. But all I wanted to do was sit somewhere quiet and watch the world go by. And for a while that was exactly what I did in the Grande Place.

The Area Around the Grande Place:
A little later I used my DK Eye Witness Guide to Brussels to follow a road that led towards the Neo-Classical edifice called the Bourse—the country’s Stock Market. Very different from the ornate gables of the Flemish Renaissance upon which I had feasted my eyes in the Grand Place, this building features Corinthian columns, Greek pediments with carved friezes and sculpture by some leading lights including August Rodin. At the Bourse, I joined other tourists and sank down on its grand steps overlooking the main traffic-filled boulevard, and found it impossible to get up. That malaise was still haunting me. En route, I had also visited the Church of St. Nicholas and then I arrived at the Halles St. Gery, which is considered the birthplace of the city as a chapel to St. Gery has stood on this site since the 6th century.

Lunch at the Grande Place:
Then, still lacking enthusiasm, I traced my steps back to the Grande Place, stopping en route at a convenience store to buy myself a bottle of chilled Belgian Duvel beer. I ate my homemade sandwich and chugged my beer while watching tourists take pictures of the guildhalls as I sat on the stone steps of one of the buildings (noting, with dismay, that Belgium seems to be singularly lacking in seating along its sightseeing trails). It was almost 2 pm by this stage and as I ate and drank, I began to feel seriously buzzed. It was only later, reading in my guidebook, that I discovered that Belgian beer packs a heavy punch. Since I wasn’t sharing the bottle with Llew but had drunk it all myself, it packed a wallop and it was with the greatest difficulty that I launched myself up to my feet to continue my exploration of the city.

Window-shopping in the Galeries St. Hubert:
Using my map, I went in search of the Galeries St. Hubert, which comprises a grand shopping arcade that was inaugurated by Belgium’s first king, Leopold I, in 1847. Today, dominated by luxury merchandise shops selling designer clothing, leather goods, lace shops and expensive chocolatiers such as Leonidas, the shops are still fun to peek into and I had a good time though only window shopping. By this stage, I had eaten a great amount of chocolate as the attendants were eager to pass out samples. Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies, however, hadn’t yet dropped to half price in Belgium even though Easter was long past!

Just past the Galeries St. Hubert is one of the city’s most interesting streets—the Rue des Bouchers. This is a Foodie’s Paradise as it is lined on both sides by a variety of restaurants, most of which entice the visitor with a stunning array of appetizing arrangements of fresh seafood, fruit and vegetables. I walked its length, passing by the famous Leon and promised myself that I would not leave Brussels without feasting on its most famous culinary offering—moules-frites (mussels with fries).

It wasn’t long before I found myself at the Places des Herbes where I occupied a seat on a bench and promptly plonked down! It was a good hour before I stirred again, by which time I had myself a wonderful hour-long nap (or a drunken sleep, if you prefer!). But it proved to be incredibly refreshing because it spurred me on to get back on my feet and look for Brussels’ best-known church—the Cathedral of Saints Michael and Gudule. This twin-spired church is somewhat reminiscent of Paris’ Notre-Dame and is truly gorgeous inside. Despite the fact that I had just returned from Rome where I was made to feel “all churched-out”, I was still taken by its grandeur. The Last Judgment stained glass window with its vivid shades of red, yellow and blue was truly lovely. An extraordinary Baroque carved wooden pulpit by Antwerp-born Henri-Francois Verbruggen matches this visual treat, the likes of which I have never seen before. Over the next few days, I visited many churches with Baroque pulpits, but none of them matched the splendor of this one. It was designed in 1699 and installed in the church in 1776. Two staggering beautiful gilded statues of Saint Michael and Saint Gudule also stunned me as did the larger-than-life sized statues of the twelve Apostles that stand high on stone plinths above the congregation’s heads throughout the length of the nave. It was these interesting and very unusual features that made this cathedral stand out for me.

When I emerged from the Cathedral after a brief but very heavy shower had suddenly wetted the streets, I picked my way along Rue Neuve for some retail therapy for this street is filled with every conceivable European high street store and was busy with shoppers. Recession, what recession? I thought as I watched them hurry by.

Since I lacked energy to do anything more interesting, I decided to postpone my visits to the fine arts museums for my return from Bruges when I intended to spend one more day in Brussels. For the moment, I’d had my fair share of urban exploration and decided to take another route back to the youth hostel. Along the way, I passed by the Hotel Metropole, which, my guide book informed me, had one of the grandest Art Nouveau lobbies and bar-cafes to be found in the city. Indeed when I did walk inside to see for myself, I was quite taken by the degree of opulence with which the ground floor was designed. Lavish use of gilding along walls and columns and the brilliant pools of light cast by glittering chandeliers made the place look like a ball room.

Then I was buying myself a gaufre—a Belgian waffle—topped liberally with whipped cream, chocolate sauce and walnuts. This made a very filling dinner indeed as I returned to the youth hostel, checked into my 4-bedded dorm room, took a very relaxing hot shower in the attached bathroom and then, still feeling quite drained of energy, climbed into my bunk to call it a very early night.

It had been lovely to hear the sound of French all around me and before long, I was eager to try some of my own rusty French on the locals. But everytime I spoke to someone in French, they responded to me in English! And I realized how multi-lingual the Belgians are as they switch with ease from French to English to Dutch in a single minute.

Playing Catch Up!

Apr14

Tuesday, April 14, 2009
London

All day today, I played catch up. It’s amazing how much one puts on hold while traveling. And since I am off again tomorrow (to Belgium), I had a laundry list of items to be accomplished. I did manage to finish writing my ‘Ancient Worlds’ travelogue (i.e. my account of our recent travels in Rome and Istanbul) and loaded them on to my blog.

I also managed to alter my accommodation reservations in Belgium as I have decided to spend two days in Bruges which has a great deal to offer and two days in Brussels. I was lucky to find accommodation at the St. Christopher Inn in Bruges at the very last minute.

Then, I rushed off to the Holborn Public Library to return some books and look for some on Belgium. I found two rather slim ones and borrowed them and then I set off to find a battery for my watch which stopped working yesterday. This turned out to be a massive production as none of the shops were willing to open my watch being prohibited from doing so. It seems that customers requested them to open their watches and then demanded they be compensated for the damage that the salesmen caused to the cases! I returned home in frustration and, using a slim knife, prized the back open. Back to the store I went with the open watch to find a suitably sized battery. And then the one that Maplin gave me did not work! I have no time to continue to pursue this matter and shall take care of it upon my return from Belgium at the weekend.

I also graded my students’ essays, downloaded the pictures from my camera, charged it and got it ready for my trip tomorrow. I am excited about my trip as I am taking the Eurostar, aka the Chunnel train, for the first time and I know it will be a fun thing to do. I haven’t read up anything about Belgium, so haven’t the faintest idea what I will see…but I shall do my reading on the train tomorrow morning and, no doubt, by the time I arrive at Brussels’ Midi station, I shall have a good idea of the shape my next four days will take.

Then, after a shower and a cup of tea in the evening, I set out for my appointment with my friend Loulou Cook at her flat in Farringdon. It took me ten minutes to walk there, past Farringdon Tube station. She let me into the enormous living-cum-dining room space and as we sat down to enjoy a cup of tea, we caught up on the past few days. I was at her place primarily to take a look at her spare room that does not get much use at all as the Cooks have a country home in Suffolk and spend just one day in their London flat. When I had taken a look at it and realized that it would work rather well for me in the summer months of June and July, I sat for a chat with Paul whom I was meeting for the first time. It was an interesting conversation indeed. I do hope that all will now fall into place so that I can have use of their place…so let’s see.

Back home, I finished my packing for Belgium and put together all the papers I need for my travel. I have an early morning start with my train leaving St. Pancras Station at King’s Cross at a minute before seven. I guess I shall be up before 6.00, so I can take a bus and arrive at the station by 6. 30 am! I guess I shall now just grab a bite of dinner, set the alarm on my cell phone and go straight to bed.

British Library, Accommodation Hunting and Another Interview

Feb24

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
London

Through the miracle of modern technology and flawless logistics, my Frank Anthony book was awaiting my arrival at the British Library when I reached there this morning at 10. 30. In the lovely Asia and Africa Reading Room, while being gazed upon by the oil-painted portraits of India’ s erstwhile rajas and maharajas, I devoured the contents of several chapters trying to find clues to justify the Anglo-Indian exodus from India and the reasons why so many of my Anglo-Indians subjects are so staunchly anti-Anthony. I came away with some rather interesting conclusions as I tried to read between the lines. I become conscious of a rumble in my tummy and when I glanced at my watch, you could have struck me down with a feather. It was 1 .30 pm already! No wonder I was starving!

Since I wasn’t too far away from Euston, I decided to go and pay a visit to the Physiotherapy ward at UCL to find out why my referral to the Podiatrist had not yet reached them. At least that was what I discovered before I set out this morning when, in accordance, with the directive of my physiotherapist, Claire Curtin, I had called to ascertain my appointment date for my Orthotics. Well, surprise! UCL hadn’t sent Podiatry a referral at all!!! And here I was waiting patiently, day after day, for the mailman to deliver a letter giving me an appointment. And, another surprise! Claire Curtin was off-duty, so I could not speak with her to find out where the impasse lay. Luckily, the receptionist suggested I talk to a manager, a lovely lady named Nuss Devon, who took me into her office and tried to help me by emailing Claire. I left feeling very disappointed indeed at the way things had turned out.

On the bus, as I made my way to Kilburn, I couldn’t help feeling that I haven’t had the best week. I was headed to Kilburn to meet a man who runs a budget accommodation service as I need to find a place to stay for the months of June and July. The proprietor who runs the hostel was doubtful that it would be the most suitable place for me as his lodgings are used mainly, he said, short term, by backpackers. He offered to show me the place and suggested I book for a week. If I am happy through that week, I can decide to prolong my stay for the rest of the summer, he said. It seemed like a reasonable enough suggestion…so off I went to check it out with, I must admit, a great deal of trepidation. This lovely flat I currently occupy at High Holborn has so spoiled me for anything else that I am actually loath to go and inspect other prospective digs as I know that nothing else will quite measure up.

I was pleased about the location–it is on a quiet residential street about a five minute walk from the Tube station, has free internet facilities, spotless toilets and showers, fully-stocked community kitchens and a separate female dorm that just might work for me. Of course, I would much rather have my own studio or an ensuite room in a house; but given London’s exorbitant rents, I might have to settle for something much less luxurious. Still, having a look at the hostel and knowing that, at a pinch, I can opt for this space means that I will not be homeless come June. This is a big comfort to me and I am determined now not to worry too much though I shall continue to keep looking for something better.

On the bus back, I found out that it takes about 25 minutes to get to Baker Street (not too bad at all). I did not try to make a bus connection, however, preferring to take the the Tube as I had a 4.oo pm appointment at Charing Cross station with another Anglo-Indian, Claire Jansen, who, bless her heart, had agreed to meet me despite the fact that she was feeling decidedly under the weather today.

We decided to find a quiet corner in the National Gallery where Claire generously treated me to a hot chocolate as we seated ourselves down for our chat. Unlike most of the respondents in my survey, Claire is close to my own age. She arrived as an immigrant to the UK rather recently but because she has also lived in Australia and the United States, she was able to make very intelligent comparative statements about the Anglo-Indian lifestyle in these different countries. I found her a pleasure to talk to as she combined humor with her acute insights and candid perceptions. The two of us were amazed to discover that a whole two hours had passed in the course of our conversation. If it weren’t for the fact that the security staff at the museum was ready to shoo us off at closing time, we’d have sat there for another two hours! I told Claire that I would love to stay in touch with her and she warmly invited me over to her place for a meal–an invitation I’d be grateful to accept as her reputation as a fine chef has preceded her.

I had so many little chores to do when I got back home. My laundry (that I did last night) had to be folded and put away. I had to pack my backpack as I leave early tomorrow morning for my four day stay in Oslo, Norway. I was excited (as I have never been to Scandinavia) but my excitement disappeared when I checked the weather forecast for the next few days and discovered that it is freezing out there and that snow is expected every single day! I crammed my backpack with my warmest cashmere sweaters and threw in extra woolen socks, etc. I guess I will have no option but to live in the museums for the next few days!

With my packing done, I tidied and straightened my rooms–I hate to come home from a trip to a disorderly house. Then, I downloaded my pictures from my camera, charged it and my cell phone and sat down to have a long chat with Llew. When I had told him all about my search for a place for the summer, I rang off and heated my dinner (Sainsbury’s Fisherman’s Pie) and sat to eat it while watching In Bruges. I had no idea what to expect and basically ordered the film on Love Film.com because I thought it would be shot in Bruges and I would enjoy the locations. Well, it turned out to be a thriller but with the most hilarious dialogue and the craziest twists. Starring Colin Farrel and Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes makes an appearance at the very end. Yes, there was all the cinematography that I had expected (which makes me anticipate my forthcoming April trip to Belgium all the more) but there was this gruesome end that seemed so incongruous with the plot’s setting.

I am all set now to switch on my alarm as I need to leave my flat at 6. 45 am for my 7. 30 Easybus to Stanstead. I can only hope that the weather in Oslo will not make my trip a complete disaster. I will return to this blog on Sunday though I will continue to keep a travel journal–in long hand!

British Library, Discovering Clerkenwell and Exploring the Tate Modern

Feb21

Saturday, Fenruary 21, 2009
London

Despite going to bed at 11. 30 pm last night, I awoke at 5 am, then forced myself to get back to sleep again as I am afraid that this lack of sleep might not be too good for my health! Luckily, I did doze off and woke up again at 6.45 am at which point my day’s work began.

I started off by drafting a longish response to the collaborative preparation online workshop in which all overseas NYU faculty are currently involved. Responses have been trickling in from Paris and Florence and with Karen having sent in her contribution from London, I thought it was about time I put in my ha’penny’s worth. It took longer than I expected, but it was finally done and I emailed it to my colleagues scattered around our satellite sites in Europe. A call to my parents in Bombay (to whom, for various reasons, I haven’t spoken for a few days) followed, after which I made a Eurostar booking for my trip to Belgium (I shall be visiting Brussels and Bruges) and a Youth Hostel booking for accommodation there. I followed this by another accommodation booking at St. Chrisgtopher’s Inn in Newquay, Cornwall, and finally got down to eating my breakfast while doing my Alternate Soaking–by which point it was a little after 9 am.

A shower followed soon after and then I was leaving my flat to catch the bus to the British Library where the Frank Anthony book that I am seeking is stocked. Only problem is that when I reached the Asian and African section where I have been carrying out the bulk of my reading, I discovered that the book is “off site” in Boston Spa, Yorkshire. Of course, I requested that it be sent to me here in London and since I expect it to arrive on Tuesday, I have earmarked that entire day for research and reading at the library itself–as I might only refer to the book for three days at the library itself.

When I walked out of the Library, the sun was shining gloriously and the world suddenly seemed spring-like. There was still a decided nip in the air but it did nothing to chill the spirits of the vast numbers of people that had taken to the streets to bask in its cheer. What a perfect morning for a walk, I thought, as I rode the bus back home (during which time Llew called me and we had a chat), dropped off my bag and other non-essentials, pulled on a baseball cap and my sunglasses, grabbed my book (24 Great Walks in London) and set off to discover nearby Clerkenwell.

And what a lovely morning I had! The walk is entitled “Monks, Murder and Masons” and it took me into what the book calls “London’s secret village”. Indeed, I would never have ventured into this part of the city were it not for the book and yet the area is in my own backyard! Starting right outside Farringdon Tube Station, it brought me to The Castle, a pub that has the unique distinction of owning two licenses–as a public house and as a pawnbroker! There are three gold balls outside the pub to proclaim this fact. The pawnbroking license was granted to The Castle by the Prince Regent (later George IV) who ran up a huge debt at a near-by cockfighting ring. In despair, he turned to the pub next door and asked the owner if he would accept his gold watch for a loan. Not recognizing his royal patron, the pub owner agreed and money changed hands. The next day, an envoy appeared at the pub with enough money to retrieve the watch and a pawnbroking license which the pub has proudly displayed ever since. I entered the pub to see a painting on the wall that depicts this fascinating story.

Going through a really narrow alleyway that was reminiscent of the novels of Dickens, I arrived at St. John’s Square under a stone gateway that Shakespeare would have known. This lovely gateway that dates from 1504 was once the main entrance to the Priory of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John. Following their dissolution, it became the Office of the Revels. Contemporary dramatists like Shakespeare and Marlowe would have brought their plays here to be licensed for public performance. By 1877, the space was acquired by the organization that evolved into the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade which has branches world-wide. I was able to take a quick look at the small but very interesting museum inside on the ground level though I could not mount the stairs leading to the opulent rooms upstairs, Those could only be visited through a guided tour that began at 2 .15 pm.

The walk continued towards St. James’ Church, Clerkenwell, but since it was closed, I could not visit it. It has been on this site since the Middle Ages but was rebuilt in the 18th century. Just past Clerkenwell Close, I arrived at the Middlesex Sessions Court, a beautiful and very impressive building that, by the middle of the 19th century, had become the busiest courthouse in England. When the courts moved elsewhere, the premises were occupied by the London Masonic Center. As if on cue, just as I arrived there, a stream of suited, booted and tied Freemasons poured out of the building, crossed the street and made their way to a pub at the corner for a noon day tipple.

I, on the other hand, crossed into Farringdon Lane and arrived at the most fascinating part of the walk–the Clerk’s Well–from where the entire area derived its name in the Middle Ages. You can actually see the well or spring which became known as Fons Clericorum. It once gushed forth abundantly and was popular among the locals clerks. Lost for centuries, the well was rediscovered in 1924. It lies below ground level and can be glimpsed through glass windows.

Once in the street called Hatton Garden, the center of London’s diamond district, I found myself gazing at the Police Court that provided the inspiration for a scene in Dickens’ Oliver Twist–though the modern offices on the ground floor belie any of its Victorian antecedents. From there, it was on to The Bleeding Heart Tavern where we once had dinner with Karen and Douglas when Llew was visiting London. The gruesome story that gives the pub its name is probably more a result of legend than reality.

In another five minutes, I was back home for lunch (soup and noodles from Wagamama) and taking a much-needed nap. I wasn’t so much drowsy as tired and decided that a few mintues shut-eye would do me a world of good. I woke up about a half hour later, got dressed and set out again–this time to see the Tate’s Modern collection on the South Bank as the museum stays open until 10 pm on Fridays and Saturdays.

I caught the bus to St. Pau’s, then crossed the Millennium Bridge on foot, astonished at the huge crowds that appeared like black ants ahead of me on the bridge. Clearly, the excellent weather had contributed to the presence of spring fever for people were prancing around light-heartedly and taking pictures galore of the urban scenes on both banks. Within a couple of minutes, by 5.00pm, I was in the gallery gazing upon the gigantic spider in the Main Turbine Hall. This recreation based on the original by Louise Bourgeois made every visitor who entered the gallery stop dead in his tracks and gaze upon the humongous creation.

I decided to spend my time taking in the museum’s permanent collection most of which is on the 3rd and 5th floors. But before I began, I took the lift up to the seventh floors for some of the most gorgeous city views. In fact, on the seventh floor, the viewer is at a height that is almost parallel to the dome of St. Paul’s whose impact is just stunning. I got some really lovely pictures from this angle of the glistening Thames and the large number of sailing craft that plied its waters.

Really pleased with my pictures (because every other time I have been to the Tate the weather has been gloomy and my pictures have appeared suitably grey), I started my exploration of the collection. Among the many famous works that dot the galleries, the one that most struck me was entitled ‘Thirty Pieces of Silver” by Cornelia Parker to whose work I became introduced just a couple of weeks ago at the V&A Museum when I saw her suspended work entitled ‘Breathless’. That one was composed of a collection of trombones, clarinets, trumpets and other wind instruments that she had flattened and then strung from the ceiling where they swung gently like one of Alexander Calder’s mobiles. This one, composed of thousands of pieces of silver that she acquired from junk shops was flattened out by a steam roller. She then composed thirty vignettes comprising trophy cups, cutlery, platters, etc. and has strung them from the ceiling where they simply mesmerized me as they seemed to do some many other visitors. Indeed, a whole large gallery has been devoted to this breathtaking piece of Modern Art with which I found myself connecting instantly. I was also pleased to find Roy Lichtenstein’s “Wham” on display–this is one of Marina Versey’s 100 Masterpieces of Art. I have been trying to see every single one of them in the various musuems around the world where they are on display.

It was 8 pm when I finally finished seeing the permanent collection. I was tired but not exhausted as I had the good sense to use one of the compact folding stools available for the museum’s aged visitors. It proved to be very helpful to me and as I crossed the Millennium Bridge and took the bus back home, I could not help but think how wonderful a day I had spent.

If the weather holds out like this, Stephanie and I will have a lovely time tomorrow–but given the lousy weather we’ve been having for the past three Sundays, I am not holding my breath, and I am sure, neither is she.

Back in the Saddle Again

Nov13

Thursday, November 13, 2008
London

It was difficult, this morning, to snap out of holiday mode and resume the tenor of working life. But get back into the saddle I did this morning as I set off, on foot, for Bedford Square to teach my two classes. My students regaled me with stories of their respective vacations in exciting European venues–Athens and Amsterdam, Brussels and Berlin, Madrid and Rome and Venice and Bruges. It seemed they had been everywhere. But with midterms cleared and the end of the semester staring them in the face, they are cranking up the pressure upon themselves to produce the best work they can in the remaining weeks before we close shop for our winter break.

Classes done, I kept office hours during which I had a meeting with David Crout to plan our field trips for next semester. I am hoping to take my students to Cornwall and to Portsmouth and Winchester. Then, I left work to return home to Llew. He had spent the day taking a self-guided walk in Belgravia based on my book 24 Great Walks in London and had traipsed through the homes of Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, novelist Ian Fleming, author Arthur Conan Doyle and had seen some tiny pubs in out of the way places that made his wanderings rather wondrous, he said.

Our plans to walk along the Thames Embankment in the evening after night had fallen to take in the illuminated monuments had to be nixed as a steady drizzle throughout the afternoon made it unpleasant. Instead, we sat at home and watched the opening scenes of Todd Haynes’ film I’m Not There based on the life and music of Bob Dylan. Because we were so cozy together on the couch in our living room, Llew actually commented that it felt as if we were back home again in Connecticut–I actually dozed off in the midst of the movie–just as I do at home!

A half hour later, we dressed and left our flat to join my colleague Karen Karbeiner and her husband Douglas at The Bleeding Heart Tavern, a recommendation of my next-door neighbor Tim Freeman who together with wife Barbara has tried out most of the eateries in our area. This old establishment is hidden away in a secret cobbled courtyard in Holborn and boasts a colorful history. Associated with Lord Christopher Hatton (after which the adjoining street, Hatton Garden is named), consort of Elizabeth I, and his wife Elizabeth Hatton, the watering hole was frequented by many an Elizabethan rake at a time when the street was known as Charles Street and the public house also went by another name. Then, it is said that Elizabeth Hatton was dragged dramatically out of the tavern by a jealous jilted lover who spirited her away. The next day, her body was found torn to pieces, her heart still bleeding hideously over the cobbled stones of the courtyard which from that time onwards bore its arresting name.

On that ghastly note, we ordered our drinks and dinner from a small but very impressive menu. Karen and Llew went for the lamb burgers, Douglas chose the whole roasted baby chicken and I opted for the Traditional Fish Pie. The fact that we polished our plates so thoroughly makes no other comment about the food necessary. Though the noise in the tavern was rather loud and we had to strain our voices over the din, our conversation was scintillating throughout as Karen and Douglas told us all about their recent travels in Turkey–they went to Istanbul, Anatolia and Troy–and wanted to know all about our holiday in Athens and the Greek Islands. We had so much to tell each other about the culture, the people, the history, the food and the traditions we encountered. Then, because it had been a long day for Karen and me, we called it a night and Llew and I were delighted to be back home in exactly five minutes.

As Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is a another day”…