Tag Archive | Greenwich

Making Dreams Come True–Thames Barrier & Greenwich

Jul27


     
Friday, July 26, 2013
London-Greenwich-London
            Today I went to one of my favorite parts of London—Greenwich. It is an opportunity to cruise on the River Thames, to take in the grand architecture of Sir Christopher Wren (which, in the case of Greenwich, was actually inspired by India’s Taj Mahal) and to stroll through antiques’ stalls to pick up bricabrac. This time, I made a few more dreams come true—small ones, but dreams, nonetheless.
            I worked for about three hours in the morning—awaking early really does help me accomplish substantial work and leaves me guiltless about goofing off for the rest of the day in this distracting city. Brekkie done (walnut bread toast with peanut butter and goat cheese, tea) I showered, got myself organized and set off for Westminster Pier to pick up the ferry to Greenwich. Being a bit early for the 12. 30 ferry, however, I got off one stop later—at Waterloo—and began the South Bank Walk, according to DK Eyewitness Guides.
Strolling on the South Bank:
           Scores of shots of this part of London (from watching too many BBC TV shows—MI5, Sherlock Holmes—made me feel as if I were in a movie. Alighting from the Tube at Waterloo, I had the good sense to jump into a bus that was crossing Waterloo Bridge (as I knew I needed to conserve energy for all the walking I would do during the rest of the day), and alighted at the National Theater—that poor controversial building that Prince Charles described as “a carbuncle on the face of London”.  Others described it as a “war bunker”, yet others as a “power station”. So, no, visually appealing it is not. But it is practical and functional and I have quite grown to like it.
           I crossed the busy dual carriageway street (whoa, careful there!) and reached the other side: the Hayward Gallery has a huge topiary display depicting two people gardening. In the forecourt, I saw a multitude of potted plants and flowers and in the gallery itself it a special exhibition on Nek Chand, an Indian sculptor based in Chandigarh, Punjab, who designed the famous Rock Garden there to blend in with the brilliant architecture of the city by Le Corbusier. Years ago, I had visited Chandigarh with my late mother Edith who was a great admirer of the work of Le Corbusier and had motivated my Dad to arrange a family holiday of North India that would include Chandigarh. Looking at Nek Chand’s work took me back to amazing holidays with my parents during which my Mum had communicated and passed on her zeal for discovering new parts of the world. She was, when I look back now, indeed a ‘studied’ traveler—although, at that time, I was too young to realize it. It is exactly what I have become.
       Resolving to visit the Nek Chand exhibition on another day, I walked towards the BFI (British Film Institute) and browsed in the second-hand book stalls set up under the bridge by makeshift salesmen. Heading forward, I walked past the skate boarding rink that is heavily graffitied and which usually sports a bunch of young chaps flaunting their skills. This morning, it was empty. On I pressed towards Hungerford Bridge past the many riverside restaurants—I have eaten twice at the Wagamama there—before I received a call from Llew that I took sitting quayside. I also spoke to our friend Ira who is visiting Southport from Maine for the annual Pequot Library Sale which is going on this weekend.
Booking a Thames River Cruise:
           It was time for me to get on if I wished to board the 12. 30 pm ferry, so I crossed Hungerford Bridge on foot and arrived at the Embankment Tube station from where I took the train for one stop to Westminster. I easily found my way to the booking offices where there were about 8 people ahead of me buying tickets to board the ferries. Most folks go only as far as Greenwich which is a popular spot for a daytrip. But, as I said, this time round, I was making long-held dreams come true.
             Years ago, I had read a series of books on traveling in the UK and in London by Susan Allen Tott—books that were such pleasurable reading and that rang so many bells in my mind that I actually prescribed them for a Writing course I had taught while living and teaching in London. It was from Tott’s books that I had become aware of the Thames Flood Barrier and ever since then I was determined to go there and see it for myself. Unfortunately, it is only open to visitors for a limited time in the year—three months of summer—and since I have visited the UK usually in the winter, in recent years, I have been deprived of the opportunity to see it. Meanwhile, on more than one landing into Heathrow airport, I have seen the Barrier from the air, and it has only whetted my appetite to be present in person on the ground.
This was my big opportunity. Thames River Services (TRS) operates ferry trips all the way to the Thames Barrier (which is half an hour by boat beyond Greenwich). The return trip is pricey—18 pounds, but I was astute enough to go online and I found a 50% discount coupon which I printed out, presented at the counter and was given a return ticket for just 8. 75 pounds! A true bargain considering that I had paid 8 pounds for just one way on the Regent’s Canal Cruise from Camden Lock to Little Venice which was a much shorter trip!
Cruising the River Thames:
            No matter how often I do this, a cruise on the River Thames is an exciting adventure for me. It offers views of the city of the London from a unique perspective and you get to see bits of it that you could never see from any other angle. I have cruised to Greenwich on innumerable occasions and each time, I have discovered something more about this fabulous city.
            The cruise leaves from Westminster Pier which offers incomparable views of St. Steven’s Tower which is commonly known as “Big Ben” (which is really the name of the bell that is concealed in the uppermost compartment—not the clock, as many believe). The ferry turns around to bring the London Eye and the Aquariuminto focus. And then we were off: the sights from the river that stay with me are Shakespeare’s Globe Theater—this is exactly the perspective Queen Elizabeth I would have received when she came theater-visiting by boat from Hampton Court Palace or Richmond Palace. The Tate Modern, St. Paul’s Cathedralwith its imposing dome and twin spires, colorful Blackfriars Bridge, The Gerkin and now the Shard and further on, the magnificent Tower Bridge flanked on one side by the historic Tower of London (you can see the ominous entrance to Traitor’s Gate from the water) and on the other by Sir Norman Foster’s “collapsed pudding” of a building that is City Hall. St. Katherine’s Dock comes next with Dickens’ Pub close by. More pubs dot the bank: The Mayflower (denoting the spot from which the Pilgrims set out in a boat of the same name to colonize the New World), The Prospect of Whitbywhich has a noose hanging over the river (from which gangsters/pirates were once hung) and closer to Greenwich, the Trafalgar Tavern (about which more later). The shabby warehouses of Wapping and the wharfs (West India Wharf, Butler’s Wharf, etc.) that once lined the riverfront (and did brisk trade at a time, for centuries really, when the Thames was the commercial lifeblood of the country)  have all been converted into luxury flats whose prices present sticker shock or into fancy malls (gallerias) before the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf come into view—the major newspaper/press offices and all the big banks moved here from The City to create a small financial township on what is called The Isle of Dogs. The domes of Wren’s National Maritime College then come into view as do the dome-like structures that mark the entrance to the amazing Greenwich Foot Tunnel that offers a footpath under the river in another brilliant feat of Victorian engineering—and which I had once crossed—to denote that most people had reached their destination. They disembarked and our boat sailed on.
Approaching the Thames Flood Barrier:
            Once the bulk of the boat’s human cargo was released at Greenwich, the boat rounded the prominent hairpin bend in the river that is marked by the great white dome of the O2, known as the Millennium Dome. It resembles a gigantic white tent with gold prongs sticking out of it. Used for concerts and being full of restaurants and amusement arcades, there is a lot to keep one occupied inside. I had once attended an exhibition there on the Treasures of Tutankhamunthat had traveled from Cairo to London. A new contraption in a walkway along the circumference which, for a hefty price, allows visitors to climb over the outside of the dome—the bottom is very steep and most challenging.
            Once we left the Millemmium Dome behind, I knew it would not be long before I could catch my first glimpse of the Thames Flood Barrier. And indeed, in a few minutes, there it was. Now I am no engineer so I am afraid I cannot comprehend the complicated design and the operation of this incredible device. But this much I know: From time to time, the Thames has flooded her banks so badly that water has rushed into the Houses of Parliament and destroyed significant parts of the city. When this last happened (in the mid-1960s, I believe), it was decided to do something permanent to effectively prevent any such disaster from occurring, The result is the Thames Flood Barrier which consists of about 8 or 9 structures that were constructed across the width of the river. They look like giant stainless steel domes but they open out and close like the petals of a flower. Underneath each of them are massive flood gates. These are opened or closed to regulate the amount of water in the river. If there are heavy rains or too much melting snow entering the river to threaten floods, the gates are closed. If there is too little (which can threaten to stall river craft at the banks), they are opened. As a result of this manipulation of the volume of water, London has never been flooded and the device has been hailed as revolutionary.
            Visitors to the Thames Barrier by boat can merely encircle it in their craft. I do not believe there is a landing pier for if there was, we’d have disembarked to visit the Information Center. I believe that one can get to the center by land through Woolwich—but I am not certain.
At any rate, by boat, you get really up close and personal to the barrier and you are dwarfed by it. I was thrilled, absolutely thrilled, to be there and you had to pinch me to get me to believe that, after all these years, I was actually at the spot. The boat made a slow loop around one of the pillar-posts and started its return journey towards London. As for me, one of my dreams came true and I was simply beside myself.
Getting to Know Greenwich Again:
            Half an hour later, we were at Greenwich. I disembarked and began my walk using the DK Eyewitness Guide. It was 2. 30 pm and I had until 6.00 pm to catch the last ferry back to London. I had no intention of entering any of the historic buildings or museums for which the city is known as I had seen all the major ones. Still, it is a joy to wander around Wren’s great creations and I never miss the opportunity to do so.
            I fist passed by the Cutty Sark—this was a Victorian tea clipper (sailing ship) that was commissioned in 1868. For almost the next 100 years, during the golden years of the Raj, it had carried tea back from China and India to England to make it the world’s greatest nation of tea drinkers. It fell out of commission after World War II and lay in dry dock at Greenwich for decades until a recent fire on board destroyed most of it. It was closed for years while refurbishment and reconstruction went on and was only very recently reopened to the public (sometime after January 2012 which is when I was last in Greenwich).
            I had visited the Cutty Sark (after which the famous Scotch Whiskey is named) in 1989 on my first visit to the UK and had been fascinated by everything I had seen in the museum down below: the tea chests that held the merchandise, the smaller tea caddies, the collection of wonderful figureheads from various ships, etc. Hence, I did not visit it again this time round. It looks spanking new and gorgeous and if you are a kid, I would imagine, it would be a great thing to do.                 
            I should add, as an aside, that when I was in Greenwich in 1989, I had also seen the Gypsy Moth II which has been moved to Cowes on the Isle of Wight.
            My walk took me quite suddenly into Greenwich Market which offers a combination of things: arts and crafts, clothing, food and bricabrac. And here’s where my next dream came true. In these stalls set up in a giant indoor market, I came upon something I have been hunting for years—a ceramic Dundee Marmalade jar from the 1900s. These have become ever so rare and so sell for very heavy prices. The last one I saw was in a small antiques’ shop in Windsor, a few years ago, but when I had inquired, I was informed by the salesman that it was not for sale—he used it to stash his pens (which is what I plan to do with it). The grumpy old saleswoman had priced it at 8 pounds—a real steal, believe me—but embarrassingly, I had forgotten to replenish my stock of British cash and since I rely mainly on my credit card, I am often caught short. When this happened, I asked the lady if she could do better on the price. She firmly refused and informed me that such objects are now really hard to come by (as if I did not know this!). I literally counted out the last pennies in my purse and found that I was short of 10p! I asked her if she would give me a 10p discount and she said, “Well, I suppose so”. I was just thrilled (small pleasures, right?).
           
Lunch in a Traditional Eel House:
Yes, you read right—eel house! My walk led me to Godard’s of Greenwich, an old-fashioned eel house dating from the late 1880s where traditional British food has been served for well over a hundred years. Jellied eels were sold mainly to the Cockney population for whom it was a staple food. Today, few shops sell this delicacy and Godard’sis still one of them. I have to admit that I did not have the courage to try them but the shop does sell other traditional food such as Pie and Mash which is what I ordered: the counter is equally ancient as was the saleswoman (who refused to give me a taste of the eels as she said they are very expensive!) My Beef Pie was tasty but it needed a lot of salt and pepper sprinkled on it. The Mash was served with what she called “liquor”—she told me it is traditional—it was a whiteish gravy flecked with parsley (and it needed a lot of more salt too). It was a good meal, very filling and very welcome as I was starving by 3. 00 pm, when I was eating it and I felt well fuelled to continue my exploration of the area.

Greenwich Walk Continued:

My next stop was St. Alfrege’s Churchwhich was built by Nicholas Hawksmoor, Wren’s pupil, in the late 18thcentury but a church has stood on this spot for nearly a thousand years and is very historic. Henry VIII who was born at Greenwich Palace (no longer standing) was baptized here and poor Thomas Tallis, a musician and composer in Henry VIII’s reign who was falsely accused of adultery with Henry’s second wife, Anne Boleyn, was executed and buried in this churchyard. Unfortunately, it was closed but I managed to walk around the burial stones before I emerged out on the street again.
            I crossed Stockwell Road and at the corner of Nevada Road, I spied the Spread Eagle Pub which was once the watering post for tage coach horses of a past era. Opposite is the Tudor Rose Pubthat was established in the reign of Elizabeth I. I walked towards King William Road which is full of enticing shops offering souvenirs and historical memorabilia. And then I was at the gates of the National Maritime Museum which I have visited on a past occasion. I then walked towards the exquisite Queen’s House designed by Inigo Jones— which I have also visited before–a simple cube of a building in front of the famous Royal Observatory where one can stand astride the prime Meridian—it involves climbing up a steep hill which was not part of my walk but which I have straddled on a past visit as well. Across the Queen’s House are the gates of the National Maritime College and I could see that a graduation ceremony was in progress as varied cloaked young folks were walking all over the place. Right enough, it turned but to be Graduation Day at the University of Greenwich which now occupies these majestic buildings. This meant that, irritatingly, I was not able to go beyond the entrance of the amazing Chapel with its glorious altarpiece by Benjamin West and its elaborate Neo-Classical plasterwork ceiling, walls and balcony (location of one of the most memorable scenes in MI5). I crossed the yard to get to the Painted Hall, one of the masterpieces of British architecture, painted by James Thornhill, who also painted the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. It shows George III in great glory, but here too, I was unable to get too far inside as it was closed except for graduation ticket holders. However, having seen it in years gone by, on many occasions, I was not too disappointed.           
            Getting out of the area of Wren’s handiwork, I walked to the riverfront to the Trafalgar Tavern which has stood on this site since the time of Nelson who was a frequent visitor—as were Wren and Charles Dickens. Inside, it is a collection of lovely rooms filled with painting, photographs, engravings, etc. that depict Greenwich in various guises. There is a great deal of history in this area and I am constantly fascinated by the allusions to the great names from the past.
I walked along the Thames Path then by the river and took in the sights of a number of water fowl—including a family of ducks swimming all in a row! It was only 4. 30 pm and I felt I had the time to go out and see one place that I had never seen before—the Fan Museum on Croom’s Hill.   
A Fan of the Fan Museum:
            By the time I climbed Croom’s Hill and arrived at the unusual Fan Museum, it was already 4. 45 pm. Although it costs 4 pounds to get into the museum, they let me get in for free since it was closing in 15 minutes. I made a beeline for the top floor to see the collection of fans of Helene Alexander that numbered 2,000. Over the years, the museum has added to its collection and today there are really unusual fans in the cases. There are traditional ladies hand held fans that are painted elaborately. I saw the use of ivory, tortoiseshell and wood in the creation of fan frames and all of it was wonderful. There was a short film that features the museum’s highlights—from fans that concealed pistols and hearing aids and mirrors to touch up make up. Everything was amazing and I loved it.
            On the walk back, I spied the home of Cecil Day-Lewis, Britain’s Poet Laureate at one time and the father of the famous actor Daniel Day-Lewis. This was where Daniel grew up and it tickled me to think that the riches of Greenwich were in his backyard. Croom’s Hill is filled with very well maintained old homes that are much sought-after real estate today.   
            It was time to get back to the Landing Pier and at 5. 30pm, I was on a boat, really fatigued, as I sailed back to London.
Dining a Deux with Michelle:
            At Westminster Pier, I took the Tube to get to the next place—Regent’s Street to the Ten Café at Café Royal, a very snazzy, very upscale space, where I had been invited to have dinner with my Bombay college classmate Michelle who is a lawyer specializing in European Law with the British government. We have remained close friends over the years and I always make sure I meet her when I am in London. Seeing her again was a real pleasure and, as always, we spent the next two hours just talking nineteen to the dozen as we caught up.
            As for the meal, it was wondrous. We both started with a cocktail—a Picador—that was reminiscent of a margarita. For starters, we had a Tomato Salad full of heirloom tomatoes, a marinara sauce and a garnish of parmesan flakes. For a main, Michelle chose the Salmon while I went with a Rump of Veal with a Bordelaise Sauce served with parmesan crisp on a bed of spinach. It was really very good and we enjoyed it thoroughly before we perused the desserts menu and decided to share the Cherry and Chocolate (a deconstructed Black Forest Cake) and a composition of puddings with Apricot—sorbet, soufflés, cream, candied. They were all fab. We had excellent service from our French waiter named Emericque and were just charmed by the lovely flower arrangements everywhere in the hotel which was truly gracious. He even took us to the Caviar and Champagne Tasting Bar which was a revelation—a room more reminiscent of the Palace of Versailles or Fontainbleu rather than a room on Regent’s.
            It was about 10.15 pm when we decided to leave after what had been an excellent dining experience. As someone who lives mainly on sandwiches when I am occupying the homes of other folks, to have both the company and the opportunity to enjoy a meal with a good friend was a special treat and I felt deeply grateful for it.
            I got back home at 11.00 pm and skyped with Chriselle for half an hour. It was great to see her again and to catch up on everything that has happened to us since our Baltic Sea cruise—so I had a lot of news to share with her.
About midnight, I fell asleep ready to take on the weekend.
Until tomorrow, cheerio!                   

Amy in London! Climbing the Monument and a Superb Steak Dinner

Jul1

Wednesday, July 1, 2009
London

I awoke at 7.00 am, typed my blog and sent out my June newsletter and Oxford Travelog when I heard a sound in the loft and realized that Paul’s secretary, Isobel, had arrived. When I wanted to take a shower, I realized that I had not turned the boiler on when I got in last night, so I did that and started to order material from the British Library from the online catalog as well as material from the National Archives at Kew in Richmond as I have earmarked the last couple of weeks to review a few official documents. Having done all that, I awaited Amy’s arrival while reviewing my proposed Oxford lecture.

At 12. 45, my dear friend Amy arrived from New York, having taken the Tube to Farringdon from Heathrow. We had a joyous reunion. I had last seen her in Fairfield, Connecticut, in December when I had visited my family back in the States. She had organized an evening out–dinner in an Indian restaurant called Bangalore–with a few of our friends…and we’d had a superb evening. It was so great to see her again. She is an intrepid traveler too and has been my travel companion on the road in India, in London and in Italy and it was she who introduced me to Stephanie with whom she has traveled to South America. In fact, she is here, passing through London to push off with Stephanie and a bunch of friends for a sailing holiday in Croatia.

After she had rested and I served her an Indian lunch (pullao and curry with a salad), she and I left my flat and I gave her a little walking tour of my neighborhood: St. John’s Gate and Museum, the Smithfield Meat Market, the Church of St. Bartholomew the Great, St. Bart’s Hospital and Museum (and the Hogarth Staircase) and the Church of St. Bartholomew the Less. Then, we walked along Hatton Garden’s Diamond District and the Leather Lane Street market to my former building on High Holborn where I had the chance to chat for a few minutes with my former concierge, Arben. It was great to be back there and I received a warm and very sincere welcome from him.

Climbing the Monument:
Then, having equipped ourselves with bus passes, we took the Number 8 bus to London Bridge with the idea of climbing the 311 steps of the Monument which has recently been refurbished and looks sparkling clean and spanking new. Amy and I had together climbed the 5o0 odd steps to Brunneleschi’s Dome in Florence during our travels in Italy last March (2008) and I figured that she would make the best companion for climbing the steps of the Monument as this is also on my list of things to do before I leave for the States.

Well, as luck would have it, we could not have picked a nicer day for this project: the sky was a clear, cloudless blue and visibility was astounding. The monument, itself, completely re gilded glows in all its glory. At its summit, is a large gilded vase with a bunch of flames symbolizing the Great Fire of London of 1666 which destroyed 13,000 acres of the city. Christopher Wren was assigned the task of designing a Monument to mark this catastrophe and he came up with the idea of erecting a tower that was exactly 202 feet tall because exactly 2o2 feet away on Pudding Lane was the Bakehouse where the fire is said to have originated.

From the summit, we could see past Canary Wharf and on to Greenwich. Tower Bridge was gorgeous in the bright sunshine as was the dome of St. Paul’s on one side and on the other, the tip of the Gherkin. It was slightly scary at the top as the area is rather cramped. You walk along a balcony but the entire space is enclosed with a very wide grill through which you can fit a camera lens to take pictures.

On our return to the base and as we were leaving, we were each handed a certificate that stated that we had climbed the 311 steps of the Monument–a lovely souvenir to take home with us! If, like me, you haven’t been on the London Eye, this very economical alternative at just 3 pounds per head makes a lot of sense. I was very glad I did it and that I had Amy’s wonderful company to accomplish this goal. We had spent a few days together, last year in London, and this day out only served to remind us of the good times we’d had then.

On to the Serpentine:
Then we got on to a bus to get to Hyde Park as I thought that the blisteringly hot summer’s day simply cried for a day out on the water. Amy seconded the idea enthusiastically and I thought it would be great to rent a pedal boat for a half hour. However, the bus ride took ages–it just creeped and crawled along in peak hour rush–and we only arrived at Hyde Park at 6. 45 and they had stopped renting out the boats at 6. 30 pm. Well, perhaps this is something I shall do when Llew gets here.

A Super Juicy Steak Dinner:
So this time we took the Tube back to Farringdon from Marble Arch–which was way faster! Our idea was to go out for a nice dinner together before Amy picked up her baggage from my place and took the Tube to Richmond as she was spending the night with our mutual friend Stephanie. I chose 26 Smithfield’s, a steak restaurant opposite the Smithfield Market, which is renowned for its steaks. We ordered bread with oil and vinegar as a starter and split a bottle of pear cider which was cold and very refreshing and very delicious. Our main course was steak fillets–Amy chose a red wine sauce, I chose a peppercorn sauce and our steaks were to die for! I mean they were seriously good–unbelievably tender and succulent and the mash that accompanied the meat was equally creamy and tasty. As always, we did justice to our meal and found no room for dessert.

Amy did not stay long after our meal as she had a long way to go on the Tube. I said goodbye to her and we have made plans to meet tomorrow in Richmond as we intend to take the walk in Chiswick.

It was just wonderful to see my dear friend Amy again and I look forward to another day tomorrow of hanging with my friends before I get down to serious work in the library again.

Highgate Cemetery, Kenwood House and A Get-Together at Sushil’s

Jun11

Wednesday, June 10, 2009
London

I decided to visit Highgate Cemetery because travel writer Billy Bryson had raved about it on his video Notes from a Small Island. He had said that it was as good a place as any other to begin an exploration of the history of London as so many eminent figures from her colorful past were buried in this graveyard. Having surveyed Brompton Cemetery at the end of last year and been deeply impressed by the quality of the funerary statuary on the grave stones, I had decided that Highgate would be just as significant and off I went.

Remnants of the Dick Wittington Legend:
I have to say that Highgate Cemetery is not the easiest part of London to get to–for one thing, it involves a long bus ride or a Tube ride to Archway. Then there is a steep climb up a hill that is fatiguing and not considered very interesting. What made it fascinating for me, however, were the many reminders of the life of Dick Wittingdon scattered around the neighborhood. There was the Wittington Stone, for instance, with a black stone cat perched upon it. Carved on the stone were the dates during which Wittington was Lord Mayor of London (four times–in the 1300-1400s).

Just a little ahead lay the Turn Again Pub–the obvious reference being to the Bells of Bow Church which pealed, “Turn Again Wittington, Lord Mayor of London”. And further up, I saw another reference to Wittington at The Wittington Arms Pub. Well, then, my curiosity could not be quelled any longer and I inquired of a female passer-by: “Why all these references to Wittington?” And she responded,, “Well, when he ran away from London, it seems he arrived here on Highgate Hill and sat down on a stone because he was weary. It was at this point that he heard the bells of a church ring out “Turn Again, Wittington, Lord Mayor of London”. So, since it was on Highgate Hill that Wittington was inspired to return home, the place is chocful of reminders of that fateful day. Charming indeed and it made the trudge up that dreary hill on a rather dreary day (it was drizzling almost non-stop) tolerable.

Just when I thought I would be climbing forever, I passed by a stately mansion called Lauderdale House which was, for a short time, the residence of Nell Gwynne, beloved mistress of Charles II (remember the famous line, “Be Kind to poor Nell”–the instruction that the King left on his death-bed to ensure that she would be well looked after following his passing).

Just a few yards ahead, I saw the tempting entrance to a garden–a green oasis that beckoned. Unable to resist entry, I asked a strolling passer-by if the path through the garden (called Waterlow Park) would lead me to Highgate Cemetery. “Yes”, I was told. “Just follow this path and you will see a gate leading to the cemetery”. A few people walked in the park with their dogs, and toddlers skipped around in their little wellies–despite the bad weather–so I did not feel uneasy about being all alone in a wide open space.

Discovering Highgate Cemetery:
Before long, I was at the gate of the cemetery which is divided into two parts. The Western side (the older part) was closed and can only be visited on a guided tour that is given once a day at noon costing five pounds. The Eastern side (the newer part) can be visited for a 3 pound fee. I paid up at the entrance, received directions from the clerk there, though when I asked if there were any graves that I absolutely ought to see, she replied, rather airily, “Well, we don’t do fame”. She then went on to say, “It was only rich people in the 19th century that could afford to be buried in this cemetery…” She left her thought hanging in the air, but I guess her implication was that all human beings are equal in death and she couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to see the grave of one person and not another.

Well, I was hardly in the mood to be philosophical on a rainy morning and, leaving her to her sense of proprieties, I decided to try to find my own way to the graves of three people:
–Karl Marx
–George Eliot (Mary Ann Cross Evans)
–Ralph Richardson (husband of Vanessa Redgrave and father of the late Natasha Richardson)

There were a few interesting bits of sculpture featuring angels and Celtic crosses right at the entrance which were rather worthy of a photograph. Some of the graves were beautifully landscaped, new roses bringing vivid dashes of color to the cemetery. Then, the lanes curved this way and that and it really was a matter of the lottery whether or not you would actually hit the grave you were seeking.

A leisurely ramble through the rather silent space brought me to the grave of Marx which is unmissable. There is a gigantic bust of the activist-philosopher atop a large pedestal which alone makes it the most prominent grave in the entire cemetery. Not too far away, a simple pink stone obelisk denotes the grave of Mary Ann Evans who had married a Mr. Cross and was known for a while as Mary Ann Cross. Of course, she is better known to us, her literary fan following, as George Eliot (the pseudonym under which she wrote). Her Middlemarch is one of my favorite novels in English Literature and it was more a matter of tribute to the writer rather than just tourist curiosity that took me to her final resting place.

I did not, however have the same luck trying to find the grave of Ralph Richardson and after wandering for a while past many Victorian graves but very few really noteworthy monuments, I returned to the main gate and then departed. I have since learned from my friends, Paul and Loulou, that the western side of the cemetery is certainly worth a visit on the guided tour as the mortuary sculpture is striking and far better than anything to be found in any other London cemetery. So, I shall, time permitting, try to make another trip there to catch the 12 noon tour one afternoon.

Following instructions from the clerk at the cemetery, I climbed another steep hill again that took me to Highgate Village where I caught a bus (the 210) that took me a few steps deeper into Hampstead to Kenwood House which was my next port of call.

The Glory of Kenwood House:
Another Robert Adam masterpiece (I have already seen Syon House and Osterley House, both on the Thames), Kenwood House came into the possession of Lord Guinness, the Earl of Iveagh (pronounced Ivor), in Ireland, who in 1927 bequeathed it to the nation with the clear stipulation that no money should be charged to any one wishing to view the fabulous art collection that he and his ancestors had amassed. Therefore, though it is managed today by the English Heritage, entry to Kenwood House is free of charge to the public. Because it is so close to the city of London and so easily accessible, I was surprised that I did not see more people on the afternoon that I was there.

My exploration of the extensive property that surrounds this marvelous 18th century mansion started at the Brew House Cafe where I ordered a cafe au lait and sat myself in the garden under one of the wide canvas umbrellas and ate my homemade parma ham and blue cheese sandwich and sipped my coffee which was wonderfully warming on the rather chilly day. Though the rain had stopped and blue skies had become evident by this point, it was still rather damp and I was glad I was exploring an indoor space.

And so began my exploration of Kenwood. It is a grand mansion to be sure, its imposing entrance beckoning the visitor with its Neo-Classical columns and a portico. Once inside, the Robert Adam entrance is enchanting and so easy to view as the ceiling is lower than most grand manors. This brought the plaster work almost within reach as also the medallion paintings by Italian Antonio Zucci who worked closely with Adam on these classical interiors.

A tour of the rest of Kenwood involves a leisurely walk through its magnificent rooms that are filled with Adam designed furniture pieces, a plethora of quality paintings featuring the English artistic giants of the era such as Sir Joshua Reynolds (there are loads of portraits by him) and several large canvasses by Thomas Gainsborough.

The Dining Room has the best collection of works centering around a totally charming canvas by Vermeer, one of only five Vermeers in Great Britain, entitled The Guitarist and supposedly a portrait of his 15 year old daughter. His wife had sold the painting to pay household bills and Vermeer was determined to gain it back–confirming scholarly opinion that it was quite possibly a portrait of his daughter that he wished to retain within the family. There is also a superb self-portrait of Rembrandt in middle age which I have seen reproduced a gazillion times in several different places. To see the real thing was for me so moving and the beautiful manner in which it has been lit truly did it justice.

The Robert Adam Library is really the high point of the house as is the Music Room, both of which have a clutch of high quality paintings and some really fabulous furniture. Everywhere, the collaboration between Robert Adam and Josiah Wedgwood was clearly evident as Wedgwood was so completely inspired by Adamesque interiors that he made his famous Jasperware in imitation of Adam’s look and for those of us who cannot have Robert Adam decorate a room, well, there is always Wedgwood pottery that can be purchased to replicate the feel of it!

Kenwood House also has a large collection of 17th and 18th century paintings of aristocrats close to the monarchy during what was its most turbulent time–The Puritan Overthrow of the Monarchy and its subsequent Restoration. This collection, known as the Suffolk Collection, is beautifully exhibited in a series of rooms and each of them has also been brilliantly curated. This allows the viewer to make a study of each one and receive a composite idea of the history of the period and the doings of its key players.

There is also a fascinating collection of 18th century shoe buckles–an accessory that played a very functional role, as well as a decorative one, at a time before laces came into vogue. Indeed, there are a series of paintings of the period that depict ladies and gentlemen wearing them on their high heeled, velvet-lined shoes, just as the presence of genuine old Turkish carpets are placed right beneath paintings in which they have been depicted. Called Lotto Carpets, they are named after the Italian Renaissance artist Lorenzo Lotto who usually portrayed his subjects standing on such Turkish gems and was able to replicate their intricacy so perfectly in his many works.

A word about the gardens: They are widespread and natural in the Capability Brown style–vast manicured lawns punctuated by occasional clumps of trees and the requisite lake not too far away. There were flower-beds filled with briar roses as well as the hot house varieties and large tall hedges formed out of rhododendron bushes that were blooming mauve the afternoon I visited. However, I was tired and unable to roam through the gardens though it was blissful enough to admire the property from the porch of the house.

So do go to Kenwood House if you can. I am surprised that I waited so long to get there. Though I have been meaning to visit this stately home for years, somehow I kept putting it off and how delighted I was that I finally did get to traipse through those marvelous rooms and see for myself how the other half lived in a bygone era.

A Get-Together at Sushil’s:
It was a long way home on the bus but I had enough time for a shower. I tried to get partied up as I had to attend a get-together at the home of my friend Sushil at Holborn on Theobald’s Road. Stepping into my new Prada shoes, I realized what a long time it has been since I have worn any kind of heels–my plantar fasciitis having forced me to live in flats! I was a little wobbly on my feet and rather nervous but the shoes were very comfortable indeed and despite the fact that I had to walk to the bus stop, jump into a bus on a day when the Tube strike was going strong and the crowds at the bus stops were chaotic, I did manage to get to Sushil’s which was just three stops away.

I had a great evening as the gathering featured folks I had met before and folks I was meeting for the first time. I had a long chat with two lovely girls named Isabella and Helen who have been friends of Sushil for a long time and share a flat in Greenwich. They were friendly and very interesting and we did hit it off quickly. My other new friends Mike Anderson and his wife Nirmala were there too as was Cecil and we had a good time as we remembered Sushil’s brother Romesh (whom I did not know) who passed away exactly a year ago. The get-together was a way of remembering his life and celebrating it and I felt privileged to be invited.

Sushil had been slaving for days to cook and clean and get his flat ready for the gathering. The red and white wine that Sushil had picked up on his “booze trip” to Calais, to which I had accompanied him several days ago, flowed copiously. There was rice and his signature beef curry, a dry fish fry, some fried chicken, a lovely delicious raita and a salad. And I realized how very long it has been since I have eaten Indian food on a regular basis. Funnily enough, I do not miss it at all. Indeed, my palate has become so cosmopolitan that unlike most Indians who simply cannot adjust to eating Continental food on a regular basis, I have taken to it almost without a thought. I realize that the only reason I eat Indian food at home in Connecticut is because Llew cannot do without his rice and curry. I, on the other hand, am more than happy with good Italian pasta, toasted sandwiches, hearty soups and salads and indeed that has become very much a part of my regular meals in London.

It was my friend Owen’s brother Matt who was driving back to Kent who gave Isabelle, Helen and myself a ride back home–they to Greenwich, me not even a mile away in Farringdon. When I got back home about 11. 30 pm, I discovered that Loulou and Paul had arrived sometime during the evening. We said a quick hullo and though they had a very early start, we made plans to meet over supper.

Bloomsbury on Jubilee Walk (Part 6) and Dinner with Friends

May25

Monday, May 25, 2009
London

Holborn was lifeless as May Bank Holiday Monday dawned. I stayed in bed for a long while catching up with The Order of the Phoenix as I am determined to finish it by the end of this month. The trouble with books that weigh a ton, as the later Potter books do, is that they are not mobile–I simply don’t want to carry them around with me anywhere–which means I only read them at home by my bedside. This is why it is taking me forever to finish this one. My blog and my email kept me busy for the next hour and it was only much later, which Holborn continued to remain stubbornly silent, that I ate my cereal breakfast while watching the last bits of The Breakfast Show.

Needless to say, I finally had to get down to the sad task of beginning my packing. I felt oddly lethargic–a clear sign that Withdrawal Symptoms are beginning to manifest themselves at the thought that I will have to leave from her at the end of this week. It was with deep reluctance that I packed up all the clothes I do not believe I will need for the next two months and put them into one of my suitcases. I probably will not need to open this one at all. With my wardrobe pruned down to the barest minimum, my clooset now looks very empty indeed.

Packing up my kitchen things was a lot more challenging. Checking my freezer to find out how best to clear it up, I discovered two lots of plain cooked wholewheat pasta and I realized that I will need to shop for some ingredients so that I can cook them tomorrow and take some cooked food off with me to my new place which I can then place in the freezer there, I hope. I am also emptying out my fridge…so but for milk and my preserves, there is not much else left in there.

I badly need boxes to clear up the rest of my stuff–stationary items, my costume jewelery, loads and loads of paper (how DO we accumulate so much of that stuff?) and a few books that I will need for the months of June and July. Martha and Arben are off today, so I must catch them tomorrow as Martha has promised me some boxes. I am weighing all my books and files as I place them in the boxes I do have with me as the guy at Royal Mail informed me that there is a special rate for books and printed material packed in boxes that are no longer than 60 cms, no more than 90 cms overall and that weigh no more than 5 kgs each (I am making mental conversions all the time as my America digital bathroom weighing scale is marked in pounds and ounces!).

After lunch (pasta with vegetables and a cup of soup–still trying to finish supplies in my pantry), I decided to read some more Potter and felt more lethargic. Before I knew it, my eyes had closed and I was taking a nap–something I haven’t done in ALL these months! (more Withdrawal Symptoms, I guess). Luckily, I awoke within the hour and decided to go out and continue my Jubilee Walk Adventures–Part 6 of them.

Jubilee Walk Adventures–Part 6:
This bit took me through my own backyard, so to speak, as I began at next-door Brownlow Street which, I discovered is no wider than an alley and into a most delightful street called Bedford Row. This one is lined on both sides with typical London Georgian terraced housing and on this delightful spring afternoon, with the flowers from the tress that line it having shed their white petals all along the footpaths, it looked absolutely heavenly. There was a spring in my step as I pranced along and made another discovery–Bedford Street ended on the Theobalds Road side just opposite my friend Sushil’s building–and I would be seeing him in the evening! So, in other works, I found another way to get to his place instead of walking along Gray’s Inn Road. I just love it when I make these sudden discoveries!

I pressed along Great James Street and arrived at a Blue Plaque that announced the residence of detective story writer Dorothy Sayers whose mysteries starring her creations Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, I have enjoyed a great deal on DVD through my Westport Public Library. Sayers had an extraordinary life for a woman of her time and her personal life was fraught with the keeping of a secret–a terrible one in those days (the early 20th century)–of the hiding away of her illegitimate son. Though she did go on to marry, she never openly acknowledged the existence of her biological son (her only child) though she did have a close correspondence with him and made him the sole beneficiary of her estate in her will.

Born to a clergyman father at Christ Church College, Oxford, and to a mother who was rather advanced in years when Dorothy was born, meant that while she was able to study modern languages at Oxford and graduated with an MA (becoming one of the first women to receive the degree through Somerville College), she was also terrified of what her personal scandal would do to them. They died never knowing that she had given them a grand child! Her child was, for all intents and purposes, given up for adoption, his true parentage never made known to her closest family members. It is astounding to me that while carrying this enormous burden she was such a prolific writer and produced some of the earliest womens’ detective fiction of our time. To be able to stand on the very street on which Sayers spent so many creative years of her life and to know that she was married at the Holborn Civil Court just a few meters away (because her husband was a divorcee with two children and, therefore, could not marry in church) was oddly inspring to me and I discovered even more bounce in my step as I continued the walk.

How amazed I was to discover that I had actually walked parallel to Gray’s Inn Road all the while and was soon at the huge red brick facade of St. Pancras Station on Euston Road! And there just a few steps ahead was the British Library. Of course, everything was closed today, but there were much activity on the streets as I spied so many other visitors taking self-guided walks–the various books and maps they have in their hands and the manner in which they gaze up in wonder at buildings to take in architectural details always give them away!

Back through the maze of tree-shaded streets I went, arriving at lovely squares and flower-filled gardens such as Cartwright Gardens and Argyle Square and then I was passing by the Coram Fields Foundling Home Gardens (which adults can only enter in the company of child!–a lovely reversal of regulations) and then Brunswick Square and Gardens where so many folks lay sprawling on the grass taking late-afternoon naps or propping themsevles against tree trunks to read. I thought I really ought to be doing that too–making the most of this glorious spring sunshine by whiling away some time in the city’s gardens reading. I will never stop admiring the ingeniousness of the architectural concepts that led to the creation of these marvelous Georgian squares and gardens that pepper the city of London so liberally and give it such a distinct ambience. The only American city I know that comes close to this in structure and development is Savannah, Georgia, where architect James Orglethorpe created a city in which stately homes and gardens were built to surround a number of squares that allowed more greenery to flourish.

Before arriving at St. Pancras Station, I had passed by a really massive church–the Parish Church of St. Pancras–that has Egyptian caryatids as part of its exterior design , exactly like the ones to be found on the Erectheium near the Parthenon on the Acropolis in Athens. I discovered that Sunday Communion Services are held at this church at 10 am and I shall try to make every attempt to attend a service here sometime.

It was not long before I was leaving Euston Road behind me to walk down Gordon Square where I passed building after building belonging to the University of London (and which reminded me so much of the vast number of New York University buildings that have taken over Greenwich Village in Manhattan) and arrived at the other end where I found the most beautiful honey-toned Gothic Church. However, I could not find its entrance so I do not know its name. But curiosity did get the better of me and I promised myself I shall look it up on the net. Set in a quiet and very pretty square called Byng Square, I had begun to suspect that this church was in the vicinity that Virginia Woolf and other members of the Bloomsbury Group had once called home. In fact, the name Gordon Square began to ring a bell in my mind and I became determined to explore the houses set around the typical green lawn surrounded by wrought iron railings where I spied it: a dark brown plaque at No. 50 that announced that it was in this home and in the srruounding houses that the members of the Bloomsbury Group had lived in the early part of the 20th century. In fact, just besides this house, on the right was a Blue Plaque announcing the residence of Lytton Stratchey (I do love the film Carrington in which his asexual relationship with the artist Dora Carrington, played by Emma Thompson, is beautifully retold) and on the left hand side is a Blue Plaue announcing the residence of economist John Maynard Keynes. Even if I were to live in London for a decade, I would not tire of these facts upon which I stumble so suddenly as I take my walks through the richness of its literary history.

Then, I was skirting the Woborn Gardens directly behind the Birkbeck College building in which I held my afternoon classes all through the year. Cutting through the back of SOAS and the British Museum, I then decided to end my walk and get back home, past the large Sainsbury at Holborn from where I bought fresh vegetables and some cream for the pasta I will fix tomorrow.

Dinner with Sushil and his friends:
And then I was home, getting into the shower and dressed for my evening rendez-vous with some new friends that my friend Sushil had organized. He had sent me an email while I was in Lyon inviting me to dinner at Ciao Bella Restaurant on Lamb’s Conduit Street after drinks at his place at 6.30 pm. So off I went, walking through the Bedford Street shortcut I discovered this morning.

At Sushil’s place, I met Owen who happened to be an Anglo-Indian and a very worthy subject for my research inquiry. Owen lives in Kent and had driven a long way to join us. Just a few minutes later, along came Mike and Nirmala and over red wine, I got to know them a little bit. Owen and Mike were classmates of Sushil at Cathedral and John Connon School in Bombay and, therefore, went back a long long way, They were actually contemporaries of Salman Rushdie and remembered him well during their junior school years at Cathedral. Nirmala’s late brother was Rushdie’s batchmate as was the brother of yet another person I met later at the restaurant, Cecil, who is a physician in Ealing. Cecil arrived with his English wife Ann and we made a very jolly party at the restaurant as I learned more and more about my new friends.

Over shared appetizers (bruschetta and a wonderfully tender Italian salami) and wine and Perroni beer, we made our entree choices: Having had pasta at home at lunch, I kept the carbs off and ordered a Saltimboca which is one of my favorite Italian dishes–escalopes of veal served with pancetta and sage in a mushroom sauce. It was absolutely scrumptious and I finished every large piece on my plate–it was served with the most perfectly done roast potatoes (nobody can do roast potatoes like the English) and mixed vegetables and made a very hearty meal indeed. Little wonder that no one had room for ‘pudding’!

I was kept most amused and entertained throughout my meal by Mike who sat besides me and told me stories about his early life in Bobmay where he had lived until the age of 18, his English parents having found work with a British company called Ferguson’s. He kept lapsing into idiomatic Indian-English so easily and used words as part of his conversation that only an Indian raised in India would understand and appreciate. For instance, he cracked me up when he referred to a man in an Bombay club who arrived there each evening to be surroudned by “his chamchas”. To hear this term emerge from the mouth of a white Englishman sitting right there besides me in an Italian restaurant in London was so hilarious that I couldn’t stop laughing. It became very clear to me then that you can take the Boy out of Bombay but you cannot take Bombay out of the Boy!

We talked a bit about what Owen described as my own “schizophrenic life” over the last 20 years–living in the West with one toe in India. He asked me how I possibly managed it. There was some discussion when I announced that mentally and psychologically I don’t believe that I have ever really left India at all! My connections with the land of my birth are still so strong because of the work I do there, my areas of research interest, my frequent travels to the sub-continent and the strong ties I have continued to maintain with a host of folks–extended family members and friends–out there. While several of them marveled at this fact, they did acknowlegde what I have come to realize–that for most Indian immigrants to the UK, despite the fact that the two countries (India and England) are so much closer to each other (than India and the US) and air fares so much cheaper, immigration to Great Britain meant a virtual cutting off of ties, a complete burning of bridges, as it were. This is something I cannot even begin to conceive of and I recalled Rushdie who has spoken repeated in his essays and to me in person about the strong pull he always feels towards India, no matter where it is in the world that he chooses to make his home.

We returned to Sushil’s place in a gentle drizzle after our excellent meal. It was just a couple of blocks away and over more red wine, we chatted until well past midnight when Owen gave me a ride back home. Bank Holiday Monday had turned out to be perfectly wonderful for me and as I return to more work and chores tomorrow, I hope to start the week on a productive note by doing some cooking first thing tomorrow morning,

Supertour at St. Paul’s Cathedral and Exploring Southwark

May13

Wednesday, May 15, 2009
London

London slumbered under leaden skies this morning, though, thankfully, the rain stayed at bay. Wearing warm cardigans to ward off the chill, Chriselle and I set off after a cereal and yogurt breakfast to explore St. Paul’s Cathedral. Though I have been there for several services throughout the past 8 months, I hadn’t taken a formal guided tour and was waiting to share that experience either with Llew or Chriselle. So I was very pleased indeed when my new English friend Bishop Michael Colclough, Canon-Pastor at St. Paul’s and his wife Cynthia, offered me a complimentary guided tour anytime I wanted one. With Chriselle currently visiting me, it seemed like the perfect time to take them up on it and we had one fixed for us for 10. 45 am.

We arrived at the Cathedral to find it swarming with visitors–both inside and out. Tour groups, several of whom comprised students from around London and across the Channel, filled the vast nave of the church. At the Visitor’s Desk, I was ushered to the one run by the Friends of St. Paul’s, an organization of Volunteers (mainly women), who are trained to give guided tours. This Supertour took us to parts of the Cathedral not usually open to the public and we felt privileged indeed to take it at our leisure in so special a fashion.

We were told by our guide, Fiona Walker, that it would last an hour and a half and were ushered right away to a side Chapel–dedicated to one of the many formal ‘Orders’ that comprise aristocratic English life. I do not believe that even a lifetime would be adequate in helping me acquire enough knowledge to decipher the complex system that prevails in military and royal circles int this country. What I did admired in this chapel was the royal seat that only the monarch can occupy, the marvelous wooden carvings by the Tudor carver Grindling Gibbons (whose work I can now easily recognize), the many colorful banners and standards and crests and coat of arms that symbolize one’s family history.

We then moved to the massive oak doors in the very front of the church and learned a bit of history at that point including the part played by Sir Christopher Wren in the design and construction of this, perhaps London’s most distinctive landmark. At the door, we also saw how dark the interior looked until the massive cleaning and renovation was carried out through a vast endowment (11 million pounds) granted to the cathedral by the Fleming family, the same one from which was born the James Bond author Ian!

Next we were led into one of the twin towers that looks down Fleet Street and we were quite taken by the beautiful staircase with its small and very low steps and the ironwork that climbs all the way to the very top. These steeples house the bells that toll each hour and produce the marvelous music on important days. I once heard them chime a heart stirring tune on Palm Sunday–was it last year? The entire city seemed to reverberate to the melody produced by those tolling bells. Yes, they do bring to mind John Donne’s stirring lines:

“No man is an island, entire of itself…any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” (Meditation XVII)

Interestingly, there is a rather strange looking sculpture of John Donne in the Cathedral–strange because the poet appears all shrouded in a linen sheet and standing on an urn. It was the only object in the entire Cathedral to escape the Great Fire of London in 1566 because it was hit by a falling object and fell straight down into the crypt from where it was rescued when the embers and ashes were being cleared. And he appears in this shroud because Donne had actually worn the garment in which he wished to be buried while he was still alive–perhaps to get the feeling of how he might appear before his Creator at his Resurrection!

Onward we went deeper into the Cathedral, passing by the grand monument to Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and there we learned a bit more British history. Chriselle is beginning to “connect the dots” as she puts it, in that she is making connections between the guy who inhabited Apsley House and the hero of the Battle of Waterloo! It wasn’t long before we paused under the central dome to admire the Byzantine style mosaics done by Salviati, an Italian, whose work was inspired by the Italian churches. The dome also contains the magnificent paintings done by James Thornhill–yes, the same artist who painted the famous Painted Hall in Greenwich. Chriselle loved the trompe l’oeil quality of the paintings in the dome which appeared as if the inside was covered with columns and pillars. We saw primary school kids lying flat on the floor right under the dome and staring at it–I bet this is something they will always remember. Years from now, when they bring their own kids to the Cathedral they will say, “You know, when I was a little boy, I came to this church on a school field trip and lay down right there on my back and stared up at the dome!”

More detail and more history followed at the memorial to Lord Nelson, considered by many to be England’s greatest hero. The guide went into detail in talking about his relationship with Lady Emma Hamilton and the product of that alliance, a female child, “named”, she said, then paused for effect, “poor thing, Horatia!” Right opposite the Nelson monument is one to Cornwallis and I paused to tell Chriselle that he was the same one who met with a stunning defeat under General George Washington in York when trying to vanquish the rebel colonists in North America. It was probably as a punishment that he was sent off to India where he masterminded the defeat of Tipu Sultan of Mysore at Seringapatnam and, in doing so, somewhat redeemed his fallen image!

Then, we were at the altar, admiring more Grindling Gibbons’ caved choir stalls (each more breathtaking that the next, in oak and beech) and gazing upon the baldachino or altar canopy which looked to me curiously like the Bernini one in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. We saw also the ‘Cathedra’ or Seat which the Bishop occupies and which turns a church into a cathedral–it must contain a seat for a Bishop which means that a Bishop must be attached to the permanent clergy at the church.

And then we climbed down into the crypt where we saw more memorials, the most striking being the ones to Wren, Wellesley and Nelson in their striking sarcophagi. Nelson’s, in grand black granite, is particularly striking and I was not surprised to learn that it was, in fact, designed and created to hold the mortal remains of Cardinal Wolsley (pronounced ‘Wool-zy’) who was Henry VIII’s right hand man until he fell out of favor with the King for not bringing him the Papal annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon. He was sentenced to death but, mercifully for him, died a natural death before he could be killed. He certainly was not permitted such a grand coffin and, in any case, the possessions of all state prisoners went directly to the Crown–which explains how Henry got his greedy hands on Wolsley’s finest buildings including Hampton Court and Whitehall Palace (of which now only the Banqueting House survives). The sarcophagus lay forgotten somewhere until the body of Nelson arrived from weeks of preservation in brandy–for Nelson really ought to have been given a burial at sea. However, since he was such an extraordinary hero, an exception was made in order to grant him a state burial. His body was preserved in alcohol, brought to London, this sarcophagus was resurrected for the occasion and the nation had a chance to mourn collectively for the death of a great hero who fell on the HMS Victory (now docked in Portsmouth) and whose blood-stained clothes are in the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich.

Climbing up to the Dome of St. Paul’s:
When the tour ended, we were told that we should not leave the cathedral without venturing up into the dome. I was doubtful about my ability to undertake such strenuous physical exercise since I am still recovering from plantar fascitis; but with encouragement from Chriselle, I rose to the challenge and off we went. 117 steps later, we were in the Whispering Gallery looking down on to the black and white checkered floors of the vast cavern below us. It was just stupendous! Of course, Chriselle and I had to try out the whispering capabilities of the acoustics of the space and discovered that we could, in fact, hear each other clearly though we stood on opposite sides of the dome. I was reminded very much of the interior of Brunelleschi’s dome in Florence and the magnificent painting on the inside of the dome by Vasari which one can see at very close quarters if you have the energy and stamina to climb the 500 odd steps to that height.

Then, another 115 steps took up to the Stone Gallery which encircles the outside of the dome and provides views of the rooftops of London. Yes, we saw the river (rather murky on this grey day) and the London Eye and the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop Old Bailey and a host of other landmarks as well as the red brick of the Prudential Assurance Building that is just a block away from my building on High Holborn.

We circumnavigated our way around the dome then made the descent with Chrissie holding on to me all the way down as she felt a little dizzy. Then, because we were right in the area, I suggested a walking tour of the Southwark area instead of trying to get into a bus to Knightsbridge. Chrissie had made drinks and dinner plans with two friends of hers and wanted to get home for a bit of a rest as she has a severe backache when she exerts herself too much physically. I have to be grateful that my own stamina has remained untouched by plantar fascittis and but for the fact that I have to rest more than I used to, I can continue my daily walking routine without interruption.

Exploring Southwark:
So over Wobbly Bridge we went, the breeze feeling very unpleasant around us given the lack of sunshine. Past Shakespeare’s Globe we strolled, arriving under Southwark Bridge where we hastened to the Borough Market as I wanted Chriselle to get a sense of its delicious activity. Alas, it is not open fully on a Wednesday though a few stalls cater to the luncheon needs of the local working populace. We walked quickly on to The George, the city’s only galleried pub, where we took in the quaintness of the Elizabethan space. Then, we returned to Borough Market for a late lunch: a large helping of Thai Green Chicken and Seafood Curry served over steamed rice. It was dished up piping hot and was deliciously spicy and just what the doctor ordered on this rather chilly day.

Inside Southwark Cathedral:
On our way back to the Embankment, we paid a short visit to Southwark Cathedral that dates from 909 AD–in particular to visit the sculpture of Shakespeare and the lovely stained glass window right above it that provides glimpses into his most famous plays. This allowed us to play a little guessing game together before Chriselle made her three wishes–you are permitted three wishes every time you visit a church for the first time (at least that is what my mother told us, many years ago).

We also took in the brightly painted medieval memorial to John Gower and saw the lovely stone carved altar with some gilding on a couple of its statues. This had been under scaffolding when I had visited last March with my friend Amy, so it is great to see the impact that all this refurbishment has on the space. While we were taking pictures at the Shakespeare memorial, a lady came up and told us that there is a charge for taking pictures!!!Can you imagine that? We told her that we were unaware of the policy and she said that we’d have to pay if we took another. Of course, we had finished our visit by that point and were on our way out–but I have to say that I find these rather materialistic policies of these churches not just irritating but rather offensive.

Off to the Tate Modern:
Then, we were walking along the Thames Embankment again, making our way to the Tate Modern where I wanted to show Chrissie two things: the extraordinarily concept that converted the Hydroelectric Power plant into a Modern Art Gallery and the silver installation by Cornelia Parker entitled Thirty Pieces of Silver. She was already far more tired than I was and since modern art is not something that either one of us can truly engage with (though I understand it intellectually), we went directly to the Parker gallery to admire her work. It involved the flattening of about 1000 pieces of silverware under a steam roller. These were then arranged in thirty lots that are suspended from the ceiling on steel wire. The idea is so remarkable that it is worthy of examination for just this reason. Needless to say, Chriselle was quite speechless and didn’t quite know how to react to this…but then that is exactly what Modern Art does to me. I find myself quite lost for words!

We decided to get on the bus and head home as Chriselle badly wanted to rest. I, however, continued on towards Oxford Circus as Marks and Spencer is having a sale on lingerie and I needed to buy my stock before I return to the States. I discovered that my size was not available but if I carried on to their Marble Arch branch, they could take an order from me there. I pressed on, and another bus ride later, I was at the bigger branch placing my order and told to return after May 22 to pick it up. I will be in France at that time but on the day I get back, I can rush off back to Marble Arch to get the discounted price. Along the way, I discovered that Selfridges has been renovated and is now devoid of the scaffolding under which it was shrouded for so many months while it received a deep cleansing in time for its centenary celebrations. There are lights and yellow decorations all over it and I believe the store is worthy of a visit–so I shall try to get there when I find myself under less pressure.

Another bus took me to my office at NYU where I had to do a bit of photocopying before I send off some receipts to New York for reimbursement.

Back home, I found that Chriselle had left the house to meet her friends. This left me time to attend to my email, have my dinner and sit down to write this blog before I got down to grading a few papers and taking a shower before bed.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day Three

May10

Sunday, May 10, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Museums and the Macabre

Mar24

Tuesday, March 24, 2006
London

The downside about having a lovely week in Italy is that you are snowed in by the amount of work that descends upon you on your return. I was a slave to my PC all day and only took a breather for half an hour to eat my lunch. I worked from 6 am until 10 am non-stop, energizing myself with cups of coffee and then Greek yogurt with muesli. Then, my second session of the morning began after I had spoken on the phone to my brother Roger in Bombay.

Among the many tasks I completed today was bringing my blog up to date, writing my Veneto travelog, creating an itinerary for our forthcoming tour of the Ancient World–Rome and Istabul–finalizing bookings at our hotels in Rome, Istanbul and for one night at Gatwick airport, completing the transcribing of an interview I had started a week ago with Claire Jansen, rescheduling a number of interviews with prospective Anglo-Indian subjects, sending Llew a list of things I need him to bring me from Connecticut and responding to email as it kept pouring in. Phew!!!

On and on it went until at 3. 30 pm. I only stopped because I had received a call earlier in the day from Paolo, a friend of my colleague Robin Goldfin from NYU, who was given my number by Robin and decided to call and get together with me. Paolo is a musicologist at a university in Sao Paolo, Brazil, and is in England to give a paper at a conference in Oxford this coming weekend. His few days in London have been devoted to walking around the city aimlessly and taking in whatever he can without creating a fixed agenda–so very different from the way I travel!!!

When he called, I suggested we meet at 4 pm at Holborn Tube station as I hoped to finish the bulk of my pending tasks by then. I was right on time and Paolo arrived just a few minutes later. It seems that we had been introduced exactly a year ago in Manhattan at the Cornelia Street Cafe in Greenwich Village where Robin had requested me to participate in a Faculty-Student Reading of Creative Writing. I had read an essay I had written about meeting Lady Penelope Chetwode, wife of the late Poet Laureate Sir John Betjeman, many years ago in India. The essay has not yet been published because I am holding on to it in the hope of publishing it as part of a collection of essays entitled “Close Encounters of the Anglo Kind’.

Anyway, it was nice to see Paolo again and since it was such a beautiful day with the sun shining benignly down upon us, I suggested a self-guided walk from my Frommer’s Book and Paolo was all for it. The walk in entitled ‘Museums and the Macabre’ and seems to be better suited for rainy days as a great part of it is undertaken indoors. Despite the disclaimer, we set out briskly towards Lincoln’s Inn Field where we discovered the Hunterian Museum in the Royal College of Surgeons. This building itself is a venerable space, devoted to the granting of the letters that magically added authority behind the names of all the ‘specialist’ doctors that once treated me whilst I still lived in India–FRCS (Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons). This old and celebrated institution was established in the 18th century and John Hunter was one of its founding members and greatest acquirer of anatomical ‘pieces’ that comprise the bulk of his collection. Since both Paolo and I are ‘Humanities’ folks, we felt a bit squeamish as we gazed at the extraordinary exhibits that comprise this gallery–body parts of every kind of creature including men and women are placed in glass cylinders and preserved in formaldehyde. There were skeletons galore and all sorts of information pertaining to the study of the anatomy and the many items that were used as instructional tools by the college over the centuries.

Getting out of there, we crossed Lincoln’s Inn field where daffodils in various lovely shades of yellow were blooming profusely. In the center is a covered gazebo which is where public executions used to take place in the reign of Elizabeth I. It is supposedly a haunted part of the former ‘field’ (now park) and the cries of tormented hung criminals are said to be heard at night.

Then, we found ourselves at the famous Sir John Soanes Museum which I had last visited about four years ago and found thoroughly fascinating. Soanes is the architect of the Bank of England building (aka The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street) but his passion was the collection of architectural fragments from buildings all around the world–his favorite being the Neo-Classical style. In this unusual space, the visitor will find a treasure trove of columns, statues, sculpture, figurines, urns, even sarcophagi and a small section devoted to paintings–the most valuable being William Hogarth’s series The Rake’s Progress.

Since we arrived there just 15 minutes before the museum could close, the guards were kind enough to let us in without paying the entry fee of 3 pounds. Since I knew my way around the house, I led Paolo up to the main highlights including the Paintings Gallery where another guard was kind enough to open up the concealed paintings that hang in a very distinctive way to allow for maximum display opportunity. He told us that this is the only place in the world where such a unique design might be seen. As we toured the 18th century rooms, we were struck by their grandeur and abundance of decorative detail. Paolo was so intrigued by this space that he has resolved to return to it as it “deserves a second look”, he said.

Out on High Holborn, we made our way towards Russel Square passing by some lovely squares along the way, each of which had newly flowering trees. We remarked how beautifully London has been planned and designed and Paolo, who was returning to the city after 19 years, told me repeatedly that he “could very well live here”. Then, we were at the School of Oriental and African Studies and in Woburn Square and Gardens which, I discovered, to my astonishment, is right behind the Birkbeck College Building in which I teach!!! This is how stupid you feel when you have traversed the entire city on foot but haven’t discovered your own backyard, I thought, somewhat ashamed of myself.

Across Malet Street we went towards the Petrie Museum of Egyptian and Sudanese Art–but since it was 5. 30, it had already closed for the day. By this point, I suggested we stop for a drink as we’d already been walking over an hour and a half and I was ready to rest my feet. In the Print Room Cafe, a part of University College, London, to which my Dean Fred Schwartzbach had introduced me several months ago, we found comfortable sofas and sank down gratefully with large mugs of peppermint tea. After a good half hour, we got up again, to complete the last part of the walk which took us into the main building of the university to see the ‘auto-icon’ of Jeremy Bentham, one of the founders of the college. Since I had seen this rather bizarre exhibit before, I did not find myself overly fascinated by it, but Paolo certainly thought it weird.

By this time, it was close to 7 pm and I was tired and wanted to return home. On my way back, I found that my new found friend John Thomas whom I have interviewed as part of my research had stopped off at my building to leave me his collection of Lovejoy DVDs. John has been reading my blog and discovered that I made a recent trip to Suffolk. Since Loevjoy is set and shot in Suffolk, he offered to lend me his DVDs. I have not heard of this TV series and so I’m looking forward very much to sitting and watching it. In fact, I am so annoyed with Lovefilm.Com who have been screwing up with my account so often of late that I am seriously thinking of cancelling my membership with them. If I have Lovejoy to watch, it will probably keep me busy in the evenings and with the TV programs I enjoy habitually, I don’t believe I will miss Lovefilms. com at all.

It was 9 pm when I started to doze off on my couch after a dinner of ‘steak pie for one’ from Marks. I decided to respond to my body’s indication that I needed sleep and after brushing and flossing my teeth, I sat down to write this blog, then went straight to sleep. There is still so much I have to accomplish tomorrow. I had better get all the rest I can!

Pausing in Portsmouth

Feb20

Friday, February 21, 2009
Winchester and Portsmouth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Browsing at the V&A.

Feb5

Thursday, February 5, 2009
London

I had a rather slow start this morning though I did wake up at 6 am. Between responding to email (I received some letters from friends in the States that required long and thoughtful responses), looking for cheap airfares between Rome and Istanbul (a most frustrating experience as I could find none), chatting to my parents in Bombay, to Llew who is currently at a conference in Washington DC, etc. the morning flew past.

I started to watch a film called 28 Days Later which is set in London; but it was so gory a piece of science fiction that I had to give up on it less than half way through. While watching it, I began the Contrast Bathing Therapy that Jane Hampson told me about and it was not half as intolerable as I expected (but perhaps I do not have the hot water hot enough or the cold water cold enough). However it might be best to start with milder temperatures and work my way up to more intense contrasts. At any rate, it seemed right away as if it worked. But then while I was at the V&A, later in the afternoon, my right foot started to trouble much more than it has in weeks–so I started to panic and wondered if I should continue this therapy!

I ate a light lunch (salad and quiche), showered and took the bus to the V&A with the idea of seeing the rest of the Highlights on the museum’s recommended list. But alas, there was a massive traffic jam on High Holborn and after sitting in the bus for 15 minutes and not moving an inch, I asked the driver if he would allow me to alight. He did and off I went down the stairwell to take the Tube instead.

I actually began my perusal of the Highlights at 3. 30 pm but by 4. 30 pm itself, my feet started to feel very uncomfortable and I decided to leave and return home. These are the items that I saw today–they were scattered through the vast environs on four levels! No wonder my feet protested so loudly!

1. The Bhairava Mask (from Nepal, copper with studded stones)
2. A Helmet made in Greenwich for King Henry VIII
3. A Silver Basin and Ewer
4. Dante Gabriel Rosetti’s portrait of Jane Morris, William Morris’ wife, for his own poetic work–the poem and the painting are entitled, The Daydream.
5. A small crucifix meant to be worn as a pendant entitled The Real Thing by David Poston (made of crushed Coca-Cola caps).
6. An exquisite hair ornament in enamel, diamonds and rubies (looked like blown glass) in the Jewelry Galleries.
7. A medieval Tapestry entitled Falconry in the Tapestry Room.
8. A cabinet by Henri-Auguste Fourdinois
9. Negative Bowl by Ane Christensen–a totally unique item that is hard to describe.
10. The Burgess Decanter (a very ornate decanter made of multiple materials)

The search for these objects took me through some of the most amazing corners of the museum and left me gasping at the size and the quality of the collection. The Silver Galleries, for instance, are so extensive that just looking at all the works carefully would take a whole afternoon. In particular, I was seized by a sterling wine cooler (reportedly the largest in the world) on loan from Russia at the moment. This gigantic object was awarded as the prize in a lottery that was initiated to raise funds to build Westminster Bridge across the River Thames. The winner sold it to the Russian Tzarina and it has remained in the possession of the Russians ever since.

I also saw the Jewelry galleries which are so stunning that they beggar description. There were tiaras and necklaces and belts and all sorts of ornaments featuring precious gem stones that were as huge as walnuts! I was struck dumb by the many items on display–sapphires, emeralds, rubies, peridots, amethysts, all surrounded by diamonds that winked and blinked and quite dazzled the viewer. No wonder the lady viewers could not tear themselves from the glass cases!

I walked close by the Cast Courts (that Jane Hampson had taken us into yesterday) and saw a plaster copy of Michaelangelo’s David up close and personal–but, of course, it is not a patch on the real thing that is in Florence’s Academia. Still, if one hasn’t seen the oroginal, this is a good likeness and I am going to recommend that Llew take a look at it when he comes here at the end of next month. The same room had a replica of Raphael’s famous painting The School of Athens. I do not recall seeing this painting though it is in the Vatican and I must have seen it when I was last in Rome 22 years ago. At any rate, I am looking forward very much to seeing it next month when Llew and I visit Rome together.

The next time I go to the V&A, I will spend more time in the paintings galleries studying the work of Turner and Constable as there are a large number of their canvasses here–as well as the Ionides Collection that was bequeathed to the museum intact (The Daydream is a part of this collection). I have a feeling it will be a really long time before I finish seeing everything I want to at the V&A. Meanwhile, my right leg was really bothering me…so perhaps it is time for me to get some foot rest again!

On my way back home, I did some grocery shopping and look forward to cooking myself some pasta tonight with prawns, cheese and basil. I am amazed to find that the basil on my kitchen counter has taken root superbly and is flourishing in a glass of water! I am simply stunned as I have never ever seen anything like this happen in the States.

A Day Devoted to Berlin’s Jews

Jan31

Friday, January 30, 2009
Berlin

A Jewish History of Berlin:
I devoted this final day in Berlin to retracing the history of the European Jew and leaving the apartment at 9 am (after a breakfast of coffee and purchased chocolate croissants), I took a bus down Ku-Damm to Checkpoint Charlie as I wanted to get some pictures there. Since it was still rather early, there were few tourists about and I was able to get the kind of angles I wanted without too much traffic tearing down the streets.

In fact, one of the things that occurred to me about Berlin was how little traffic there was—I was never caught in a jam anywhere—and how smoothly it moved. Of course, everyone seemed to be driving a spiffy German car—there were Mercedes Benz-es and Audis coming out of my ears! And the roads were smooth as silk so that even the double decker buses glided over them effortlessly. I later found out that not many Berliners own cars as their public transport is so fabulous—as indeed I discovered for myself. It is easy to feel as if you are transported to the mid-50s in the lack of cars on the roads.

At Checkpoint Charlie:
I paid one euro to the German guy who is licensed to masquerade as an American GI so I could pose with him at Checkpoint Charlie! There is also another kiosk where for another euro you can get your passport stamped with any of the visas of the pre-1989 era that were required if passengers were crossing the border from one part of divided Germany into the other. Much as I felt tempted to have my passport stamped with one of those visa stamps, I found it hard to accept that the man is ‘licensed’ to perform this operation in a real passport! I did not have the time to visit the Checkpoint Charlie Museum nearby which details the stories of the many escapees who crossed the border using the most ingenious of means.

The Jewish Historic Museum:
Then began my long walk to the Jewish Historic Museum. This quite recent addition to the Berlin skyline is the design of American Jewish architect Daniel Libeskind who has designed a structure that is supposed to look like the Star of David turned inside-out. To call it sheer genius would be an understatement. It is so superbly conceived and so amazingly implemented—here again my engagement and connection with the Modernist architecture took me by surprise, but I marveled with each step I took further and further into the building which is something of a maze. It’s a good thing that a lot of young volunteer guides are around to help you find your way to a particular exhibit. In the basement, for instance, I visited the Holocaust Tower—a structure which represents various things to various people. It is a tall column that you enter underground. You will find yourself in an unlit and unheated space (and believe me, the contrast in temperatures is striking at any time of year). The only light is natural—coming from a small slit in the walls. It represented for me the entrapment of the prisoners in the various concentration camps around Europe and their inability to escape.

I then stepped into the Garden of Exile, a series of granite columns with olive trees growing at the top—olives, of course, symbolizing the Promised Land. Of course, since this was the wrong time of year to be visiting a garden, I merely took a peek at it, but again the concepts behind these creations were just staggering.

Taking the elevator to the top floor, I got off in the Medieval section which details the persecutions that Jews encountered throughout history. In this section, I was able, through a computer, to see my name written in Hebrew and to get a print out of it which really tickled me—what an unusual souvenir! If time had permitted, I would have gone minutely through every one of the mementoes on display from various epochs in history, but I had a great deal to cover and my next port of call was the underground Holocaust Memorial. By this time, I had become so familiar with the layout of the city through my maps and taking the buses, that I felt very much at ease and did not need to ask anyone for directions to get anywhere.

The Underground Holocaust Memorial:
The Holocaust Memorial is also rather ingeniously planned. You take a stair well that leads into a darkened space underground which details the losses suffered by about six European Jewish families during the insanity of the Holocaust. Of course, having been to Dachau (about 22 years ago) and more recently to Auschwitz-Birkenau on a trip to Eastern Europe, I had decided not to visit the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp which lies a few miles outside of Berlin. And I was familiar with the ruthlessness of the Nazi machinery that rounded up Jews from all over Europe and herded them off to the camps where they were forced to labor under atrocious conditions and eventually gassed to death. But to see this part of history presented so vividly through photographs and diary jottings and postcards is always so heart breaking that I was often in tears.

In Chocolate Heaven:
Taking the bus again, I went out in search of a cheering cup of hot chocolate at Fassbender and Rausch near the Gendarmenmarkt and I settled myself by a window that overlooked the imposing dome of the Cathedral and ordered myself a Black Forest Chocolate pastry (I love the name in German—Schwartzwalden Torte!) and a cup of Ecuadorian dark hot chocolate which was laced with Chilli! It was quite the most unusual and delicious hot chocolate I’ve had (the best one still remains the hot chocolate Chriselle and I had at Cukracavalimonada, a restaurant in Prague!). The pastry was amazing—the cherries, soaked in kirsche—cherry liqueur—were frozen into the pastry and they burst into my mouth in what seemed like small shots!

Coffee at KaDeWe:
Then, I was hurrying off to KaDeWe where I had made 3 pm coffee plans with my English friend and colleague Catherine Robson who is on a year long Fellowship at a university in Berlin finishing up her next book. Catherine was awaiting me when I got there and we made our way to the Food Halls again settling down with peppermint tea by the picture windows to gaze upon the rooftops of Berlin—not a very pretty sight!

Catherine and I caught up for an hour before she hurried off to do some shopping while I went back down to the entrance to await the arrival of Anja who returned from Munich that morning and had made plans to spend the evening with me. She arrived there within five minutes and we were off after she had secured her bicycle to a tree stump (that’s another thing—bicycles are ubiquitous in Berlin even in the winter!).

Exploring Berlin’s Lesser-Known Parts with Anja:
Anja got on to the bus with me and took me to the furthest point of the city, way in the East, which she told me was a bit like Greenwich Village in New York. This area was left untouched by the war and the buildings that line the street are pre-War—the entire area retains its early-20th century ambience and it was marvelous to stroll through a part of Germany that is being preserved almost like a memorial to those years before colossal personal ambition changed the world for the worse. The area is lined with cafes, restaurants, boutique shops and cultural centers, art galleries and the like. We found ourselves a cute café (Café de Paris) to have another cup of coffee and then we were on the S-Bahn making our way back to Charlottenburg as I wanted to take Anja out for dinner and she recommended a place called Engelbecken that served Bavarian food as Anja is from Munich!

A Bavarian Dinner in Charlottenberg:
Needless to say, I was exhausted by this point as finding the restaurant involved a long walk from the S-Bahnhof (railway station) and I had spent the entire day on my feet! I was grateful when the waiter found us a table and we settled down with the equivalent of a Shandy and ordered wild boar casserole with knoddel (potato casserole) and a salad of mixed greens. Anja opted for a veal roast with spaztel (a German thick pasta, somewhat similar to gnocchi). The food was absolutely delicious and since I do not go to restaurants when I am traveling alone, I always welcome the company and the opportunity to eat good local food with someone who can guide me on what to order and how to eat it. We had a fabulous evening together and were able to catch up and make plans to meet again, next in Padua in Italy where I have been invited to give a lecture in March—Anja will be in Venice at the same time!

Anja decided to spend the night with me in Anneke’s apartment—which was a huge relief to me as I had to leave the apartment really early the next morning to take the S-Bahn to Schonefeld airport and I was grateful for her company. She, poor thing, was exhausted after her own return from Munich and the hectic week she had spent there (she is an art historian doing a rather late Ph.D. on an Italian Renaissance Venetian artist) and would have rather been in her own bed, no doubt. We continued chatting late into the night and finally nodded off to sleep.