Tag Archive | Museum of Transport

Last Day in London

Aug3

Monday, August 2, 2010
London

Excitement of getting home to Southport after 6 weeks kept me awake half the night. I awoke at 6. oo am with the intention of getting my bags ready for the cab which was supposed to arrive at 7. 30 to get me to Heathrow at 9 am–traffic is awful in the morning, the cabbie said. We’d best be off early. Last-minute stuff was thrown into my backpack, more edibles I’d stored in the freezer were stashed in my bags and just as I sat down to a bowl of cereal at 7. 15 am along came the overly-enthusiastic cabbie, 15 minutes too soon!

Goodbye and Thank-yous all said, I was on my way, not along Cromwell Road (my favorite way out of the city) where the cabbie assured me there’d been a accident, but along Euston Road (less interesting). Of course, because we were early, there was no traffic at all and I arrived at Heathrow at 8. 30 am for my 12 noon flight! Once I’d checked in and re-distributed weight (my bag was three and a half kilos too heavy), I had all the time in the world to shop duty-free–so off to Harrods I went for mementos for Chriselle (found her the cutest Ferris key chain) and a Christmas pudding for our family and off to Jo Malone I went (for Pomegranate Noir perfume for me–saved almost $20 on a bottle) and off to the cosmetics counters I went for more sample spritzes and off to the Bacardi counter I went for a complimentary mojito (which after all the tension over my baggage I sorely needed) and then I was ready to make my way to the gate and sink down in my seat.

There was time after I’d whispered a prayer for a safe flight to reflect on my two weeks in London and to realize how singularly fortunate I’d been that I hadn’t seen a drop of rain in 2 whole weeks! I’d covered almost all the items on my To-Do List including visits to the National Trust’s out-of-the-way Hidcote Manor Gardens in Oxfordshire and Hever Castle in Kent, had eaten in a few of the restaurants I’d wanted to visit (St. John’s Bar & Restaurant where I went specially for the Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad) and Cafe Spice Namaste where I had the chance to hobnob with the chef Cyrus Todiwala and his wife Pervin and Patisserie Valerie where the Tarte de Citron is not half as good as Carluccio’s. I’d visited 4 of the 6 new museums on my list (the London Transport Museum, the Science Museum, the Foundling Museum and the Serpentine Art Gallery (the only one I didn’t get to was the newly-reopened Florence Nightingale Museum but I shall keep that for a later visit and the Brahma Museum of Tea and Coffee has closed down). I saw two good plays (the outstanding All My Sons with David Suchet and Zoe Wannamaker and Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theater. I reconnected with so many close friends over pub grub and longer meals or shorter drinks. But perhaps the Highlight of my visit this time was the tour of Lord Leighton’s House in Holland Park. And another highlight was that despite being ill and fighting a terrible flu-like lethargy, I managed to make it to the Anglo-Indian Mela in Croydon which was really the main purpose of my visit to London during this time of year.

On the flight back, the UK slumbered brownly under partly cloudy skies. We flew westwards along the northern coast of Devon before skimming over the Atlantic. As soon as we broke land again over the Northern coast of Canada, I spied the jagged edge of Newfoundland and the region around Halifax (how pretty it all looked) before we flew over the Gulf of Maine, the Massachusetts coastline and along the vertebra of Long Island (did not realize how many swimming pools there are on the island–almost every house seems to have one the further east one goes) before we made a smooth touch down at Kennedy airport under cloudless skies.

American Airlines made me wait a whole hour at the conveyor belt for my baggage and as I sweated bullets wondering how Chriselle was faring on the other side (and hoping she wasn’t despairing of ever hooking up with me), I finally did sail through Customs and made contact with her. Apart from our affectionate reunion after 2 weeks, I received the most uproarious welcome from Ferris–indeed it is worth being away from home for 6 long weeks when one has this sort of welcome to anticipate. Chriselle drove on the way home which gave us a chance to catch up on all the happenings of the past couple of weeks since we’d parted in Bombay and then it was time for us to pull into the driveway of Holly Berry House as my travels came to an end and I surveyed all that I had left behind.

We had a cuppa in the garden which is badly weed-ridden–what with all the rain–and I realize I have exactly five days to bring it up to snuff before Llew and I leave on our trip to Canada at the end of the week.

As I bring this blog to yet another close, I say Au Revoir and Many Thanks to my followers. If only you (apart from faithful Feanor) would write me a line back sometimes to reassure me of your presence!

As they say in the UK, Cheers!

London is all A-Buzz!

Jul24

Friday, July 23, 2010
London

Amy and I raced off to Thetford where our friends Cynthia and Michael were meeting us. We arrived almost on time and I continued with the Colcloughs on their onward journey by car to London. The time just flew as we caught up on our lives.

By the time we reached London it was 1. 00 pm (time for a quickly rustled up lunch of toast and scrambled eggs). I was shown up to my room in a–get this–Christopher Wren home. The master architect designed this new block of terraced housing in 1670 right after the Great Fire of London in 1666. The rooms are huge and the interiors, beautifully detailed–marble fireplaces, ornamental plasterwork on the ceiling, tall sash windows, wide sweeping staircases, grand landings, a full apartment on the third floor reached by a separate servants’ staircase–in other words, a home after my own heart! Who would ever have thought that one day I’d be living in a Christopher Wren home? How’s that for having a dream come true? How do I know the history of this home? Because last year when I was in the Geffrye Museum, this block of housing was featured in it as one of London’s earliest examples of post-fire grandeur. Gone was the timber that had gone up in flames. Brick and stone would be the new idiom of the New London. And Wren got it right–after all these years…no centuries, it is holding up splendidly, though Cynthia apologized to me about the aged plumbing and the need to have the bathrooms modernized–which should happen right after my departure. I, on the other hand, found everything fascinatingly old-world.

I drew the curtains in my room and guess what? I discovered that my windows overlook the great big dome of the Old Bailey. The Goddess of Justice holds her weighing scales in her hands in superb gilded splendour! And every hour and half hour, I hear the tolling bells of St. Paul’s Cathedral reminding me that Tempus Fugit! Dreams, dreams, dreams, do come true….

The Colcoughs have made me very comfortable indeed. They are gracious hosts and are including me in everything though I have assured them that I am an old London hand and know it like the back of my…well.,.hand. After I settled in, I set off alone to cover the remaining items on my To-Do List and it was at Covent Garden that I began. It was a gorgeous afternoon–perfect English summer weather–dry and cool unlike the oppressive heat we have on the North Atlantic coast and in Canada at this time of year. Covent Garden was simply crawling with tourists and the buskers (street entertainers) were attracting large crowds (I felt such a strong sense of deja-vu as this was exactly the London Llew and I had encountered when I first came to live here, two years ago).

I headed straight for the London Transport Museum (which is one of those I hadn’t covered earlier) and spent the next 2 hours there. I have to say that I was disappointed. I have certainly seen better museums. It failed to evoke in me the sense of bygone London no matter how hard I tried to capture it. Not worth the 8 pound entry fee, but that is just my personal opinion. No doubt, if you are a kid, this is paradise.

I walked around Covent Garden and wished I had more time to visit my favorite old haunts (Carluccio’s for its superlative citron tarts and Hope and Greenwood for artisinal chocolates)–but I had to press on as the Colcloughs had invited me to a barbecue party in St. Paul’s Gardens. I did mange to buy a citron tart from Patisserie Valerie, however, and I munched it on the bus back to Ludgate Hill.

Spent a really glorious evening meeting a variety of lovely people as Cynthia introduced me around. By far, the most interesting was a jolly white-haired man who was a personal friend of author Vikram Seth–we had so much to talk about as he was very up on Indian Post-Colonial Literature. During our very absorbing discussion, I discovered that he was once Governor of Hongkong and Master of a Cambridge college and was on back-slapping terms with the Nobel Prize winning economist Amartya Sen–you can imagine what a fascinating conversation that was! We exchanged business cards before departing when I discovered that I had been speaking to Sir David, Lord Wilson of Tillyorn. I also enjoyed meeting his wife Lady Nicola–a really pretty, very gracious lady. I am sorry that I will be missing the Sunday lunch at the Chaplain’s house to which I have also been invited…but then my friend Bash has offered to drive me to Wisley Royal Gardens that are spectacular at this time of year–and it is an offer I cannot refuse.
The barbecue meal was just superb–not the usual hamburgers and hot dogs that we usually feature at a cook out in the States. This one featured juicy pesto chicken, really perfectly done burgers (yes, they were there), tasty sausages (chipolatas?), coleslaw and potato salad and glass noodles and lovely grilled radicchi0 with pine nuts. The ‘puddings’, Cynthia told me, would be the best part, so we waited though she became chilly as the evening wore on, for little individual cups of Pimms jelly with fruit, strawberries and cream and raspberry mousse with chocolate–all quite delicious and so very classy!

Our evening ended when Cynthia drove me to my former building at High Holborn so I could pick up my suitcase from the flat of my friends, Tim and Barbara, where I had left it on the morning I vamoosed to Norfolk. It was great to see them again briefly and off we went (Edward, Cynthia’s son) and me to the waiting car.

I caught up on my email and blogging because…yes! I am finally online again in my room through wifi and how fabulous it feels to be able to reach out to the world again. Calls to Llew and Chriselle have kept me abreast of the fact that she will soon be home bound to the States and that Llew is enjoying having a houseful of friends who have descended down upon him from Canada and Maine to partake of the offerings of our local Pequot Library Book Sale in Southport.

Tomorrow, I join the Colcloughs on a day trip to the Midlands where I have never been before–just north of Birmingham in a small town called Litchfield. Hope the weather holds out…

In Norwich, Norfolk’s Cultural Capital

Jul22

Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Norwich

Those who own cars know nothing about long-distance public transport. Amy blanked out on how I could get to Norwich from Gorleston by bus. Me? Having lived in the UK for so long without a car, I had become something of an expert on figuring it out. Drive me to the High Street, I said, and I’ll find the way.

Inquiries from a sweet girl at the bus-stop revealed all the answers. Yes, the X1 gets directly from Gorleston to Norwich. No, no need to change at Great Yarmouth. Yes, the buses come every half hour. Yes, I can pay the driver cash on the bus. And yes, the driver does give back change. Yesssss!!!

Fifteen minutes later, I was on the bus passing through North Norfolk. We drove through Great Yarmouth (a bustling town) and then through miles of flat country punctuated by windmills (influence of the Dutch across the North Sea, perhaps?) and flocks of sheep, black and white cows and beautiful sturdy brown horses. I even saw a family of swans–Mum, Dad and about a handful of grey chicks! Awwwww!

Once in Norwich where we arrived in 55 minutes, I asked at the Information place for a schedule so I could get back home peacefully (lone travelers never want to have just missed the last bus!) when I discovered that I could buy a ticket there for the Hop On Hop Off sight-seeing bus (just £8 and such a boon to the single traveler–especially one afflicted with plantar fascittis). Buy a ticket I did and in exactly five minutes, along it came. It is a good suggestion to stay on the bus for one entire loop to get the marvelous commentary which provides the history of the place and orients one to the location of the main attractions. It also allows you to decide what your order of priorities should be in terms of hopping off and hopping on again. Norwich is compact and very walkable but the advantage of buses like these is that they take you to vantage points, sometimes way out of the city for wonderful views–as this bus did. It climbed a steep hill to Mousehold Heath which offered a stunning overview of the city and its magnificent church spires–there is a church for every Sunday of the year and a pub for each day of the year in Norwich–go figure!

During Saxon times, Norwich was a bigger ‘city’ than London–both in acreage as well as population. It made it’s wealth through the wool trade (not surprising, really, as sheep farming still thrives as I saw in the miles of open countryside). It is a city of impressive structures (castles, cathedrals, churches, gabled houses, guildhalls, etc.) and a popular tourist attraction. Unfortunately, it was a tad too hot for me and I found myself tiring much too easily because the heat sapped my energy levels.

I decided to Hop Off at Elm Hill (because I am a fan of all things Tudor) and walked straight into the Church of St. George at Tombland. They probably don’t get enough visitors because one of the volunteers latched onto me and then gave me a walking tour of the church pointing out pieces of masonry that were significant as well as the oldest piece in the church–a lovely Norman font.

Through Elm Hill I walked, utterly charmed by its cobbles and the Britton Arms Cafe which Lonely Planet touts as a delightful place–and it is, except that it was that funny time of day when you’re not really ready for a cup of tea or a snack. I kept going, nipping in and out of antiques shops and admiring the gabled buildings and the exposed timber facades (did not see any pargetting, though, as one finds on the medieval structures in Suffolk).

Across the street, I entered the Anglican Cathedral through the Erpingham Gate right by the statue of Edith Cavell and found myself in an enormous Cathedral Close. Admission is by donation only and the cathedral’s highlights are a fan-vaulted ceiling with ‘bosses’ (wooden discs set in the ceiling that depict stories from the Bible). They are really much too high up for one to appreciate them fully. Also wonderful is the Depenser Reredos, a medieval alter-piece divided into five sections showing Christ’s Passion, Resurrection and Ascension that was hidden for years during the post-Reformation turmoil to keep it from being stolen or ruined. I saw the newly-refurbished library before eating a sandwich in the Refectory. Surprisingly, there weren’t many visitors to the Cathedral at all which made it a perfect time for quiet prayer and reflection. Then, a kindly old lady, a Norwich resident, told me about the Herb Garden and how I could reach it and within seconds, I found myself in a lavender-scented bower with hollyhocks taller than me elbowing their way through the paths for attention. Norfolk is famous for its lavender which seems to grow wild everywhere–England’s Provence?

Next stop was the Castle, but I got waylaid en route by the seductions of an Edwardian closed shopping arcade called the Royal Arcade (lovely Art Nouveau tiles all over its walls and similar motifs on its floors). Inside was the Colman’s Mustard Shop and Museum as Jeremiah Colman who made his fortune with all the yellow dots of paste that people left on their plates initiated and ‘grew’ (as they say) his business in Norwich. Tasted a variety of mustards before I left without being tempted to buy anything. Saw more posh shops in the Royal Arcade before I wandered out on the streets to entwine my steps through Norwich Market–a colorful warren of stalls selling everything from food (bacon baps and fish n chips were some very British choices) to souvenirs.

Enough distraction, I chided myself, time for some serious sightseeing again. So I entered the Castle and spent the next hour viewing it’s excellent exhibition rooms on the ground floor–there was a wonderful collection of water colors and oils by John Croom who is considered one of England’s best landscape artists (a close rival of Constable), a superb collection of tea pots (the world’s largest) bequeathed to the museum by a private collector and quite significantly placed in the Twinings Tea Pot Gallery and a special exhibition entitled ‘From the Beatles to Bowie’ which featured a collection of black and white photographs of the pop icons of the 60s. I was thrilled to find one by John Pratt taken in 1963 featuring Cliff Richard at home with his mother Dorothy and sisters Jacqui and Joan in the new home in Nazeing, Essex, that he bought them after he struck it popular and rich. If all things come to pass as I hope they will and my book on Anglo-Indians in the UK is finally written and finds a publisher, I shall recommend this photograph for my book’s cover–provided I recieve permission, of course. I can dream, can’t it?

The Castle’s Keep is humongous–the largest in the UK and one of the best-preserved examples of a Norman castle. It has been recently refurbished (and rather well at that). The castle stands like a solid cube of Caen (French port) stone dominating the city and is visible from most points.
There is a lot to see and do in the inter-active exhibits inside the Keep but I had loads to see…and so I moved on.

I did find the time to nip into The Assembly House (one of the finest examples of Georgian architecture outside) with stunning plasterwork on its walls and ceiling inside (in the manner of Robert Adam), winking crystal chandeliers and lots of statuary. Most of the rooms have been converted into posh bars and tea rooms, but again, I had to move on to the nearby Forum (a recent glass structure that brings modern panache to an ancient city) and The Church of St. Peter Mancroft opposite that has a magnificent timber ceiling. As I wound my way through the city, I was simply amazed at how many churches there are–all made of the black flint stone so plentifully quarried in this region.

Time to hop on to the bus again and go to the Shrine of St. Julian of Norwich that my friend Bishop Michael told me I must not miss. I found it up a small hill and was stunned when I discovered how tiny it is. St. Julian (also known as Juliana) was a medieval mystic who saw visions of the Lord. She cloistered herself in a tiny cell adjoining the church and spent the rest of her life meditating upon those visions and writing down ‘The Revelations of Divine Love’ which is considered the first book written by a woman in English in England. Michael told me that she had two windows in her cell from which she looked out at the sick and the forlorn who came flocking to meet her. Her cell became a famous center of medieval pilgrimage. Even today, the quiet serenity of the spot is striking. I got in stride with a very pretty nun as fat raindrops suddenly fell from out of deep blue skies–‘Where are they coming from?’ asked the nun, perplexed.

By then it was almost 5.00 pm and I badly needed a pick me up I found a cuppa in the cafe at M&S where I settled down with a slice of White Chocolate, Raspberry and Coconut Cake which sounds far better than it was! I was amazed at how much I’d managed to cover and was disappointed that I could not find the time to squeeze in the Roman Catholic Church and the Plantation Garden behind it as well as the Sainsbury Center for Visual Art…but Amy has promised to take me there tomorrow after we tour the Broads.

Back home, we fixed a vegetable frittata and ate some good English bacon and baked beans for dinner before we gabbed about our respective day and went to bed.

Highlights of the Louvre, Notre Dame and the Ile de la Cite

Jul30

Friday, July 24, 2009
Paris

We awoke refreshed from our long slumber in a city that slept, it seemed, quietly with us. Sheltered in the serene cocoon of our airy bedroom, we were clueless to the life that teemed around us just a street away on the Champs Elysses. With everyone else away for the day already, we showered and dressed and decided to spend the day at perhaps the most challenging museum in the world—the legendary Louvre.

We grabbed breakfast to go (croissants and pain au chocolat) from the Monoprix that was so conveniently located just around the corner from our building. Then, we were in the tubes that take commuters around the city in a jiffy and before long found ourselves at the Louvre entering I.M. Pei’s glass Pyramid that has added its distinctive profile to the city’s skyline.

In the metro, both Llew and I noticed separately how much Paris has changed since we were last tourists in this city. The demographics have altered considerably and white people are now most decidedly in the minority in the public transport systems that skirt the city. We were struck by the large numbers of South Asians now in Paris—most obviously Punjabis as was evident from the language they spoke—as also the vast numbers of Maghrebain (North African immigres) who have made the city their home. There is also none of the style and glamor we once associated with the word ‘Parisian’. I can remember, not too long ago, gazing with envy upon women in the metro each of whom seemed to have stepped out of Vogue—each was so impeccably made up and put together (those famous French foulards (scarves) wrapped a dozen different ways around their elegant shoulders. I can recall men with a shock of hair falling stylishly over their broad foreheads as they exuded chic suavity with every carefree stride they took. Where have all these Parisians gone? I lamented their passing and felt sorry that the city, indeed the country, seemed to have lost an essential aspect of its distinguished character. Llew reminded me that this phenomenon is called ‘Globalization’ and he was right. The downside of globalization is that while it has made us far more homogeneous than we ever used to be, it has, alas, robbed us of the distinctive merits that gave each of us a national and cultural identity that was uniquely our own.

As for the B.O. it was just unbearable. Neither London or Paris have yet air conditioned the cars of their underground systems and in summer, the ride is most uncomfortable. While I did not hotice B.O. anywhere in London, the stench in Paris is just awful, not to mention the discomfort of riding in jampacked cars with a motley lot of people, so many of whom seem to have forgotten what a shower is! I think this was one of the most unappealing parts of our visit to Paris. Clearly, there is a huge market for deodorant in France and if there is an entrepreneur out there who is reading this, believe me, this is an opportunity waiting to be grabbed.!

On arriving at the Louvre, I was gratified to see that my Met Museum ID card stood me in good stead and got me free entry. Llew bought his ticket and after grabbing the floor plan, we began our daunting exploration of the museum, skipping the hour-long Highlights tour in English which we had taken the last time we were here and deciding to follow instead the Highlights marked out by the Museum’s curators. Despite the fact that both of us are accustomed to expansive museums, this one certainly astounded even us as we tried to negotiate our way through the Richelieu, Sully and Denton wings. Though we did manage to complete all the highlights detailed by the floor plan, it took us several hours and but for a light café luncheon (roast chicken for Llew, a quiche lorraine for me), we soldiered on moving from one item to the next without needing to spend too much time and energy getting from one to the other. We began our exploration at 10. 45 am and were only done at 4. 45 pm.

Among the Highlights I recall as being especially notable were:
1. The Winged Victory of Samotrace—an ancient Greek carved stone statue that stood on the hull of a ship, a very early sort of figurehead. Excavated sometime in the middle of the last century but with its arms still missing. Marvelous draping of a gauzy fabric around the thighs of the woman that seems to render stone transparent.
2. The Venus de Milo: Another armless and topless marble female sculpture of a woman who stands today in two pieces that are riveted together with marble struts.
3. La Giaconda, better known as the Mona Lisa: The woman with the Mystic Smile upon whom volumes have been written. Always surprises first-time viewers by its small size. The cordoned area around it grows more distant with every visit I make here. Still the museum’s largest attraction.
4. The Wedding Feast at Cana by Paolo Veronese: Perhaps one of the largest paintings in the world, this canvas stuns by its sheer size. It happens to be in the same room as the Mona Lisa and, therefore, gets as many visitors. This room is also full of magnificent works by Titian and Tintoretto among other great Renaissance masters—(the Ghirlandaios are the best I’ve seen outside Florence) but so few of the visitors actually looked at these. Most just did the cursory walk around the Mona Lisa and left.
5. The Seated Scribe: A terracotta cast from ancient Greece that shows a scholar seated in the lotus position. Brilliant use of glass inserts for his eyes that make them look amazingly real.
6. Edouard Manet’s Le Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe (Luncheon Picnic on the Grass): Considered extremely scandalous when it was first exhibited at the Salon des Beaux Arts because it presents a female nude who gazes directly at the viewer while seated in the company of two fully clothed men.
7. Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa: This is a representation of a real event in history in which several survivors of a shipwreck attempted to save themselves by constructing a raft that left them afloat for weeks on end.
8. Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People: This quintessential French image was the inspiration for the French Revolution of 1789 which led to the storming of the Bastille and toppled the monarchy. It presents Liberty in the guise of a determined woman leading gun-totting revolutionaries towards a distant goal. It always reminds me of Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables.
9. Leonardo da Vinci’s Virgin of the Rocks. There is a version of this painting in the National Gallery in London and they are both extremely lyrical and, therefore, extremely moving.
10. The Marly Horses in the Cour Carre: These horses once graced the four pillars that support the bridge that leads from the Tour Effiel to the Palais de Chaillot. They present men and horses in varied poses in abundant realistic detail. They have been replaced on the bridge by plaster cast replicas.
11. The Code of Hamurabi: This ancient Babylonian Code of law is perhaps the world’s first known legal system. Despite being harsh and ruthless (“an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”), it laid down a system of government that prevented anarchy and became the model for every other legal code ever constructed. It is written in cuneiform script on a black basalt column which is carved at the top with the motifs of a judge dispensing his verdict and sentence.
12. The Imprisoned Slave by Michelangelo: So called because these studies in marble show the progress of the master’s technique and creativity. The slaves (there are two of them standing side by side) emerge from the block of Carrara marble with which Michelangelo worked so as to cause them to rise out of them as the sculpture was completed.
13. Odalisque by Ingres: This stylized portrayal of the back of a nude woman became the prototype for so many paintings of this nature—Manet’s Olympia, in the Musee d’Orsay is inspired by this work.
14. Napoleon’s State Apartments: Since I had never been to this part of the Louvre before, it was quite a revelation to come upon this series of magnificent rooms that glowed and glittered under the blaze of colossal crystal chandeliers, gilded candleabra and other objects d’art that fill it. These rooms beggar description and the best way to do them justice would be to say that if one has no time to visit the Palace of Versailles, this is the best alternative, being right in the city of Paris. Having visited Versailles twice, I can say that they come close if indeed they do not surpass the grand chateau in its wealth of decorative detail. Definitely eye candy of the most exotic kind.

Well, needless to say, we were exhausted after our perusal of the Louvre and dropping with fatigue could barely find the energy to make our way out. It was imperative that we sit somewhere for a long time and what nicer place than the banks of the Seine on a really warm and cheerful afternoon? Well, we walked past the many bridges of Paris (I was saddened to see that Samaritaine, that great institution of French conspicuous consumption, has closed indefinitely) and arrived at the Ile de la Cite where we thought we’d visit the Church of Notre Dame on its own little island. The square outside the church was bustling and as we moved through the throngs and as we arrived at the superbly carved portals of the church, I pulled out my DK Eye Witness Guide to Paris. We spent the next half hour examining this church that has become so famous in literature (domain of poor old Quasimodo in Hugo’s great novel) and film. Inside, the church’s vast dimensions, built in classic Gothic style with towering columns in the nave and flying buttresses on the outside, made for some marvelous viewing as did the Rose Window and other stained glass ornamentation within.

Walking along the Ile de la Cite, we passed by the Palais Royal and saw the entrance to the Church of Sainte Chapelle (which is also on my list of things to do in Paris on this trip) but it was close to closing time and visitors were no longer allowed to enter.

It was time to think of returning home to another one of Julia’s excellent dinners—she had used the internet to create another wonderful vegetarian dish using aubergines, mozarella cheese, red peppers and a tomato coulis that was all stacked up like the pastry known as the ‘Napoleon’. I put my own shoulder to the wheel and produced Chicken Parmesan using strips of chicken breast and breading them generously before coating with Parmesan shavings and shallow frying them. Indeed, it was a wonderful dinner, launched upon by glasses of wonderful Bordeaux that we shared with the Andersons. Jack kept converstion both stimulating and entertaining by telling about his day and the folks with whom he liases as part of his work.

Because our rambles had rendered us exhausted, we did go to bed rather early once again and tried to catch up on our lost sleep of the previous couple of days.

Last Walk in Chiswick and Wimbledon with Amy

Jul2

Thursday, July 2, 2009
Chiswick and Wimbledon

With my friend Amy in town, I resolved to complete the last walk in my book Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London. Now were I planning to do it with anyone else, I might have abandoned the idea. But Amy is such a sport and perhaps the most uncomplaining person I know. The heat was gruelling and the humidity intense in this horrendous heat wave we’re going through –most unusual for the UK. I always used to say to my American students: “There is nothing more beautiful than a summer’s day in England” Well, I might have to re-think this because when I was a grad student here, I do not remember going through a single day in July or August without a light cardigan. I do not ever recall being able to wear shorts or a T-shirt (forget about a tank top). I really do finally believe that there is such a thing as global warming when I go through sweltering days like this in the UK because there were simply non-existent twenty years ago.

A Riverside Walk in Chiswick:
Anyway…I took buses that got me to Richmond and I arrived at Stephanie’s place at 11. 30 am. Amy was waiting for me in the skimpiest pair of shorts you ever did see! Good for her! If I had legs that good, boy, I’d be wearing a pair like that in a heartbeat! So, another bus ride later (the 190), we arrived at Stamford Brook Underground station from where our walk began. It was entitled “The Chilling Streets of Chiswick” and it took us directly to the Thames embankments which have different names along different stretches (Hammersmith Embankment, Chiswick Mall, Upper Mall, etc). A Mall in this context is not a shopping plaza but a corridor of sorts (like, I suppose, Pall Mall in London).

Lunch at the Black Lion Pub:
It was only a few blocks before we passed St. Peter’s Square with its Georgian homes adorned with giant eagles, lions, urns and stately Ionic columns and lovely garden (though the lawns look terribly dry and uninviting) and arrived at The Black Lion Pub where we were both ready for a meal. In the beer garden at the back, we settled down with a bottle of Bulmer’s Pear Cider (so welcome on this blistering day!) and found ourselves entertained by a waiter who kept abbreviating the word “Pleasure” to “plej” much to Amy’s amusement. In fact, she kept thanking him every two seconds just to hear him say “plej”–and she has decided that she will add this charming new coinage to her vocabulary!

Well, we ate delicious brie and cranberries on crostini with salad and a hearty ciabata sandwich made with goat cheese, sesame seeds and fig relish and they were gooooood! In fact, it was so marvelous to sit under the shade of those spreading trees munching our meal and catching up that I had half a mind to abandon our pursuit. But then I figured, I might as well tick one more item off my list and get it done.

Kelmscott House:
So, an hour later, off we went again,this time walking towards Hammersmith in error–we weren’t concentrating on the directions (gabbing too much as we always tend to do) and were almost at Hammersmith Bridge before I realized we’d done something wrong. But, as often happens in London when you wander down an unintentional path, you arrive at some place astonishing and we arrived at Kelmscott House, London home of William Morris and the base of the William Morris Society!!!

Now this probably was meant to be as I had been so keen to see Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire but had abandoned that plan when I discovered how impossible it was to get there by public transport. So here I was in Morris’ London water-front home! The lovely lady who acted as guide invited us inside and we saw some of his original designs on the wall (for what later became his famous tapestries) as well as his printing press (he founded one with his other Pre-Raphaelite pals at Exeter College, Oxford, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Edward Burne-Jones and named it the Kelmscott Press). There was loads of photographs and the original rush-seated chairs that once belonged to him in the house. Well, after spending a few minutes chatting to the lady, she suggested we walk further down river and arrive at No. 7 Hammersmith Terrace, home of Emery Walker with whom Morris was very close and whose home has been retained as a receptacle of the philosophy and ethos of the Arts and Crafts Movement.

Mansions and Gardens of the Thames and St. Nicholas Church:
Off we went passing by the most beautiful mansions and gardens fronting the Thames until we did find No. 7–only to discover that it could be toured in small private groups with a guide at a cost of 10 pounds each. Well, we did not wish to be dissuaded from our goal, so we continued until we arrived at medieval St. Nicholas Church whose squat square blue clock tower easily proclaimed its age. It is in this churchyard that the railed Georgian tomb of the painter William Hogarth might be found. We reverentially encircled it and then walked around the church hoping to get in–only to find it closed.

Chiswick House:
On we went to Burlington Lane, then crossed the busy roundabout by the subway to arrive at the vast grounds of Chiswick House–only to find it closed for renovation as was also Hogarth’s House next door. So in terms of getting into a house on both occasions, we were thwarted in our plans, but we did enjoy the cool and shady grounds of Chiswick House. The heat called for another drink and we, therefore, made our way to The George and Devonshire Pub and walked just past it to what might be London’s smallest square (Chiswick Square) which has buildings dating from the 15th century on three sides (one of which is called Boston House). It was very picturesque indeed.

Arrival at Wimbledon:
Back at the bus stop, we made connections to get ourselves to Wimbledon where our friends Stephanie and Wendy had tickets for the game and where we’d made plans with them to have dinner. The bus rides gave Amy and me a chance to see the Thames-sides hamlet of Putney as we rode right through it, talking nineteen to the dozen!

At Wimbledon Station, we got off and began exploring the area. The station was crowded with office commuters returning home and getting away from the frenzy of the tennis tournaments. I wanted to be a part of that frenzy so off we went into another bus that took us past pretty Wimbledon Village to the tennis courts. We had to descend down Wimbledon Hill past the gorgeous homes and gardens of the area which Stephanie informed me is one of the most expensive zip codes in the city.

The Excitement of the Tennis Tournaments:
The crowds and excitement began long before we reached the courts themselves. People were already starting to leave though a match between James Blake and a Russian was on in Court Two. Now James Blake is my ‘homie’ as he is a product of Fairfield, Connecticut, and we consider him our ‘home boy’. Llew and I had watched him at the US Open Tennis Matches, a couple of years ago, on Center Court, when he had made his return to professional tennis for the first time after his long bout with shingles.

Amy and I were unable to get in, of course, as we did not have tickets, but we did get a wonderful sense of the fun and vibrancy of the matches, the excitement of the crowds, their sense of competition and fun as we walked by the gates and the walls and the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Museum. It is possible to take a guided tour of the site and perhaps I shall do that when Llew gets here, but for the moment, we were happy to enter into conversation with a Nigerian security guard who was heading off for the beginning of his night shift and was so delighted that Amy was an American that he wanted to “swallow” her because he loved the country so much–though he has never been able to get a visa to enter it!

Drinks and Dinner at the Fox and Dog Gastro Pub:
Well, when we’d taken a few pictures and imbibed the spirit of Wimbledon tennis, we climbed up the hill again, took another bus to Wimbledon Village and arrived at the Fox and Dog Pub where Stephanie had made a dinner reservation for us for 8. 30 pm. Amy and I lingered in a few retro and vintage stores ( as this is a passion we share) and then found our way to the pub where we settled down gratefully with another bottle of Bulmer’s Pear cider.

About half an hour later, Steph joined us with her Australian date Chris and another friend Wendy and we made our way to our table where we had a really delicious dinner–Amy and I split Fish and Chips and a Butternut Squash Linguine with goat’s cheese and toasted pine nuts that was rich and heavy but delicious. More Pear Cider did the rounds as we all chatted with Chris whom we were meeting or the first time and then it was time for me to take the Tube and get back home after what had been a terrific day with my pals.

I was so pleased that Amy had squeezed in two days with me in London (work commitments in New York had prevented her from staying longer) which allowed us to catch up and discover parts of the city that we had never seen before.

It was about 11. 30 am when I went to bed and resolved to spend the next few days doing some serious work as I really need to get to the library as well as continue drafting my lecture.

Interviewing another Anglo-Indian near Osterley

Jun3

Tuesday, June 2, 2009
London

Waking up in this new place feels rather strange to me. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. It was 6. 45 am when I awoke and since I wanted to get to Osterley (close to Heathrow airport) in time for a 10. 30 am appointment, I showered really quickly, ate my cereal breakfast, made myself a ham and cheese sandwich and left at 8.30 am. I had to find out where the nearest bus stops are as well as the routes that serve this area. I guess I will have it all figured out in a few days.

Getting out of Theobald’s Road and arriving at Holborn Station takes the longest time in the bus what with all the traffic snarls and the peak hour rush. Despite changing three buses, I arrived at Osterley Tube Station earlier than I expected and called the Anglo-Indian gentleman who had agreed to speak to me. He picked me up from the bus stop in his car and took me to his home where we settled down with a glass of water that I requested. His wife was also supposed to speak to me as part of my project; but I sensed her reluctance right away and when she agreed to answer some questions only and did not sign the agreement giving her consent to the interview, I politely declined. In the end, I spoke only to the husband who had rather interesting views which he shared very frankly with me. He told me later that his wife had completely conflicting views and did not wish to air them in front of him as they differ widely on the subject of their decision to emigrate to the UK and the manner in which life has treated them since they arrived in this country 20 years ago.

Still, despite his misgivings, it is impressive that three of his four children are university educated and that too in the cream of the country’s institutions of higher education such as Cambridge, Oxford and UCL. Their last daughter is taking her GCSEs this year and is also headed towards what we, in America, would call an Ivy League school. This man was so different in attitude and behavior from the couple I met yesterday. Thus, though I have spoken to over 35 Anglo-Indians already, I do not find my work repetitive as each of them tells me completely different stories and has inordinately different views.

A Visit to the Museum of London:
Back in the City, I went straight to NYU to settle the last of my utility bills and then I was on the bus heading to the Museum of London. This one, together with the London Transport Museum, is still on my To-Do List and I decided today would be a good day to go out and explore it. It is located near the Barbican and has a very interesting architectural design. Built in close proximity to the old London walls (the base dating from Roman times), they make the perfect backdrop for a place that traces the evolution as this city from 43 AD to the present date. The only misfortune is that the entire lower level is under refurbishment and closed to the public (which means I shall have to make another trip to London sometime to see it!) but the top floor contains interesting artifacts that span several centuries right up to the Great Fire of 1566.

I watched two rather short but fascinating films—one on the Great Fire, another on the Black Death (the Plague) that ravaged Europe throughout the Middle Ages. Then, my exploration of the contents began. Among some of the most notable things I saw (and not necessarily in any order at all) were:

1, 2 Roman leather bikinis that would have been worn by dancers—it is remarkable that they have survived despite being made of leather. There are only 3 Roman bikinis in the world and 2 of them are here in this museum.
2. A set of Roman gold coins, excavated in a single hoard, featuring the heads of every one of the most significant of the Roman emperors. This must have belonged to someone very wealthy who buried his treasure hoping to retrieve it someday but never got back to it.
3. A fragment of a marble tablet on which for the very first time the people of London have been named as Londoners (Londiniumvernis, I think it said).
4. The very first fire engine ever used in England.
5. A spectacular Roman mosaic floor found intact in a house in Bucklersberry near London in the late 1800s.

I did not finish seeing all of the museum. I have yet to see the exhibit on the Great Fire of London which was crowded with a school group, leading me to postpone my visit there.

I took the bus and returned home to Denmark House to find that my friends Paul and Loulou had arrived there from Suffolk to spend a night as they do once a week. It was great to see them again but we did not have a chance to spend a whole lot of time together as they were off to a party and will return late tonight. I tried to set myself up once again with the wireless connection but failed. Will try again tomorrow. Hopefully, Tim will be able to walk me through the process.

I ate my dinner while watching a program called Come Dine With Me—in which four strangers are thrown together to cook for each other and put on a complete meal for the other three. It made rather interesting viewing but because it was an hour-long show, I saw only a part of it as I wanted to get back to writing my journal for my blog.

I was pleased before I went to bed to review the comments in the evaluation sheets left for me by my students and to discover that they were very complimentary indeed and said a lot of very positive things about the courses I taught them this past semester. I am very pleased that the year I spent teaching in London was beneficial to them and that they enjoyed my classes.

I also began the next novel in the Harry Potter series: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince which I hope to finish in the next couple of weeks so that I can start the last and final one and return the last two books to Barbara who lent them to me. When I have finished all of them, I can cross out yet another item on my To-Do List: Read all 7 Harry Potter novels in London!

The Amazing Roman Amphitheater in the Guildhall Art Gallery

May30

Friday, May 29, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May16

Saturday, May 16, 2009
Hampstead, London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Easter Sunday with a Difference–including a Royal Sighting!

Apr12

Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009
London

It was an Easter with a difference for both of us! How delighted I was to have my dear Llew here with me in London during this Holy Week and to have him share Easter Sunday with me was a treat indeed. Of course, we both missed Chrissie as well as my family in Bombay whom we called first thing in the morning where they were all assembled at my brother Roger’s house in Bandra for Easter lunch. Because Llew wanted to attend a Catholic mass on Easter Sunday, I went online to look for mass timings at Westminster Cathedral and at the Brompton Oratory–two truly magnificent London churches as our closest Catholic church, St. Etheldreda’s, tends to be rather empty since Holborn is not so much a residential area as it is a commercial one.

Latin High Mass at the Brompton Oratory:
After breakfasting on cereal and croissants and showering, we left our flat and took the Tube to South Kensington and caught the 11 am mass at the Brompton Oratory which was packed to the rafters with people dressed to kill in expensive Hermes scarves and cultured pearl jewelry. It was with the greatest difficulty that Llew and I managed to shove ourselves into the church where we found a seat each in two different rows one behind the other! Still, we were grateful as so many people stood throughout the long traditional Latin Mass that went on for a whole hour and a half. The singing was superb and the responses from the congregation–all in sung Latin, mind you–truly impressed us. The priest made the announcement that refreshments and coffee would be available in the church hall and we deicded to go there for a slice of cake as our big meal of the day was not until 5 pm.

A Royal Sighting!
It was while we were making our way to the Hall for coffee that we had an unexpected royal sighting. A beautiful black Bentley had drawn up and two priests suddenly seemed very keen on going forward to meet its occupants who were leaving the church and making their way to the car. It took me only a second to recognize Prince Michael of Kent who happens to be the first cousin of both Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh–his beard makes him pretty distinctive. I have grown up seeing his photographs for years at every single royal do and I nudged Llew hard and whispered to him, “This is Prince Michael of Kent. He is the first cousin of the Queen”. I did not recognize his wife, but I recalled somewhere from deep in the recesses of my memory that the Princess is a Catholic which explained their presence at our Catholic service. Later I discovered from the Web that she is a Viennese aristocrat from a Catholic family in Austria.

She was very elegantly dressed indeed in a sand colored suit with a splendid hat which sported two pheasant feathers. Standing right by her was a very attractive young lady who looked slightly embarassed by all the fuss–undoubtedly their daughter, Lady Gabriella–whom I later discovered, also from the Net, is a graduate of Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. At any rate, there was much bowing and scraping in front of this royal family and I actually saw a lady from the congregation courtesy in front of the Princess and then go forward to plant a peck on her cheek. Prince Michael of Kent nodded smilingly at Llew and me just before he entered the Bentley and Llew noticed the royal crest on the license plate of the car. Indeed, it was quite an interesting if very unexpected encounter for us and quite made our Easter Sunday.

Llew told me later over coffee that he thoroughly enjoyed the Latin High Mass and was very pleased that we had decided to come as far away as the Brompton Oratory on this special Sunday. He was especially impressed by the fact that so many members of the congregation were able to join heartily in the singing, young and old alike, and that they carried the old-fashioned Missals that he remembered from his old growing years in Sunday school.

Stepping back into history at Dennis Severs House:
Then, we were on the Tube again heading for the East End where I had decided that we would visit one of London’s most unusual museums–Dennis Severs House at 18 Folgate Street in Spitalfields. We arrived there about 2 pm. and paid the 8 pounds (a piece) entry fee that took us inside. We were instructed to keep perfectly silent in the house, not to touch anything and not to take any pictures. We were explained the fact that the house is set up in such a way as to suggest that we are entering the domain of a Mr. Issac Jervis, a wealthy Hugenot silk weaver around the year 1724. As we climbed higher up the four storeys, the time period got closer to our age until at the very top floor, we were in the early 1800s at the time of the sudden accession to the throne of Queen Victoria.

It is not merely the fact that the house is crammed with the most marvelous antiques that caught our imagination but the fact that we are part of a drama in which it appears as if the family that lived in the rooms vacated them as soon as we entered. Thus, a half eaten slice of buttered bread, a bitten pear, a nearly empty cup of tea are some of the props that make up the unusual ambience of this home. The experience is not merely a visual delight but a completely sensual one as sounds, and even smells, permeate the environment from the clanging of the nearby bells of Christ Church, Spitalfields, to the booming of the cannons that announced the arrival of Queen Victoria to the throne. In the bedrooms, we smelled cinnamon potpourii, in the kitchen, the fire in the grate warmed the entire room as well as our fingers and in the upper floors where cobwebs hung about the poverty-stricken hovels of the tenants who were barely able to keep body and soul together, there was a dank mustiness that was most unpleasant. At one stage, we became part of an 18th century painting by Hogarth as we encircled a table that had just witnessed a drunken brawl.

Dennis Severs was an American artist who was so fascinated by the history of the East End and the determined efforts made by London to retain the dated atmosphere of the area through the protection of the exterior of its buildings that he decided to buy one of the silk weaver’s homes and decorate it so authentically that a visitor might be able to have the sort of out-of-body experience that is only possible when one transports oneself compeletely into a long ago world and blends into it. Hence, his concept of the wholistic antiquated experience which has resulted in this unusual phenomenon. What was incredible was the fact that he lived in this manner in this very house during his own life in London and wanted to perpetuate the experience long after he passed away.

Needless to say, both Llew and I were utterly transfixed by this visit and it was easily the best 8 pounds we have spent in a long while. I was so glad that I had Llew with whom to share this experience. I fully appreciated the insistence upon silence in the house because I have found through my solitary travels in so many countries that the best, most meaningful, experiences for me have been the ones that I have enjoyed alone and without the interruption of conversation with a companion, as, often, the act of talking causes the mind to lose focus and become distracted by extraneous details that have no direct bearings upon the item or scene being investigated. Still, I was pleased to have had Llew to talk with after we had both gone through this completely unique house.

Foray into Brick Lane:
Then, since we were so close to it and Llew was keen to visit it, we walked to Brick Lane, made famous by Monica Ali’s novel of the same name which both Llew and I had read a long time ago. Of course, we found it to be unfamiliar to us in many ways for it neither reminded me of India (in which I grew up) nor of Pakistan (in which Llew grew up) but being a part of London that has been colonized by Bangladeshi immigrants, it has a distinctly Bengali ambience to it. After we had perused some of the sweetmeat shops, we walked back to Liverpool Street station for the next part of our rather adventurous day–our Easter dinner.

Dinner at Rules Restaurant–London’s Oldest:
I had tried to make a reservtion at Rules restaurant only this morning and discovered that a 5 pm sitting was all that was available. I decided to go for it as it would be the sort of late lunch early dinner that we usually have when we celebrate Christmas or Easter at home. We arrived at Maiden Lane just behind Covent Garden exactly at 5pm and were very warmly and cordially welcomed by the maitre d’ hote who led us to a cozy table for two in a corner.

I had first heard about Rules on one of the London walks that I took several weeks ago and had decided right away that this was the sort of restaurant I wanted to eat a dinner in when Llew got to London. it helped that the restaurant is London’s oldest, having been established in 1798. It has had its fair share of celebrity clientele from Edward VII who often frequented the place with his mistress Lillie Langtrey, Charles Dickens, Graham Greene and Sir John Betjeman, among several prominent others. The decor is so unique that you can spend an entire evening just gazing upon its walls that are covered with antlers of varing shape and size, playbills from a vast number of Covent Garden shows over the centuries, cartoons from contemporary magazines and newspapers and illustrations of theater personalities and journalists. The lighting is soft and very flattering indeed and the lampshades and dark wood-panelled walls made the entire place appear like the interior of a library on an English country estate. Needless to say, I adored every aspect of the place and Llew shared my enthusiasm for it as well.

We then got down to the serious business of ordering our dinner. We chose a jug of claret but decided to forego the starters as I really did want to have a dessert. A quick glance at the puddings told me that I would not be disappointed and right away I decided to go for the sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce. But that would have to wait. For our main course, I decided to eat the daily special–farm duck served with garlic spinach, crispy bacon and a sauce of chestnuts and red wine. Llew chose rabbit with a wild mushroom casserole. Since we shared our dishes, I can say that each one was better than the other, the meat succulent and juicy and the sides quite superbly done and very tasty indeed. Service was impeccable and attentive and the entire set up was simply special. When it came time for dessert, Llew chose the chocolate souffle with chocolate ice cream and when our puddings arrived, there was a rather unexpected treat included–a tiny pastry nest filled with chocolate mousse in which two candy coated chocolate eggs were hiding. There was also a little wafer that said Easter on it–a very cute touch indeed. Overall, we had one of the most memorable meals we have eaten in London and I was very pleased that Llew enjoyed the meal as much as I did and that I had made the right choice in selecting Rules (so-called because it was founded by a man named Thomas Rule). At the end of the evening, a waiter very kindly escorted me to the top floor where I peeked into the Sir John Betjeman Room that seats 8 and the Graham Greene room that seats 18 as both these literary gentlemen loved this restaurant and ate here frequently.

Then, it was time to walk home–we were so full that we did not have coffee but elected to get some exercise instead. Covent Garden was abuzz with visitors and buskers and a singer who presented a plaintive version of JT’s Fire and Rain. In less than 15 mintues, we were home, making a few calls to the friends we have recently made in this city and to Chriselle and Chris who were just about beginning to start their own Easter lunches in the States. We did miss being together for Easter but we were glad that Chriselle was having a good time with Chris’s friends.

Llew then began the serious task of getting his suitcases packed up. I took over his large one and filled it with the stack of formal and winter clothes that I no longer need in London since the weather is now much milder. I have retained only a few cashmere cardigans in neutral colors and since I have only three more classes to teach before the semester ends, I sent back my formal woolen suit jackets. From now on, I shall be living mainly in casual clothes and I am looking forward to warmer days.

The evening passed swiftly as Llew prepared to make his exit from London and return to Connecticut. I will be sorry to see him go tomorrow, but I feel blessed that God allowed us to spend Easter together–an Easter with a difference, but one I know we were always remember as long as we live.

Waltzing through Windsor, Meeting the Holleys and Dinner with Bande Hassan

Apr11

Holy Saturday, April 11, 2009
Windsor

On another very quiet holiday morning in Holborn, Llew and I decided to leave for Windsor. We had awoken about 7 am but by the time we showered and had breakfast (muesli and hot cross buns), it was about 9 am that we hopped on to the Tube to get to Paddington for our connection on London mainline trains to Windsor. We purchased our tickets (off-peak day return was 8. 50 pounds each) and caught the 9. 51 to Windsor which required a change at Slough–this reminded me, of course, of David Brent in the BBC’s version of the TV show The Office, where Slough is the constant butt of bad jokes (being out there in the boonies!).

At about 10. 20, we found ourselves at the imposing walls of Windsor Castle at the end of an extremely long line that completely ruined my high spirits. I was tempted to suggest to Llew that we abandon our plans to visit the Castle as I had made a 1.00 pm appointment to meet with Marion and Henry Holley, an Anglo-Indian couple who live in nearby Maidenhead, with the idea of interviewing them for my study. I thought that it would take us no less than an hour to get into the Castle and if we arrived there at 11. 30, we’d have only an hour and a half to see everything. While I was mulling over these thoughts, the line moved along briskly and, to my enormous surprise, we were able to actually get inside within 15 minutes–not too bad at all!

In fact, we were just in time for the Changing of the Guard ceremony that took place at 11 am and as we stood on the hill in front of St. George’s Chapel, we took in the pomp and pageantry from a fairly good vantage point that offered fine photo opportunities. I noticed that the guards are back in their red coats and busbees and I was pleased that I had caught them in their grey Kremlin-like winter overcoats in the midst of winter when I had stood outside Buckingham Cathedral to watch the ceremony in February.

Llew and I did not not wait for it to end as there was so much to see in the Castle. Equipped with our audio guides, we entered the ancient Chapel, one of the most important Anglican places of worship in the land. The towering nave propped up by its impressive fan vaulting is one of my favorite elements of high Gothic architecture and I was enthralled. The magnificent stained glass window that features a plethora of medieval characters was also quite stirring indeed. I loved the beautiful marble sculpture of Princess Christina who had died at 21 after giving birth to a still born child. It was her death that changed the line of British succession to the throne and made Queen Victoria one of England’s most celebrated monarchs. The sculpture is plaintively moving and I wished so much I could have taken its picture.

The rest of the chapel was equally interesting, filled as it is by monuments honoring so many of England’s best-known kings and queens. I particularly paused by the tombstones of King George VI and the late Queen Mother (parents of the current Queen Elizabeth II) and the one to Henry VIII in the choir of the church where the beautiful wood carvings of the stalls and the banners of the Knights of the Order of the Garter of St. George were all rather fascinating. Unfortunately, we had to hurry through everything as we did not have much time and I began to feel as if it was essential to give the castle a whole day of reflective perusal. Crowds jostling around everywhere and the endless queues made the experiences rather disturbing for me, even unpleasant, and I guess I have become accustomed to having places of tourist interest deserted as I visited so many of them during the quieter off-season winter months when I could really take in every facet thoughtfully. Besides, since I was visiting Windsor Castle after 22 years, I had forgotten almost everything I saw and Llew cannot even remember when he last visited Windsor!

Exploring the State Apartments:
Next, we were hurrying out of the Chapel and towards the State Apartments where a long line had formed to see the Queen’s Doll’s House. We decided to pass on that treat and moved instead into the line that took us straight into the fabulous state apartments, many of which have been completely refurbished since 1992 when Windsor Castle was engulfed by the most horrific flames following a fire that had caused the Queen to remark on the fact that 1992 was the “annus horribilus” of her reign–it was also the year during which the divorce of Prince Andrew and Fergie, Duchess of York, had been finalized and when Charles and Diana had announced their final split.

Among the many memorable gems we saw inside the apartments were some of my favorite porcelain services–such as the Danish Flora Danica pattern. But it was the Rockingham china that most took my fancy–the work is so exquisite, portraying, as it does, so much flora from the colonies that then formed part of the British empire–such as sugar canes and pineapples. The work was so costly that the factory finally went bankrupt and closed down–a great loss indeed to British porcelain manufacture!

Next, we were climbing the stately staircase lined with arms and armor and arriving at all the booty that was looted by British officials following the defeat of so many global sovereign heads of state–such as the gilded tiger of Tipu Sultan of Mysore with its crystal teeth. I have to wonder how the British public does not feel a wee bit troubled about the fact that its finest treasures have been obtained arbitrarily from other parts of the world and I have to wonder whether or not they feel slight twinges of guilt that might motivate them to urge their present-day politicians to return these pieces to the countries from whence they came. After all, when you come to think of it, when we were in Rome, we had discovered that Napoleon who had looted many of Europe’s best museums (including the treasures of the Vatican collection) was made to return them after his defeat at the hands of Wellesley at the Battle of Waterloo. But then, I guess, we’d be stirring up the Elgin Marbles hornet’s nest all over again.

Our tour through the apartments took us to rooms that were impeccably decorated and fabulously furnished with the most beautiful masterpieces of world art. In particular, however, I enjoyed examining the many royal portraits commissioned by aristocracy from the Dutch painter Hans Holbein who made his home in the English court for decades and left us some of the most recognizable faces of the era. I found his portrayal of Easter morning entitled Noli Me Tangere deeply moving indeed, especially since we will be celebrating Easter tomorrow–somehow it seemed significant that we would have the chance to peruse this unusual Holbein so closely. It portrays Mary Magdalen on the third morning of Christ’s death arriving at the tomb to find the tombstone rolled away and filled with angels. Upon turning around, she sees a man whom she mistakes for a gardener; but on looking at him more closely, it occurs to her that he might be the risen Jesus. She attempts to go forward to touch him when he says to her, “Noli Me Tangere” which in Hebrew means, “Do not Touch me”.

I was extremely moved by this painting and it has remained crystallized in my memory. Also very significant for the art lover and historian in me were the self-portraits by Rembrandt made during various stages in his life (two of them are placed almost side by side on one wall in the gallery). By the time we arrived at the ceremonial Banqueting Hall, I realized that I would need at least another two visits to Windsor Castle to do the place justice and it was then that I suggested to Llew that we get our tickets registered at the exit upon departure. It was close to 1.00 pm by that stage and we needed to leave to meet the Holleys.

Upon relinquishing our audio guides, we did register our tickets and have decided that we will return again when Llew comes back to England in late July or early August to take me back to the States at the end of my stint here in London.

Lunch with the Holleys–finally!
Then, we were out on the main street by the benches where the Holleys–Henry and Marian–had suggested we meet. The softness of an English drizzle was ever present as we arrived at Fifty One, a bistro off the High Street where we settled down for a meal and a natter. Henry Holley is an Anglo-Indian who has been extremely helpful to me ever since I arrived in the UK at the start of my research project. Not only has he been in regular correspondence with me, but he has helped some of my students create their ethnographic profiles last semester while they were taking my sophomore seminar on Anglo-Indians. He is a regular reader of my blog and sends me helpful hints of what to see and do in the course of my travels in the British Isles and I have always found him to be eager to help. So, it was with great pleasure that we finally met and I was so pleased that Llewellyn also had the opportunity to meet them.

The two of us decided to share a large pizza that was rather delicious indeed and soon I had my tape recorder on to make sure I received the correct information from this lovely couple who emigrated to the UK in the 1960s when they were both teenagers. As an former RAF man, Henry Holley was posted in various parts of the world and I found that both he and his wife exhibited the kind of cultural open mindedness that is characteristic of people whose global travels have exposed them to a wide variety of human experience. Certainly my chat with them was interesting and enlightening and not without frequent moments of humor. Llew and I were very grateful for their hospitality for when the bill arrived, Henry insisted on treating us to lunch.

Later that afternoon, we sauntered around the interesting shops of Windsor High Street in their company (they had already started to feel like old buddies!) entering Lakeland, a wonderful kitchen equipment store (my kind of store!) where they made a few purchases and we were able to leave with tiny samples of very strong espresso made in a fancy hi-tech coffee machine whose abilities were demonstrated within. Then, we bade them goodbye, promising to keep in touch, and Llew and I were left to our own resources to tour the town.

Exploring Windsor:
Windsor is a delightful English village complete with towering castle ramparts, a Thames-side location, picturesque bridges and multitudes of graceful white swans. As we walked towards the river, we saw another giant Ferris wheel on its banks (similar to the London Eye) and a bridge that transported us to the opposite bank where Eton College, one of England’s oldest and most prestigious public (which in England means private!) schools is located. We paused at several enticing antiques stores en route but prices were so inflated that I could buy nothing that took my fancy. Instead, we pressed on towards the lovely Tudor architecture that forms the main buildings of the school. Though the place had closed for the day to visitors (it was just after 5 pm when we arrived there), I was able to get some marvelous pictures of the architecture I adore in the red brick lined buildings, the theater with its dome (so reminiscent of the Radcliff Camera in Oxford) and the quads. Cherry trees were everywhere bursting into bloom making the most enchanting backdrops for the pictures in which I frequently posed poor Llew in order to bring human interest to my compositions!

Italian Dinner with Bande Hassan:
Then, after a quick visit to Waitrose to buy the Stilton cheese with ginger that Llew also has taken fondly to, we made our way to the train station for our return journey to London. We arrived there at exactly 7 pm and connected to the Tube to meet with our friend Bande Hasan outside his bank–Habibsons where he is the CEO–at Portman Square just off Oxford Street. Once there, we threw our things into the trunk of his grey Mercedes and drove off to Zizzi, an Italian restaurant nearby where we spent a wonderful evening chatting companionably over bruschetta starters and pasta dishes that were both delicious and substantial. We ended our meal with desserts that were outstanding–Torta Zizzi was filled with almond paste and fruit–like plums and figs (superb) and Torta Ciocolato that had a crisp hazelnut base and a chocolate mousse filing. Served with vanilla ice-cream drizzled over with chocolate sauce, it was truly a chocoholic’s dream and Llew and I who shared one of them were in Chocolate Heaven!

Soon, we were being dropped back to the Tube and were home in less than fifteen minutes, ready to call a halt to a day that had been superbly filled with several forms of fascinating art and marvelous human contacts.