Tag Archive | Oslo

Obama Fever in Istanbul–Dolmache Palace and Hagia Sofia

Apr9

Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Istanbul, Turkey

A Presidential Visit Disrupts our Sightseeing Plans:
After another huge breakfast on the sea-facing terrace of Deniz Konark Hotel in which we slept very well last night, we set out to discover the Ayasofya—once a Byzantine church, then a mosque and now a museum. Only, we discovered, to our utter disappointment, that the entire area surrounding Sultanahmet Square had been shut down as President Barrack Obama was touring the area that morning in his intention to meet with senior leaders of Turkey’s Islamic community and students at the university. While proud of the fact that our new President was remaining true to his agenda of making peace with the Islamic world after the horrid chasms that had engulfed our world during the Bush years, I was disappointed that he chose the very week we were in Istanbul to plan his visit as we had only limited time at our disposal and wanted to cover the city’s main sights.

Since the tram station at Sultanahmet was shut, we began walking around the Ayasofya hoping to reach the Archaeological Museum which we had learned yesterday would remain open. However, on arriving at the access point to the museum, we found the entire area barricaded by armed foot police. Unable to reach the museum, we had to made sudden changes in plan and decided to visit the Dolmabahce Palace which was far away from all the political action of Sultanahmet Square. Since we were told that Ayasofya would remain closed all day, we had no choice but to plan to see it tomorrow early in the morning just before our departure for the airport. We knew we would be cutting it fine but there was no way we could leave Istanbul without seeing the famous Ayasofya Museum!

It was with some difficulty, mainly linguistic ones, that we understood that we could take a local train that ran along the waterfront past the old stone walls of the city that was then called Byzantium to the last stop called Sirkeci. However, when we arrived there, we found that the Sirkeci tram station was closed too. We were instructed to walk through busy streets lined with shops to the Eminonu waterfront and take a metro from there to Kalabas from where the Palace was only a short ten minute walk away! All along the route, both Llew and I felt as if we were back home on the Indian sub-continent. Indeed so many parts of the city were so reminsicent of Bombay to me and Karachi to Llew that we thought we were transported back in tome to our childhood years! It was all rather uncanny and we wondered what it is about the environment of the East that so blots out national borders and makes locations merge in our memories.

Needless to say, we took a lemon and made lemonade for these rather unexpected detours took us into nooks and crannies of Istanbul that were never on our agenda. Indeed, upon arriving at the Eminonu waterfront, I realized that we were very close to the Rustam Pasa Mosque which a British fellow-traveler at our hotel that told us that morning was his wife’s favorite mosque in Istanbul. It was irresistible to me and I suggested to Llew that we should try to see it. This meant walking very close by the Spice Bazaar with its gunny sacks full of ground and whole spices that presented marvelously indigenous sights.

Inside the Rustam Pasa Mosque:
The Rustam Pasa Mosque is approached by a rather novel entry—past a courtyard filled with friendly vendors. You climb a staircase and find yourself at the entrance where you take your shoes off and enter one of the most exquisite Islamic interiors with amazingly beautiful Iznik tile work and evocative mood lighting. Indeed, we found the space quite enchanting and were very glad we made the effort to see it. Best of all, we had a chance to see the local Turks go about their daily routines—praying, shopping, sipping tea in the bazaars, bustling about as they went from one location to the next.

On to the Asian Side of Istanbul:
It was with some difficulty that we found the metro station that allowed us to cross the Golden Horn and take us to the Asian part of Istanbul. For truly, Istanbul is the bridge between the Western and Eastern hemispheres, between Europe on the one hand and Asia on the other. The Dolmabahce Place lies in the Asian side of the city and in the metro we were carried deep into its heart until we arrived at the last stop called Kalabas where we hopped out. On asking for directions, we started our short walk to the palace passing the Dolmabahce Mosque en route.

Llew kept hoping that after all the time, trouble and expense we had undertaken to get to the Palace it was not closed as well. So, it was with some relief that we discovered visitors hurrying to and from it—a clear indication that it was, in fact, open. On arriving at the Palace Gates, we paid our entry fee of 16 lira (I chose not to pay extra to take my camera inside as I was running short of memory card space anyway) and joined a guided tour in English that was scheduled to begin in just a few minutes.

Exploring the Dolmabahce Palace:
The walk to the main doors of the palace took us past the most beautifully landscaped gardens that were a rainbow of early spring colors in the multitude of primroses and tulips that were everywhere. A beautiful swan fountain was the centerpiece of these formal gardens and it created a lovely setting that reminded both Llew and me of the Saheliyon Ki Bari Gardens in Jaipur, India, that we had seen last year.

Then, we were joining a vast throng of people who awaited the introduction to the Palace by a very pretty Turkish guide who took us through the paces and informed us that the palace was built in 1856 by Sultan Abdul Mecit when the Ottoman Empire was in its declining years—a fact belied by the grandeur and opulence of the palace and its décor. Three successive sultans lived in the palace which also served as a place in which Mustapha Kemal Pasha known as Attaturk, founder of the moder nRepublic of Turkey, breathed his last. In fact, all the clocks in the place are stopped at 9.05 am, the exact moment of his death.

Nothing I could say to describe the palace would ever possibly do it justice for the interior truly beggars description. It is one of the most ostentatious royal spaces I have ever seen and some might, cynically, even describe it as OTT (Over The Top). All I can say is that Buckingham Palace which Llew and I had visited many years ago when it was first opened to visitors quite pales into insignificance besides the lavish accoutrements of this place which actually contains a winding dual crystal staircase made of sparkling Baccarat crystal. The palace has a stupendous collection of English and Czechoslovakian crystal chandeliers that throw wonderful pools of light over the entire collections of art works and antiques with which each room is filled. These state room not only housed the private apartments of the rulers (who certainly knew a thing or two about living in luxury) but served as banqueting halls and reception rooms for visiting heads of state.

Among the highlights of the Palace were the Red Room where the sultan met his guests, the private reception rooms that form a part of the harem (in which, the guide informed me when I asked, that there were about 150 girls), the Rose colored Salon , the spectacular alabaster bathroom fully carved and superbly fitted. It was very difficult for my eye to find a single focal point in any of these rooms that were decorated in purely Western Victorian style with its emphasis on excess. In fact, far from believing that Less is More, these decorators believed that More was never ever Enough! Ever so frequently, from the many little windows that were sprinkled around the rooms to let in light and air, we caught marvelous glimpses of the glittering Bosphorus and the many boats that plied its waters carrying people and cargo from the European to the Asian worlds! This was all very evocative indeed and I realized that a vast part of the appeal of this royal palace is its unique location for which other palace in the world can boast the fact that it bridges two continents?

We finally arrived at the piece de resistance of the palace, the Ceremonial Hall which contains the palace’s largest crystal chandelier, a monumental piece that hangs almost to the floor and spreads its radius wide along the ceiling. While we were admiring the interior and taking in the sight of the magnificent domed ceiling, the guide gave us what I am sure she knew would be the most surprisingly piece of information—the ceiling was not domed at all! In fact, it is flat as a pancake and it is only by the brilliant use of trompe l’oeil painting that it appears to be concave! Truly a masterpiece of decorative painting, we simply could not fathom how that effect was created so convincingly to fool the eye. In fact, even the DK Eye Witness Guide to Turkey describes the Ceremonial Hall as having a domed ceiling!

It was about 2pm when we left the palace precincts and walked to the tram stop at Kalabas to return to Sultanahmet Square. We discovered, by this point, that the trams had started running normally and we hoped very much that we would still be able to return to the Archaeological Museum. Our journey took about half an hour and since our big breakfast still kept us going, we decided to forego lunch, nibbling instead on the biscuits I had carried for snacking.

Upon getting off at Sultanahmet, we saw, to our enormous surprise, a line outside the Ayasofya Museum and we were delighted to discover that the museum had been reopened—which probably mean that Obama’s visit had ended. Indeed, by the time we bought ourselves roasted corn cobs that we sat on a bench and ate with enjoyment, Obama was probably already on his surprise flight to meet the American troops in Iraq.

Inside the Ayasofya—finally!
This allowed us to join the line to purchase tickets to the museum (10 liras each) and within no time at all, we were entering the ancient building that has stood on this site for over a millennium! Indeed, the Church of the Holy Wisdom (Hagia Sofia in Greek and Sancta Sofiya in Latin) was inaugurated by Emperor Justinian in 537 AD. The Christian iconography seen inside in the form of glittering golden mosaics portraying Christ, the Madonna and a bevy of saints, all date from these Roman-Byzantine times. They were plastered when the church was taken over by the Islamic Caliphs and turned into a mosque under the Ottomans in the 15th century. Fortunately, they did not destroy these ancient mosaics…they only plastered over them. Recent attempts to scrape off this plaster has resulted in the unearthing of remnants of the mosaics some of which are so beautifully executed that they quite took my breath away.

What is most striking about Ayasofya, however, are the vast dimensions of the space. This strikes the visitor right away upon first entry. The walls and domed ceiling stretch out majestically overhead towering above for what seems eternity. The 15th century additions of giant calligraphic rondels that portray the names of Prophet Mohamed, his two nephews and the various caliphs of the time were fascinating especially as I have never seen anything quite like these anywhere else.

On encircling the interior of the church, we took in the main artistic and architectural features of the place that is now a museum—not used for worship of any kind. In fact, it is a completely secular place of archaeological interest alone. We saw the Loge of the Sultan (a grilled space created by marble jalis or screens that allowed him to pray without being seen), the Mihrab that faces Mecca, the minber from which the priest leads the faithful in prayer, the miraculous healing pillar of St. Gregory that stands behind the giant marble urns used to store water that assisted in the ablutions that were necessary before Muslims entered the mosque, etc. The place was rather dimly lit throughout and was teeming with visitors all of whom paused frequently in deep contemplation of the features of the space—whether Christian or Islamic.

Then we were climbing up the winding pathway (not a staircase) that led to the upper floor. This seemed to go on forever, which is understandable, I suppose, when you consider the great height of the first storey. It was here that we saw the bulk of the Christian mosaics and were also able to marvel at the main floor of the mosque from another higher perspective. The effects were all very stirring indeed and we realized how fortunate we were to have been able to visit this museum today. There was just too much to see and there was no way that we could have seen and done it all on a hurried hour-long visit as we had intended to do just before boarding the mini bus that would take us to the airport tomorrow morning. Indeed the Ayasofya which I had seen in so many architectural drawings and paintings of the 20th century and which still overwhelmed me is one of the greatest buildings in the world and we could easily understand why.

Time for last-minute shopping:
With about an hour or two left before the shops closed for the day, we walked along Sultanahmet Square to buy baklava (one of my favorite Eastern desserts) and boxes of Turkish delight for Llew to take home to his colleagues in the States. They come in a variety of colors and flavors from pomegranate and other tropical fruit to varieties studded with pistachios and almonds and flavored with honey. We also had the chance to taste a few of the sample goodies in the various shops and as we walked along the busy streets, we munched on our sweet snacks.

Last Dinner at Ayasofya Restaurant:
Indeed, we remained faithful to the food offerings at Ayasofya Restaurant returning there once more to enjoy the best of Turkish cooking. This evening, we found it rather packed with tourists as its family-friendly atmosphere attracted many patrons. Over more delicious mezzes and grilled kebabs and Efes pilsner beer, we truly enjoyed our meal as much as we enjoyed gabbing with Hassan who sat with us at our table and talked about his carpet trade. It was fun to chat with a local and to get his perspective on Obama’s visit to Turkey. Overall, the Turks are delighted to host the American president whom Hassan described as a “man with a smiling face from which we can get a lot of positive energy”. He was of the opinion that “Obama will be good not just for America but for the whole world”.

It was time for us to take our leave of our new friend and return to our Deniz Konark Hotel where we spent our last night knowing that the next morning we would board a flight to return to London. Istanbul had been a fabulous experience in every sense of the word and we were so full of exotic multiple images as we fell asleep.

Chained to my PC!

Mar1

Sunday, March 1, 2009
London

I awoke again at 5 am. I am now convinced it has something to do with the temperature in my bedroom–perhaps it is too warm! While in Oslo, I slept effortlessly until almost 7 am each day. Yet, here I was, unable to get back to sleep and, left with little choice at that unearthly hour, I turned to my PC to hammer out my Norway Travelogue. I was all done by 7. 30 am–it did take me two and a half straight hours, but when it was done, it was time to say a quick Hello to my parents in Bombay and tell them that I would call them later for a longer chat as I needed to shower and get ready for Mass.

Stephanie and I had both decided that we would stay put at home this Sunday as she was feeling under the weather and I had a pile of things to do. When I was done showering, I made myself a cup of coffee and gulping it down quickly, I set off for St. Etheldreda’s Church to which I was returning after several Sundays as my weekly sojourns with Steph have taken me to services all over the Home Counties! It felt like home and quite suddenly I was gripped by the strange feeling that I have attended Mass in this church all my life–it helped, I suppose, that Fr. Sebu, a priest from Kerala was the chief celebrant this morning!

Indeed, as I walked home, London felt like home. There is a certain ease now with which I find my way around unfamiliar places, with which I use the internet to find bus routes, with which I find the cheapest ways to purchase air tickets or theater tickets or opera tickets. Though I still feel as if I am on a year-long vacation, I no longer feel unsure of myself in this city. And this is a blessedly calming feeling indeed.

I ate a big bowl of cereal with yogurt and honey as I was starving, but I did not linger over it as I had a great deal of items on my To-Do List. One after the other, I ticked them off, the most crucial being the finalizing of a draft for an application for a grant that I need for the summer. I brought my blog up to date, drafted my February newsletter, downloaded my Norway photographs from my camera, unpacked my backpack and put things away while re-packing for the trip to Cornwall that I shall be doing on Wednesday. I did have a long chat with my Mum in Bombay and then with Llew who told me all about a 50th birthday party he had attended last night for our friend Kim Walton in Connecticut.

A mid-afternoon telephone call brought me the very spontaneous invitation to supper from my friend Bishop Michael Colclough. I was looking forward to seeing him and his wife Cynthia again as I hadn’t seen them for a while as both they and I have been traveling so much. By 7. 15 pm, I was at their lovely and very gracious home at Amen Corner near St. Paul’s Cathedral were we sat down for a long chat. Their boys Aidan and Edward were home and we all sat down to a cozy family dinner of Cottage Pie and Corn and Coleslaw with fresh pineapple and butterscotch ice-cream for dessert. It was simple home-cooked fare brimming with flavor that was served in a mood of generous hospitality. Best of all, I managed to catch up with my friends and learn all about their recent trip to Tenerife and about the boys’ upcoming exams as they grapple with their Law studies.

Then, I was on the bus again returning home after a long day that had me practically chained to my PC. I have caught up with almost all my pending chores and have decided to carry my PC with me to Cornwall as I do wish to use the evenings to transcribe a couple of interviews, edit and caption photographs on my hard drive and just organize the material that I have been gleaning and collating through my research.

Another week begins tomorrow and with it comes the promise of more exciting travel and the joys of the English seaside. I can’t wait…

Goodbye Oslo, Hello London!

Mar1

Saturday, February 28, 2009
Oslo-London

Day Three–Tying up Loose Ends:
The Oslo Opera House:
I awoke to another hearty Norwegian breakfast and having packed my backpack for my 6. 20 pm Ryanair departure from Torp airport, I decided to spend my last day seeing a few things that I did not want to leave Oslo without covering.

Breakfasting with Katya, I discovered that the Oslo Opera House is a masterpiece of contemporary architecture and she urged me to take a look at it before leaving. She also told me that it was very easy to access it from the Central Train Station if I walked along a bridge that connected me to the waterfront where the building is located. I followed her guidance and did see the Opera House for myself. It is not as unusual as the Sydney Opera House in design but I am sure it has superb acoustics in addition to a very interesting design. With that item scratched off my list of Must-See Items, I headed to the next attraction.

The Baldishol Tapestry in the Museum of Applied Arts:
Reading my guide book, I had discovered that one of Norway’s greatest cultural treasures is the Baldishol Tapestry that hangs in the lightly-frequently Museum of Applied Art. This lies a little off the beaten tourist track and took some finding.

But when I got there, I discovered that it did not open until 12 noon on Saturdays. I was crushed. I really was determined to see it, especially as my ignorance of its existence had prevented me from seeing France’s famous Bayeaux Tapestry, about fifteen years ago, when I was only a few miles away from it in Normandy! If ever I have to return to Normandy some day, it will be to see the Tapestry at the Cathedral at Bayeux that tells the entire story of the conquering of England by William the Conqueror in 1066.

Now that I was here in Norway and was only a few feet away from the Baldishol Tapestry that dates from between 1040 and 1190 and is the only Nordic tapestry from the Middle Ages that uses the Gobelin Techniques, I was bent on seeing it. I am not going to detail the ways and means I used to get into the museum to see it, but suffice it to say, that see it I did and what a sight it was! The colors are so vivid, the detail so minute, the workmanship so fine and so breathtaking that I was so pleased I had braved hell and high water to cast an appreciative eye over it! Though it is only a fragment of a larger piece, this one showing the months of April and May, give only a small indication of what the entire work must have looked like!

The Tapestry is named after the Baldishol church in Hedmark, Norway, which came to light after the demolition of the Baldishol church in the late 1870s. I was delighted to have had the chance to see it and though I wasn;t able to take a photograph, I will carry its image in my mind forever.

Vigeland Park:
This left me enough time to take a tram to Vigeland Park, another great show case of fine art—this one the work of Norway’s most famous sculptor, Gustav Vigeland. Indeed, if Parc Gruell in Barcelona provides a showcase for the work of Antoni Gaudi, then Vigeland Park, which serves the same purpose, is a must-see for any visitor to Oslo. Though I clearly would not be seeing the park at its best (the green expanses must be awesome in summer), the snow-covered lawns were no less uplifting and I was stunned repeatedly by the size and the vision of this artist of whose work I have never heard until I set foot in Norway!

The park, which is right in the heart of the city, contains 212 sculptures by Vigeland done in the 1920, 30s and 40s in a variety of materials, though the most common are stone and metal. The visitor follows the path that leads to the Monolith, a tall obelisk that is covered quite splendidly with human nudes. All around the monolith are more stone sculptures. To get to the monolith, one needs to walk upon a granite bridge, both sides of which are full of sculptures (similar to Karlovy Most or Charles Bridge in Prague and I often felt as if I were there with Llew and Chriselle who followed me in my imagination of my discovery of these moving masterpieces). Of the sculptures on the bridge, the most famous is that of the Little Angry Boy and while most visitors take pictures of this animated baby in the midst of a tantrum, the little serene girl on the other side sadly goes unnoticed! I had to take her picture, of course, as I am sure the two were meant to be viewed together! The bridge leads to another colossal sculpture of six giants holding up a gigantic bowl on their shoulders. In the summer, this also serves as a fountain. At this time of year, it is invariably filled with snow which is also a pretty sight.

Return Journey Home:
One could, doubtless, spend hours in this park, and had I leisure enough and time, I would had lingered. But I needed to get on the bus and then the metro to return to the Oslo Bus Terminal to take my bus back to Torp—a good two hours away. Almost all Ryan air flights land at remote airports and the journey to the airport from Oslo took me more time that the flight across the North Sea from London to Oslo! But this too is something to which I have become accustomed and I do choose my flights accordingly.

All went well. I enjoyed another lovely drive through the heart of Norwegian winter landscapes as I took in the beauty of lakes, hills, mountains and meadows all draped uniformly in thick fluffy mounds of snow. It had been a very interesting experience and though I did not return filled with a sense of historical awe as I had done from my visit to Berlin, Oslo was so full of fascinating surprises that it kept me completely under its spell for three full days.

As I returned home on the Easybus coach, I couldn’t help thinking that this past year is like a Gap Year for me—the kind of year to which students treat themselves between high school and college when they leave their familiar environment behind to launch into the unknown. It is a year filled with discovery–of themselves and the world they inhabit. In every respect that is exactly what this year is proving to be for me. And I cannot help but feel deeply blessed that I had this incredible opportunity to explore our world in this carefree fashion.

Bygdoy–Oslo’s Lovely Peninsular

Mar1

Friday, February 27, 2009
Oslo, Norway

Exploring Bygdo–The Viking Ships Museum:

I decided to devote Day Two to Bygdoy (Like Big Boy, except this is Big Doy!), a peninsular that juts into the fjord. Once an island, it was reclaimed by Karl Johans and now had a motorway that connects the island to the mainland. Claimed as prime real estate, it has a number of embassies and consulates located here as well as beautiful residential mansions and homes that were magically transformed into million-dollar beauties under the cover of winter. I loved the drive on Bus Number 30 that got me to Bygdoy and having purchased an Oslo Pass for 24 hours (220 kroner), I was able to visit all the museums on the peninsular free of charge as well as use all forms of transportation for free.

My first port of call was the Viking Ships Museum which is set in a fabulously designed building (by Arnestein Arneberg in 1914) in the shape of a cross—each arm containing one of the ships themselves. These ships were found in burial mounds (similar to the concept behind the Sutton Hoo Buried Viking ship and its contents in the British Museum) in southern Norway. The three 1000 year old Viking ships, the Oseberg, the Gokstad and the Tune ship (this one in the least well-preserved state) were excavated in the early years of the 20th century, then restored beautifully and exhibited in this museum where they stand as silent sentinels of Norway’s history, telling, nevertheless, many intriguing stories of belief in the afterlife. We saw a burial chamber as would have been on every ship together with a vast number of metal artifacts that were buried with the dead. The gold, silver and previous jewelry that would have also been buried with the dead Viking chieftains were plundered many years ago, but the articles left behind speak eloquently of a long lost civilization that once lorded it over the waters of Europe. The ships and the hoard left behind had me spellbound.

The Nordic Folk Museum:
A short stroll away along ice encrusted streets is the Nordic Folk Museum, a vast open air museum that documents the lives of Norwegians through the centuries. While it must seem like Disneyland in the summer when mobbed by tourists, it was empty but for a few school kids who had come with their teachers on field trips. Despite the cold, they enjoyed themselves fully in the open air running around in their winter gear and playing tag.

My tour book had informed me that there were three highlights I should not miss in this vast space and I headed first for Gamlebyen or Old Town, a cluster of homes, shops, post office, etc. dating from the last century and transported to this space in a bid to preserve them. These Tudor-like structures with their stucco walls and exposed beams had a quiet beauty about them. Inside, I could peak into the rooms and see the fitments that proclaimed the kind of rural lives led by Norway’s ordinary people back in the day. Following the path through the museum, I arrived at a grand building that was open. I pushed the heavy door and found myself in an apartment building. Each floor was recreated to produce an idea of what life would have been like in Oslo over the past century. There was, for instance, an apartment decorated to look like the interior of Torvald and Nora Helmer’s home in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. This was superbly done and I felt as I was on the film set with Jane Harris and Jason Robards in the film version that I have seen. And wasn’t Torvald played by Christopher Plummer?

On another floor, there was a replica of the apartment once owned in the 1960s by Norway’s then Prime Minister. The Beatles played on the radiogram, Beatles and Rolling Stones posters filled the walls of the teenage son’s room and the gadgetry in the kitchen spoke of cozy family dinners in the winter. Loving interior decoration and design as much as I do, it was a treat to wander through the silent home and try to place myself in those epochs.

Then, I was out on the street again making my way towards Setesdaltunet, a whole street containing old wooden homes built on stilts that were transported from Setesdal in Northern Norway and brought there. The snow was melting in the bright sunshine and fell in great big drops on the grounds or formed mini-stalactites around the eaves of these charming wooden structures—many of which I entered and found to be dark and sparse.

The last highlight of this museum, according to my book, is the 11th century Gol Stave Church and to get there, I had to climb a steep winding hill to gaze upon a small wooden church that was very reminiscent of the many pagodas I saw in Thailand in the ancient wats that dot the Northern highlands. The layers of the church’s exterior were densely covered with snow (at least six inches had fallen) but it was the inside that was amazing. The rear wall was covered with a faint painting of the Last Supper and in front of it was a very rustic altar—just a table basically with two candle stands. It was in this church that I saw the carved portal at the door which took me back to the magnificent specimen I had seen in the History Museum and I realized where in such a church, this sort of structure would fit. It was mind blowing and the impressions these discoveries made on me were heightened by the utter silence of the landscape that allowed me to contemplate my surroundings and seemed to spiritualize my discoveries.

The Kon-Tiki, Fram and Maritime Museums:
It was time then to board the bus (the Oslo Pass includes free rides on all modes of transport) and make my way to the tip of the peninsula to get to the Kon-Tiki Museum. I had done bit of reading and knew that the Kon-Tiki is associated with Thor Heyerdahl, one of Norway’s best known oceanographers. Indeed, Nordic sea-faring history which began with the Vikings who were aggressive sailors, explorers and adventurers, carried forward well into contemporary times in the many explorations and experiments undertaken by Heyerdahl throughout his life.

The Kon-Tiki Museum documents the two main voyages he undertook—one from Peru to the Easter Islands with a crew of six in a balsam raft he called the Kon-Tiki and another called the Ra II, a papyrus boat (as existed in ancient Egypt) that he sailed from Morocco to Barbados with a multi-racial and multi-cultural crew of eight. The museum has done such a wondrous job of educating the visitor on the planning, preparation, dangers and accomplishments of these voyages that, unbelievably, were undertaken successfully on such primitive craft as to leave on speechless. The Kon-Tiki expedition was completed in 1947 and a few years later, in 1954, the documentary film that was made on it won the Oscar Award for Best Documentary Film. Not only were we able to see the actually award-winning documentary in a marvelous setting—the inside of a cave as found on Easter Island—but, get this, we were actually able to see the Oscar that the film won! For me, a devoted cinema-buff, to finally see Oscar face-to-face and so unexpectedly, was a thrill that words cannot describe. Naturally, I had to take a picture right by the golden statue and it was for me more exciting that the news than the crew braved a 60 foot long killer whale shark that encircled the raft for hours on end before one of the crew members could stand the stress no longer and harpooned it off into the Deep! So, I went to see the Kon-Tiki and I ended up seeing a real Oscar!

My next destination was the Fram Museum, another quite wondrous structure built around the height and width of the great ship, the Fram, that had participated in so many expeditions to the South Pole including the last one by Roald Amundsen in 1910-1912. Not only could you see the great dimensions of this ship but you could actually walk upon its deck. It was similar to the experience I had walking upon the deck not inches away from where Lord Nelson had fallen on the H.M.S. Victory at Portsmouth only a few days earlier. A visit into the interior of the ship proves that shipping had improved enormously since Nelson’s time.

The small crews on these voyages had almost luxurious cabins (tiny but very well fitted out indeed) and none of the squalor that characterized life at sea for sailors who were “hard-pressed” (forced) into sea service in the 18th century. There actually was a billiards table and a piano on board that spoke of evenings of leisure and happy entertainment. It blew my mind to think that I was actually standing on a ship that had been to the farthest points in the north and south of our planet—parts of the globe on which, I know, I will never set foot. Outside, in the expanses that faced Oslo harbor, is the Gjoa, a small boat that Amundsen used when negotiating the Northwest Passage for the first time in 1912. This area also afforded some terrific views of the fjord and the port.

And then I could not resist popping into the Maritime Museum next door which is the receptacle of all of Norway’s sea-faring history. Here, another unexpected treat awaited me for visitors are led into a vast auditorium to watch a film on a multi-plex screen (five parts) similar to the experience of watching an IMAX movie. This marvelous film took us on a guided coastal visual tour of Norway with stupendous camera work from a low-flying helicopter and a boat. In and out, we wound through fjords that rose with steep cliffs facing ahead of us which reminded me so much of the real helicopter ride that Llew and I had taken on the island of Kauai in Hawaii when we had skimmed only feet above the famed Na Pali Cliffs. Though I was seated in an auditorium, I had a few nail biting moments as we swerved with the camera over these heights then dropped rapidly to the depths of the sea shore where fishing villages that scar the landscape offered a glimpse into the plain rural life of Nordic country folk. From villages to cities, we passed through Bergen and made our way to Oslo as we learned about the role she has played in global maritime life. Truly, this was one of the highlights of my trip—and it ranked almost as close as did the seeing of the Oscar Award for the first time.

Also very interesting about this museum is the painting Leif Erickson Sees America for the First Time by Christian Krogh which fills one wall. It is based on the theory that the Nordic seamen had arrived in North American long before Columbus did and is proudly displayed in this space. I was also deeply touched by a special exhibition on the Boat People of Vietnam who were rescued by Nordic sailors and brought as immigrants to Norway right after the end of the Vietnam War. A recent reunion brought these half starved and dying immigrant people together after thirty years and it was in their honor that this exhibition was held together with one of the actual boats on which they were rescued from those troubled Asian waters.

Night had fallen by the time I arrived at Haraldsheim as the tram I chose to take had to come to a standstill for almost an hour as another one ahead of it had broken down. By this time, I felt confident about finding my way back to the Youth Hostel and the darkness no longer served to unnerve me. A hot shower later, I was in bed and reading and marveling at everything I had seen.

Exploring Downtown Oslo

Mar1

Thursday, February 26, 2009
Oslo, Norway

Day One in Oslo–Breakfast at the Youth Hostel:
Because I had managed to get some reading done from my Norway DK Eye Eyewitness Guide en route to Stanstead airport, I decided that I would spend my first day in the City Center getting oriented. It seemed that the city was rather small and could easily be explored on foot. Attempting to avoid what I imagined would be the early-morning rush for the bathrooms down the hall, I decided to shower in the evening.

Dressing warmly, I went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast (included in the price of 22 Euros per night) and thought I was in a hotel. Truly, after the breakfasts I have consumed in other European youth hostels, this one appeared princely. There was a variety of cereals with milk or yogurt, a buffet bar with rolls, various types of sliced bread and the famous Scandinavian crisp bread and all sorts of jams and marmalades as well as a rather chunky and very delicious apple sauce. In the deli bar, there was cheese (Jarlsberg, of course, Norway’s gift to the world) ham, salami, liverwurst, coleslaw, fresh sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and a variety of fish dishes—in mustard sauce, tomato sauce and pickled with onions. There was also a variety of juices, tea and coffee—like I said, fit for a king. There was even a traditional brown cheese called geitost, served in a round block with a cheese knife. This is eaten at breakfast, very thinly sliced, and when I tasted some, I found this goat’s cheese sweet, sharply flavored and very delicious, especially when placed on the crisp bread and eaten with the tomatoes. I found myself crafting very creative open sandwiches each day for breakfast! Well, when in Oslo…..

Exploring Downtown Oslo:
Well fortified to face my day and having joined a group of women my age at their table—they were international academics from Brazil and Norway attending a conference in the hostel premises—I left to explore the city. Katya from Brazil joined me on the downhill trek to the tram stop which I boarded ten minutes later. It promised to be a beautiful day for the sun was just beginning to gild the snow draped hills and being warmly clad myself, I wasn’t in the least uncomfortable. One great thing about New England winters is that they teach you now to dress in layers and feel snug.

Oslo’s National Gallery:
Fifteen minutes later, I was at Karl Johans Gate which is the main artery that runs through the City Center. I headed first off to the National Gallery mainly to see The Scream by Edvard Munch, Norway’s best-known artist. Not only has this painting being stolen from this museum twice, but it has been, miraculously, recovered twice as well! One of the things that visiting the world’s museums has taught me is that no pictures in the world can prepare the viewer for the actual size of famous paintings and, time after time, I have been surprised at how small the real thing is when all I have seen were pictures. The Scream is small indeed but rather riveting. In the Munch Gallery, there was also his other famous work, Madonna—these two were held behind plexiglass shields.

A few rooms away, there was a special exhibition on his very personal work The Sick Child, based on his memories of his sister who lay dying of tuberculosis. There were various versions of this subject, painted over twenty years, the work getting more and more Expressionistic as he progressed. I was so fortunate to be able to see about eight version of it all gathered together in one room, as well as the definitive one which was the center piece of the exhibition. In addition to works by Munch, there were some wonderful Norwegian artists represented such as J.C. Dahl, Tilemund and Dude and some other canvases by Old Masters—After the Bath by Renoir was particularly lovely as was St. Peter by El Greco. Tilemund and Dude’s Norwegian Bridal Party on display in their museum has achieved iconic stature in the country as it comprises all the elements that best portray Norway—mountains, lakes and traditional rural people dressed in their colorful bunads. Best part of all was that this museum was free to the public and though there was almost no one when I first entered, a few tour groups did arrive later in the day.

The National History Museum:
Right next door to the National Gallery is the National History Museum—also free of charge. I entered it to find myself lost for the next hour as I took in some marvelous medieval art. There was the front portal of a traditional Stave Church—richly carved and in a fantastic state of preservation though dating to the 1100s. I did not appreciate it right away but, a few days later, after I saw and entered a real stave church on Bygdoy, I realized where exactly at the church door it would fit and I was then so taken by this piece.

A special exhibition on the Vikings taught me a great deal about these people who originated in Scandinavia. All I had known about the Vikings was that they were violent marauders who destroyed abbeys in Ireland. So I was pleasantly surprised to see the artistic streak they also possessed as evidenced in the silver-studded sword handles and the vast amount of metal jewelry (mainly brooches to hold their flowing garments in place) that they produced. In the Sami section, I saw a great deal of material on the ethnic people who thrive in the northernmost reaches of Norway and, as my school geography lessons had taught me, live in igloos, wear reindeer fur and travel on dog sleds. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Everywhere I went, I saw the museums filled with school groups on field trips, their teachers actually teaching them lessons in the galleries.

Karl Johans Gate:
Then I was out on the sunshine-washed streets of Oslo walking towards the Royal Palace called Slottet that sits on a hill overlooking the city’s main thoroughfare called Karl Johans Gate. The word ‘gate’ in Norwegian does not mean ‘gate’; it means ‘road’ and this one named after one of Norway’s most illustrious kings, Karl Johans, is its busiest. Groups of tourists were out by this time, slip sliding on the ice and throwing snowballs at each other. There were no guided tours of the interior in the winter but I did enjoy the exterior environs of the palace that are set in sprawling lawns open to the public—all thickly covered with crisp and spotlessly white blankets. The current monarchs were resident in the palace as was evident by the flag which flew from the flag mast.

I walked downhill towards the National Theater and paused to take pictures of the sculpture of Henrik Ibsen of whom Norway is so proud. The National Theater was actually putting on a production of his most famous play A Doll’s House together with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Kazamarov. A few steps away, the grand Neo-Classical building of Oslo University lay ahead of me in its own square. The Aula is its most interesting feature—a room that is covered with murals by Munch–but since it was under renovation, it was closed to the public.

The Wonders of Radhuset:
Using my map, I found my way, a few blocks away, to Radhuset, the City Hall, and scene, each year, of the distribution of the Nobel Peace Prize. This extremely modern building built by Arnstein Arneberg and Magnus Poulsson, who won a competition to design it, dominates the cityscape by its unusual shape and conception. The exterior is only the beginning, however, as the inside of the building, covered with murals, sculptures in bas relief and almost floor-to-ceiling size paintings is breathtaking. The public can move freely from room to room including the Chamber where the Council meet to debate state affairs. Norway’s leading artists have painted each one with murals. Filled with traditional carved furniture, they are truly a delight to explore while the brilliance of the architecture is never very far from one’s mind.

Right outside the Radhusett is the Nobel Peace Center (which is open to visitors) but for lack of time, I decided to forego visiting it and proceeded towards Akker Brygge where I found a cozy corner in a McDonald’s overlooking Oslofjordden, for Oslo is indeed situated at the head of a fjord and the sun gleaming on the ice-filled waters was a lovely sight indeed. I spent almost an hour there watching the ferries come in and take off for the many islands that dot the fjord and admiring the sight of the turrets of nearby Akershus Slott (also closed in the winter), a castle and fortress that also contains the remains of some of Norway’s most prominent monarchs.

Christiana Torv and Oslo Domkirk:
Using my Guide Book, I then walked towards Christiana Torv (or Christiana Square) which is one of the oldest and best preserved of Oslo’s medieval squares. Indeed, I was so taken by the beautiful old structures that comprise the square that I braved traffic moving in slow circles around the ice and took many pictures.

Then, since most European capitals have at least one spectacular cathedral, I went in the direction of the Domkirk, only to find it completely shrouded in ugly scaffolding and completely closed. My book is rather old and doesn’t have up-to-the-minute information and had, therefore, failed to warn me of this. But I was glad to have seen the busy square around Kirkstein and since, by that point, I had walked a great deal and was tired, I hopped aboard the tram and returned to my room as I did not want to get back too late.

How delighted I was to find the hill leading to the hostel covered with tiny tots sledding and tobogganing on the slopes in the noisy company of their parents. Indeed, the Norwegians really do know how to enjoy the winter and make the most of its pleasures. As the sun was about to disappear behind the hills that surround the city, I decided to sit outside myself and watch it wave its magic wand upon the ice making the countryside seem as if asleep under a diamond encrusted comforter. It was pure magic and I was glad that I had not missed the beauty of winter completely this year but had caught some of its glory in Scandinavia.

Hullo Norway!

Mar1

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
London-Oslo

Never having been to Scandinavia, I was excited about my visit to Norway. And not having read too much about it until I was on the coach driving to Stanstead airport, I really did not know what to expect. I mean, there are a few aspects about it we all know: Land of the Midnight Sun, open face sandwiches, and those gorgeous Scandinavian blondes… As for the rest of it, I was blank. Which turned out to be a good thing because Norway was a revelation.

Departure:
I was glad my flight left from Stanstead at 10.30 am. Of course, this did mean waking up at 6.00 am, leaving my flat at 6. 45 am, and catching the Easybus coach at 7.30 am to arrive at Stanstead at 9.00. I gave myself an hour and a half for airport formalities—which left me ample time in the airport before the half-empty flight took off.I lucked out once again on this flight (as I had done on the one to Berlin), in that I found myself besides a companion who knew how to get from Torp airport to Oslo City Center. He, Simon Rees, made a very interesting travel companion as he works for the Mayor’s Office at City Hall, London, and since I have been a fan of Boris Johnson for a while now, I was pleased to chat with him about his special portfolio—advising the Mayor on the upcoming Olympics.

Just before we landed at Torp airport, after we had cleared the thick layer of clouds that had obscured the scene outside the window all across the North Sea, the sights of the fjords had me spell bound. For though there was no sun, there was enough light to be able to discern the outlines of scattered islands that lay under a thick frosting of ice. This famed coast line viewed from the air but best seen on summer boat cruises, was my first glimpse of the country, Norway—a country that revealed itself to me in new and exciting ways from day to day and left me enchanted.

It was Simon who led me to the bus stand at Torp airport and who chatted with me on the two-hour ride into Oslo. The first thing I realized as I stepped outside was that it was cold—much colder than the London I had left behind—and I was grateful for the warm cashmere clothing I had packed. We had a bit of a wait until the bus arrived, and by the time we boarded it, it was almost 2 pm local Oslo time (which is an hour ahead of London) and by the time we drew into the Oslo Central Station, it was almost 4 pm. IT would be another two hours before I arrived at my lodgings—so a whole day had been consumed by travel.

Nordic Country Landscapes:
It was plainly obvious that southern Norway had gone through a major recent snowstorm. Tall mounds of snow almost blinded me in their dazzling white garb. However, unlike London, it was also plain that the authorities were fully equipped to handle it for snow ploughs were everywhere and the sanding and salting of motorways leading out of the airport was superbly done. Once we arrived at the highway that led to Oslo, the landscape was so enchanting that each little vignette could make a Christmas card. Within seconds, I was reminded sharply of my own home in New England for there were so many similarities. For one thing, because both Norway and New England have an abundance of trees, all structures are made of wood (unlike the brick and stone that I so love in the United Kingdom). The siding of all homes were exactly the same was those in parts of New England in which the Pilgrims settled—indeed similar to my own Holly Berry House in Southport, Connecticut.

The three preferred colored of all dwellings are white, ochre and maroon, or as some would more fashionably say, burgundy. These little cottages were draped in white shrouds, their roofs thickly covered with snow. Most trees stood bare of foliage, their branches still wearing traces of freshly fallen snow while conifers stood in clumps draping the hillsides. Occasionally, we past vast spreads of snow white land masses which we soon realized were snow-covered lakes as the boat slips at the edges gave them away. I was taken back sharply to my coastal Connecticut winters as I watched the beauty of the Norwegian countryside slip by the window.

Arrival at my Hostel:
If there is one thing that did not work too well for me, it was the location of the Youth Hostel in Oslo on Haraldsheim. Though well served by bus, tram and metro lines, it is a good ten-minute walk from all these stops and, what is more, the trek involves a climb up a steep hillside, which is challenging at the best of times but was a trial in the snow. The path was not adequately sanded or de-iced and with the light fading fast, I was not exactly sure how to get there and had to ask for directions frequently.

That’s when I made the astonishing discovery that almost everyone in Oslo speaks very good English and is happy to help. When I finally arrived at the Youth Hostel, it was most 5. 30 pm and I was grateful to sink into a four-bedded female dorm. Now I have used youth hostels for enough years of my life to know that the biggest downside is the kind of companions with which one might be saddled. To my enormous good luck, I was all alone in my room for all four days which meant that my youth hostel fees were the best kroner I spent on the entire trip. For Norway is not a part of the EU and does not use Euros. I had changed 20 Euro at Stanstead airport before boarding the flight and with the hundred odd kroner in my bag, I felt confident as I disembarked from the aircraft—only to discover that the country is frightfully expensive (yes, far more expensive than the UK) and I was grateful I was able to use my credit card. I spent a quiet evening in my lovely room reading The Goblet of Fire and fell asleep at 9. 30 pm because the traveling had taken its toll on me and I was exhausted.

British Library, Accommodation Hunting and Another Interview

Feb24

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sight-Seeing in Sussex: Chichester, Arundel and Petworth

Feb22

Sunday, February 22, 2009
Chichester

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tea with Blair, Post-Christmas Sales and Return to the National Gallery

Jan13

Tuesday, January 13, 2009
London

Being still jetlagged, I awoke at 3. 15 am, tossed and turned until 4. 15 am then gave up attempting to fall back to sleep. Since I am clearly still on Bombay Time it made sense to spend an hour reading The White Tiger, Aravind Adiga’s Booker Prize winning novel that my friend Firdaus Gandavia, aka Dr. G, gifted me in Bombay. While it is stylistically unusual and entertaining, it is hard to see what made it deserve so prestigious an award. But perhaps I should reserve my judgment until I finish the book.

A half hour devoted to my blog followed by a call to my parents in Bombay made me realize that I miss them sorely, every single one of my family members with whom I spent two recent weeks–Chriselle and Chris included. Dying to hear their voices again, I dialled eagerly and was delighted to catch up again with my parents whose new refrigerator has been delivered. All is well at Silverhome with geyser, water filter and lights all behaving as they should and a brand new fridge in the kitchen to boot. My mother is stress free for the moment, she says…

Breakfast (eggs and coffee) was followed by an exercise session (I am trying to be religious about getting in four sessions a day) as I continued to stretch my plantar fascia while watching Vikas Swarup, author of the novel Q&A appear on the Breakfast Show. He is the new Boy Wonder, now that his novel has become an international cinematic success with a new name–Slumdog Millionaire. Unlike most authors who have a stack of rejection slips and several unpublished manuscripts tucked away somewhere before they attain recognition, Swarup’s first novel, written within two months, found an agent in merely a few tries and a publisher soon after. Bravo!

More chores followed–the folding and putting away of laundry, the washing of dishes. Then a long and lovely shower and I felt prepared to face the day. First stop: The Leather Lane Street Market where I bought fresh fruit and vegetables. With the new year having dawned, I am trying to eat more salads and intend to end each meal with fresh fruit. I then disappeared down the Tube stairwell to buy myself a monthly bus pass. Back at home, I stacked my produce on the kitchen counter before I ran out to the bus stop to take the Number 8 to Marble Arch where I had made an 11 am appointment to meet my friend Blair Williams and his wife Ellen, visiting from New Jersey, in the basement cafe.

I stopped en route at the Jo Malone store on Brooke Street to make an appointment for a Facial Workshop for 12 noon tomorrow–a session that will be accompanied by a Champagne Tea! My, my, how special that made me feel! I intend to try a variety of their newest products as I am a huge Jo Malone fan. Then, I hurried off to M&S and found Blair and Ellen entering the same elevators that I took to get downstairs. How was that for timing? I was next enveloped in a warm bear hug as my friends reunited with me on British soil.

Over a pot of lemon and ginger tea, we caught up. Blair and Ellen are on a long spate of travels around the world. Their next stop is India tomorrow and then on to Singapore and Hongkong, Vietnam and China. We talked about my research on Anglo-Indians as Blair had been my chief source of inspiration and encouragement as I had launched upon this inquiry. We were joined shortly by Hazel Egan, a college classmate of the Williams’. After about an hour, I left the group to their own nostalgic reminiscences and made my way out.

Having missed the post-Christmas sales for which the major department stores in London are noted, I decided that I simply must take a look even if it is rather late in the day. So, hear this, all your shopaholics out there, ALL of London is on sale! From the glitz of Harrods and the High Street to the smallest holes in the wall, retailers have slashed prices and massive signs proclaiming sales everywhere seem determined to entice the shopper. I took a bus to Knightsbridge, heading straight for Harrods, and found myself overwhelmed by the number of items piled high up in bins that are up for sale. After browsing through a few, I chose a few luxurious goodies in which to indulge–Woods of Windsor Soap Packs in Lily of the Valley and Lavender fragrances and silky body moisturizer from Floris in the … range, to which, believe it or not, I had become introduced on Air-India flights. The airline used to stock Floris’ moisturizer and cologne in its restrooms once upon a time!

In the food halls, I picked up a loaf of fresh Walnut Bread, an almond croissant and a chocolate scone and over a cup of free Java at Krispy Kreme donuts (courtesy of the new Obama Presidency), I had myself a carb-rich lunch–sigh…just when I made a resolution to cut them down. I could not resist strolling through Laduree, the upscale Parisian tea shop that has a branch at Harrods, but I did draw the line at indulging in their world famous macaroons–another time for sure when I am feeling less virtuous! Someone had once told me that you needed to spend a penny (or a pound, quite literally) to use the rest rooms at Harrods, but I discovered that this was far from true as the basement restrooms were not only free but well stocked with a variety of free cosmetics as well!!!

Another bus took me to Fortnum and Mason where I browsed around their Sale merchandise. I was disappopinted to discover that there wasn’t a fifty per cent sale there as everywhere else. I did walk out with a lovely perfumed candle in Pink Grapefruit though–I really do have a weakness for this aroma–one of the few items that was offered at half price. It felt wonderful to have been able to buy a few things at least at these satisfying prices and though all Harrods’ Christmas puddings had gone, I was glad I did buy two earlier in the year–one of which we ate in Southport at Christmas and the other at New Year in Bombay!

I then hopped into a bus again that took me to Trafalgar Square where I intended to spend a few good hours back in the galleries. ‘Back’ because after Plantar fascitis had hit me, I had given up my study of the paintings there and intended to resume them after my feet felt less strained. Having covered the Sainsbury Wing last semester, I started my perusal of the 16th century with Homan Potterton’s Guide to the National Gallery to help me along. Locating the most important canvasses through the catalogue in the basement, I then spent a while in the company of Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo and Corregio, Lucus Cranach and Hans Holbein, Andrea del Sarto and Raphael. The galleries were largely empty and, in many cases, I had them entirely to myself. I realized that I have missed my solitary sessions in museums and that I am happiest when wrapped in lone contemplation of canvases by Old Masters.

Then, it was time to take the bus and return home to a quiet dinner and some TV. London is usually mild for this time of year and it was a pleasure to walk its streets and browse through its attractive shops. As the week goes by, I hope to fill my moments with many more such pleasurable activity.

Just before I switched my PC off for the day, I did make a booking to Oslo, Norway, for the end of February. At a pound per journey on Ryanair, it was irresistible and since the Youth Hostel in downtown Oslo was able to offer accommodation, my plans were made within minutes. It is just such offers as these that make my stay here in London so worthwhile and I look forward very much to many more such spontaneous trips of this kind as the semester moves on.