Tag Archive | Queen’s Gallery

Trooping of the Color, Wallace Collection and Dinner at Sarastra

Jun13

Friday, June 13, 2009
London

The Trooping of the Color:
I guess that after all the exciting, fascinating, marvelous experiences I have been having in London, I had to have one disaster–and it came today. I decided that I would go off to the Trooping of the Color–supposedly one of the most important events in the royal calendar. Free tickets are distributed by lottery several months ahead of the event and the lucky ticket holders have assigned seats on the Horse Guards Parade where they watch a series of military manoeuvres (or something of the kind–nobody seems very clear what goes on there!).

The Queen herself is present on this occasion and she arrives at the venue in a golden carriage from out of Buckingham Palace with other members of the royal family in attendance. I had heard, from the garrulous web, that non-ticket holders were welcome to line the Mall to watch the parade pass by. Apparently, after the military troops finished their ‘show’, the royal procession returned to the Palace and just a little later, they would appear on the first floor balcony to wave at the crowds who then raised their heads upwards to the skies where a fleet of planes then zoomed above them and all the way along the fluttering flags of the Mall. It seemed a worthy sight to witness and if I, Samuel Pepys-like, was going to provide an accurate account of my year in London, I figured it had to include this red letter day!

So I left my flat at 9. 45 after a hasty cereal breakfast, took two buses to arrive at Trafalgar Square from where I walked briskly to the Mall already despairing at the sight of the vast, (and I mean mammoth) crowds that had gathered there ahead of me. If I had any hopes of seeing anything at all, they were rudely dashed to the ground. People were standing at least six thick all along the Mall, their kids propped up on their shoulders. It was just impossible to gain a glimpse and I almost abandoned my plans to stick around and half thought of turning back right then and there…when I decided not to give up so easily.

So I walked the length of the Mall hoping to find some crack open somewhere through which I could squeeze. No such luck. By the steps leading up to the pedestal on which stands the sculpture of the Duke of York, I attempted to join the throngs and for a few minutes actually did think I might see something. A few people had found a way to get to a terrace (private property apparently) and sit themselves on it and I joined them. Of course, it wasn’t long before at least fifty more people climbed a ladder that took us up to the terrace and that was when all hell broke loose.

An aggressive and really irritating policewoman came shouting at the top of her voice and demanded that we get right off as we were trespassing on private property and she threatened to arrest all of us if we did not get down at once. Oh blimey, I thought! That would make a story, wouldn’t it? Getting prosecuted in London??? The sad part was that most of the folks up on that terrace were foreign tourists who could not understand English anyway and had no idea what she was yelling at them! You can bet I chickened out and, with the rest of the crowd, scrambled down that ladder before you could say “Trooping the Color”. Well, talk about adventures– I seem to collect them like stamps!

Well, after that fiasco, try finding a spot! It was simply impossible. The totally irritating policemen and women seemed to find only that part of the parade route to monitor and they were at it constantly, urging people to get off the steps and keep the paths clear and growling out all sorts of instructions in the rudest fashion possible. In all my time in London, I have never seen nor heard more revolting and insulting policemen and women and I can just imagine how they must have treated those protesters at the G20 summit meetings. All people wanted to do was a get a glimpse of the proceedings, for heaven’s sake. Where was the need to be so mean about the whole thing?

Being the obedient idiot I am, I did what they said and kept the stairs clear and left the throngs to deal with them. I simply wanted to put as much distance as I could between me and those barking lunatics who suddenly seemed to feel empowered by the fact that so many vulnerable people were at their mercy. I found a spot much further down the mall but I have to say that I didn’t see very much. There were contingents of soldiers on horseback (and god knows I have seen enough of those during my year in this city) and then I caught a fleeting glimpse of Princess Anne, the Princess Royal making her way to the venue, but I did not see anything else beyond that.

In a few minutes (make that seconds), it was all over and I thought to myself, “I cannot believe I was threatened with prosecution for this bit of nonsense!” Of course, it might have been a case of having consumed a whole bunch of sour grapes. I bet those folks who had the prime spots along the route did not think the whole pageant quite so stupid. Anyway, I turned to leave when I heard an Englishman announcing to his family that if they had the patience to stand there for another hour, they would see the procession in reverse (returning to the Palace) at which point, they would see the planes fly up above.

I had, however, more than I could stomach for one morning. I have seen the Queen twice in the past year (once at Crathie Kirk near Balmoral in Scotland when the entire family except Anne had been present not even two feet away from Llew and me) and once on her way to the Opening of Parliament in November when I was much closer, had a chance to take pictures, etc. So, no, I did not feel disappointed that this morning turned out to be such a damp squib. I just felt annoyed with myself that I had even bothered to come out to the Mall on a morning like this. How so many tourists had descended on the city of London was beyond my comprehension.

It was nice, however, to see the Mall all festooned in Union Jacks, each flag post topped by an impressive crown! I did get a few pictures by holding my camera aloft but they only give an idea of the number of heads that were in front of me! It reminded me of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade that I had once attended in Manhattan where hundreds of people standing in front of me meant that I saw nothing of the floats–the balloons, however, soar high up in the air, so those I did see. However, I had sworn then that I would never attend the parade in person again and that it made much more sense to watch it on the box in the comfort of my family room…so, I have never gone out again to brave the autumnal cold in New York at the end of November. In recent years, of course, we have been too concerned about getting our turkey roasted on time to even bother about what the telly has been bringing into our homes.

Browsing Along Marylebon High Street:
I took a bus from Piccadilly that took me through Regent’s Street and on to Marylebon where I jumped off to walk along one of my favorite of London streets–Marylebon High Street. This one street has so many of my best-loved shops–great for browsing, window shopping or buying (Cath Kidson, Rococo Chocolates, Daunt Books, The White Store) and a lovely bunch of coffee shops (Patisserie Valerie, Paul’s Patisserie, Le Pain Quotidien, etc.) that it is always a pleasure to wander down it at leisure.

As it turned out, within moments, I came upon a garden market named, cutely enough, Cabbages and Frocks. Inside, there was the usual arts and crafts stuff–beautifully tailored coats, leather bags, one-of-a-kind jewelery–and stalls selling foods (there were some really pretty cupcakes). But most things cost an arm and a leg at these places and, I suppose, the prices are justified when you consider that everything is handmade, not mass-produced. I was very lucky indeed to come upon a stall selling nothing but cashmere garments–from scarves to full-length sweater jackets and coats. I almost bought a cashmere coat but then it was too large for me and I had to pass it up–bummer! However, I was very pleased with the two cashmere scarves I found (one for Llew and one for me) and a very swanky pair of Versace sunglasses. Those were truly a steal at the price I paid and I was delighted.

Wandering Through the Wallace Collection:
More rambles down the High Street took me in and out of my favorite stores until I arrived at my next destination: the Wallace Collection. I had last been here about five years ago, but had only seen the Highlights then and had no time to study the rest of the items on display. This afternoon I intended to linger at leisure and to wander through the vast rooms that make up this grand mansion.

The Wallace Collection–perhaps the country’s finest and most opulent private art collection–is
housed in an elegant mansion just off Marylebon High Street and right behind Oxford Circus. It is truly a pity that but for the art connoisseur and the well-informed, so few people know about this place or visit it. Yet, it is stunning, to say the very least, and anyone with a love for the 18th century and its ostentation would find themselves in a private Mecca. And entry is free to boot! A recent Restoration has brought renewed grandeur to the place (as if it needed any!) so all special exhibitions are temporarily on hold.

Inside, there is an abundance of fine and decorative art works collected by the Dukes of Hereford, especially the 3rd Duke, who, amassing these works, spent almost the entire fortune he had gained from his wealthy wife. They have been left to the nation which explains why there is no charge. It is, therefore, one of the cheapest treats you could ever have in London and it is a mystery to me why so few people know about it. I guess you can call it one of London’s best-kept secrets.

If I was sorry that I missed the special exhibition on Sevres porcelain at the Queen’s Gallery when Chriselle was here (it was scheduled to begin a week after our visit there), I need never have worried. The collection of Sevres porcelain in this one place–Hereford House–is enough reason to visit it. Indeed, what is thrilling about it is not just the exquisite beauty of each piece but the interesting provenance–so many of these tea and coffee services and dressing table sets belonged to Europe’s royal families including such colorful historical figures as Madame de Pompidour herself! In fact, she single-handedly saved the porcelain factory from becoming bankrupt by getting the King (Louis XVI) to bail it out and, in doing so, made it fashionable again.

There is also a great deal of Boule and ormolu furniture and if your taste runs towards the OTT (Over The Top), the ultra-decorated and the Baroque, you will be thrilled at the wealth of bombe chests, writing desks and bureaus and staggeringly massive armoires that you will see in striking inlaid and marquetry designs. But, for me, of course, the greatest aspects of any such collection are the paintings and there are any number to make your mouth water in this one building.

Take for instance, two of my favorite paintings of all time: The Swing by Jean Honore Fragonard is here and so is Miss Bowles and Her Dog by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Again, it is worth getting to Hereford House just to see these two canvasses and these were the ones I had seen when I was last here five years ago.

But there is also Franz Hals’ famous The Laughing Cavalier (a huge misnomer as the subject is neither a cavalier nor laughing!), Nicolas Poussin’s A Dance to the Music of Time, Reuben’s Rainbow Landscape (one of the largest landscapes he did–its twin is in the National Gallery) and at least two really lovely paintings by Pieter de Hooch who is one of my favorite artists of all time–A Boy Bringing Bread and A Woman Peeling Apples. These are on current display and I spent a great deal of time just gazing at them as I wandered into 17th century Delft on the brush of this charming painter. There are also a bunch of Watteaus and Velasquezes but by far, the most prominent artist present in the Wallace Collection is Francois Boucher. From small canvasses to really gigantic ones that dominate the stairwell on the way upstairs past the ornate wrought iron balustrade and marble staircase, his women are seen in their fat, pink, buxom glory together with charming cherubs, skeins of fruit and flower and a number of pastoral vignettes.

There was a Highlights tour beginning at 3 pm but by then I had seen most of the rooms on my own and was just too tired to take it. There was also a vast crowd of people (who had probably come just in time for the tour) and if I have a chance, I shall return there on a week day when I can take the tour with fewer people.

I sat in the sunshine outside on what was another spectacular summer’s day in London and ate a makeshift meal composed of walnut bread, Wensleydale cheese with ginger and fresh strawberries that I had purchased at Waitrose on the high street. And then, I returned inside to see a few more of the brilliantly stocked and superbly curated rooms. There was a fine restaurant out in the marble courtyard but my extempore picnic lunch was much better enjoyed, I thought, than a formal meal at a table.

Dinner with Tim, Barbara and Hannah:
Then, because I was suddenly so fatigued, I decided to return home and get some rest as I had plans for the evening as well. As soon as I arrived home, I simply threw myself on my bed and curled up like a baby and went off to sleep like a light. When I awoke about a half hour later, I felt re-energized and ready for a nice long shower. I washed and dried my hair and dressed and at 7. 50, I walked back to my former building at High Holborn to keep my date with my former neighbors Barbara and Tim who had suggested I join them for dinner.

Barbara’s niece Hannah was present and Tim settled us down well with wine and beer and some snacks as we watched videos of their recent drives through Yellowstone Park and then we set off for the ‘Restaurant Surprise’ as Tim did not tell any of us where he had made reservations. As we walked past Lincoln’s Inn Field, we cut into Great Queen Street and Drury Lane and then the surprise was revealed. We would be eating at Sarastra, a very theatrical restaurant opposite the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden. Isn’t it marvelous how I can simply walk to all these places and get dinner?? I still can’t get over the convenience of the location of these flats in which I have lived.

Well, the decor of the restaurant reminded me a bit of Hereford House because it too was OTT and ostentatious–but not in an ancien regime sort of way–more in a theatrical, contemporary, gaudy sort of way! It had opera boxes along the sides and several diners were hoisted up near the ceiling to eat their meal. We were placed in a cozy niche out of the general din for there were several celebrations on including one rather rowdy hen party. The restaurant could not quite make up its mind what sort of cuisine it served–presumably it was Turkish, but there were maybe two Turkish items on the menu! The rest was a pastische that included Steak Frites and Fish and Chips!

The food, however, though it remained uncertain what exactly it was, was delicious. My Boeuf Bourgignon was absolutely scrumptious and though my portion was huge–it was served over creamy mashed potato–I finished every last bit of it because it was so good. The appetisers that Tim ordered (Scampi Meuniere and Turkish style Aubergines) were passable–the scampi better than the aubergine. None of us had room for dessert and we decided to have coffee back at their flat, so left soon after with me feeling slightly too stuffed for comfort. The walk back home was a good idea and the peppermint tea that followed lulled me well into sleep after Tim escorted me back home to my flat. I need not have worried–the area was buzzing with the many pubs, clubs and restaurants that line the Farringdon area around Smithfield Market.

I fell asleep after a chat with Llew as I had forgotten to carry my cell phone with me and thought that I ought to take it easy tomorrow as I am suddenly quite inexplicably tired.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day One

May8

Friday, May 8, 2009
London

Chriselle’s main concern was getting her laptop up and running to enable her to work for a few hours in the evenings. When I was unable to connect her to my wireless network, I asked Tim next door to help. He kindly came in at about 9am and got her sorted and with that, the great weight lifted off her mind and she was able to turn her attention to breakfast (toast with marmalade and tea–as she has a marked fondness for tea) before she showered and we were able to get out of my flat by 9.45 to begin our London sightseeing.

The day dawned gray and drizzly. Disappointed, we dressed appropriately and, armed with our brollies, prepared for a wet and breezy day. Good job our first stop was The Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace where I was keen to see those special treasures that her Majesty holds for the nation in her sanctum sanctorum. Chriselle had decided to gamely so along with my plans for the next 3 days as she has the next week to explore London according to her special likes.

The Queen’s Gallery:
Since we both have the 3-day London Pass and 3-day Travelcards, I have chosen sites that I have not yet paid to see–in a attempt to make fullest use of the passes. The Queen’s Gallery maintains a timed entry (allowing just a few visitors to peruse the collection at any given time). We were lucky to be admitted in immediately (at this time of year, that is not unusual, I believe) but were disappointed to hear that the Royal Mews is closed on Fridays. We might not be able to see the collection of carriages that are part of the pomp and pageantry of British royal life.

After going through security (every art gallery and basilica is beginning to feel like an airport these days), we passed through a massive set of doors and faced a really beautiful stairway whose balustrade was adorned with skillfully gilded metal tassels. Once we arrived at the landings, we were given audio guides and ushered through another set of doors that led us to the two large rooms that comprise the Gallery. Paintings and objects d’art (mainly in the form of ornate cabinets) change periodically as do the special exhibits. Like the Queen, who is a famed collector, I have a great fondness for painted porcelain, especially the kind made in the Sevres factory outside Paris in France. So I was disappointed to discover that the gallery is in a state of transition at the moment for a special exhibit on these works which will start later this month.

However, the works we did see in two rooms were truly impressive and made the visit worthwhile. Of special note, were a number of scenes of Venice by Canaletto, four gigantic works by Peter Paul Reubens (mainly collected by Charles I and later Queen Victoria), a few portraits of Charles I and his wife Henrietta Maria painted by his court painter Anthony Van Dyke, a really beautiful portrait of Queen Victoria as a little girl by her drawing tutor (whose name I wish I could remember) and–this was the highlight of the visit for us–a number of jewel-studded items gifted to the royal family and The East India Company by India’s erstwhile Maharajas during the days of the Raj. I was pleased to note that most of them were gifts and not ‘plunder’ to which the British Raj fancied itself entitled. Even so, the size of the emeralds in a pearl-studded belt had to be seen to to be believed and the pair of diamond drop ear-rings and matching brooch that were gifted to the late Queen Mother were another stunning aspect of the items on display.

The Changing of the Guard:
Since the collection was rather small (even though very significant), we were still able to catch part of the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace where, we found that, mercifully, it had stopped raining and we were actually able to see some activity in the the large court yard. Indeed, by the time we crossed the street in front of the sculpture of Queen Victoria, the sun made an appearance and we were able to get pictures with blue skies in them! It made Chriselle remark that if you don’t like the weather in London, you can wait for five minutes–it really was a quick-change artist!

Down The Mall we walked, still feeling jaunty and full of energy, past the back of St. James’ Palace. Needless to say, I kept up a running commentary as I pointed out the sights to her, amazed myself at how much I now know about London. Crossing The Mall, we entered St. James’ Park (at which point we received a call from Llew on my cell phone–which, miraculously, I heard–just getting ready to start work in the States) and since, for some inexplicable reason, both of us were already starving, we found a bench overlooking the duck pond (where we were instructed not to feed the “wild fowl”–a term that would never have been used in the States), we ate the sandwiches I had prepared at home before setting out.

I have to be rather creative with meals, as Chriselle is a vegetarian. I, therefore, threw in everything I could find in my fridge–which this morning comprised, multi grain bread with mayonnaise, parmesan cheese and a pear (that I sliced and drizzled over with balsamic vinegar). Even I was surprised what a delicious sandwich this made. With our feet well rested, we started off again.

The Horse Guards and the Banqueting House:
Our next destination was the Banqueting House (as I was keen for Chriselle to see Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling as commissioned by Charles I in memory of his father James I who is the main character in the centerpiece medallion). This meant that she had the opportunity to pass by the Horse Guards and click pictures with them–a matter that called to mind much earlier visits to the city when she was just nine-years old, in the company of my brother Roger.

The short film we saw on the ground floor of the Banqueting House introduced her to the history of the place. I, of course, had just seen the film two weeks ago, when my friend Loreen was visiting from Connecticut. And I realize again how little this building is visited and how important it is–architecturally (it is the work of Inigo Jones who revolutionalized English architecture after his return from Italy where he was influenced by Andrea Palladio), historically (it was from this building that Charles I was led to his execution) and artistically (it is the only building in the world that has Reubens’ ceiling paintings in situ. Chriselle gasped when she saw the ceiling for the first time after we had climbed to the first floor and was entirely engrossed in the commentary that we heard on audio wands. It was interesting to note the items that she wanted to photograph and, in a way, it was fun to see these places through her fresh and fascinated eyes.
The Churchill Museum, the Cabinet War Rooms and the England at War Exhibition:
Our next stop was the St. James’ Park end of Whitehall where I had been waiting for Chriselle’s arrival to visit the underground Cabinet War Rooms–this, I believed, would be the highlight of our day. And I was not disappointed. It was my student Kristen who, last semester, had told me how incredibly fascinating it had been to her and how I must not miss this attraction. Having never seen these rooms before, I did not intend to leave London without visiting them. I was glad that Chriselle was as enthusiastic as I was and, before long, we found ourselves underground in the world of the 1940’s that somehow brought to my mind the setting and ethos of the British detective series Foyle’s War.

The first room that greets visitors is the one used throughout the war by the Cabinet War Committee among whom the names of Churchill and Clement Atlee were the only ones familiar to me (Atlee succeeded Churchill as Prime Minister after the War and presided over the transfer of power at the time of the Independence of India). I had goosebumps while looking at the wooden swivel chair that Churchill used in the middle of this gathering. Everything has been left exactly as it was on the last day the room was used and it was strangely evocative of the inter-continental intrigues of that epoch.

The rest of the warren of underground rooms showed us the quarters of the many chiefs of staff and their administrative assistants–all of whom had cramped rooms, furnished in a utilitarian fashion with banker’s lamps in each room, maps on the wall–many still tracing the progress of important mid-century military campaigns–and even the room used by Mrs. Churchill–which, in a single seater sofa, was the only piece of furniture with a floral print! It stood out oddly in that stark environment. Also interesting was a copy of Picture Post of that era with a rather rare feature inside depicting the First Lady in her domestic milieu inside 10 Downing Street–a sort of early version of People or Hello magazine!

It was interesting to see Churchill’s engagement book that contained signatures of George VI and the current Queen entered in 1942 (long before she became Queen) and it occurred to me afresh (a fact that the film The Queen had brought to my attention) how many Prime Ministers have served during her reign! What a history of the century she encompasses within her own 80 years!

What was also interesting to me (if somewhat annoying) is the knowledge that while the rest of the country (indeed the rest of Europe) staggered under severe rationing laws, “making do” for years on end, Churchill wined and dined like a king, his daily menus comprising several courses including Beef Wellington and gallons of rich port wine and expensive bubbly! Ah, the privileges of the powerful.

Another really amazing aspect of this exhibit is a trans-Atlantic telephonic conversation that we could listen in to between President Truman of the US and Churchill discussing the progress of Himmler across Europe and the strategy designed to stop him. The accents, the diction, the style of expression, the odd formality that existed between these two so-called ‘close friends’ was antiquated and, therefore, deeply amusing, but it gave me goose flesh again to actually hear their voices and listen carefully to the stress and concern contained within them. (“No,no,no,no,no,no,no, we can’t do that. Especially when it is Himmler we’re talking about”). This is easily a place in which one could spend a whole day and I am not surprised that Kristen found it so compelling. I am so glad I finally saw the circumstances in which the fate of Europe and the world was decided and I am so gratified that these rooms have been preserved in this fantastic manner (thanks largely to the Imperial War Museum) as a gift to future generations.

Jewel Tower:
Since we were doing really well for time and the weather had suddenly turned so appealing, we decided to walk towards Parliament Square and see Jewel Tower which is run by the English Heritage and is open to London Pass holders. Llew and I had taken a self-guided walking tour entitled “Royal London” that had once guided us past this rather squat tower opposite the Houses of Parliament–but since we hadn’t climbed it then, it made sense for us to ‘cover’ it on this outing.

Passing by the exterior of the Houses of Parliament, I pointed out to Chriselle the Visitor Entrance to the sessions in both Houses and suggested that she return next week to sit in on one of them. The friendly copper outside informed us that the next sittings of both Houses will be on Monday and Tuesday from 2. 30 till 10 pm and Chriselle decided to return on Tuesday. I was also able to point out to her the “Sovereign’s Entrance” at the side which rather tickled me because while the rest of the world has the right to walk into Parliament and overhear the debates, the reigning monarch does not–he/she must knock on the ceremonial doors and request permission to enter–a custom that harks back to the days of the Magna Carta when the sovereign interfered too much in the running of Parliament–I know that I am putting this rather simplistically and there is a more complicated piece of history here that is worthy of recounting and I must look it up online.

The Jewel Tower itself is named for the fact that the Tower which was constructed in the reign of Edward III (mid 1200s) housed the royal wardrobe, part of which included the jewel- encrusted crown. 44 steps take visitors to the top along a winding spiral stone stairway that was reminiscent to me of Delhi’s Qutub Minar (at a time when visitors could climb all the way to the top, as a little girl, I had been way up there) and to Chriselle of the fairy tales she had read as a child–chiefly Rapunzel! The small exhibit upstairs was not noteworthy and after we took in the views of busy Parliament Square below us, we descended.

The Cavalry Guards Museum:
Chriselle did not need to get home until 5 pm when she needed to log on and connect with her New York team to get some work done. This, we realized, left us enough time to see the Cavalry Guards Museum which is also included in the London Pass and which faces the Horse Guards Parade. This rather small exhibit showed us the livery used by man and horse and the role played by these ceremonial guards with whom the public has posed for decades. It is the plumes, the swords, indeed the regalia, that give British royalty so much of an aura. The stables in which the horses are well looked after (we actually saw two rather quiet ones taking their rest) are also on exhibit and we could walk past the stalls and take all these sights in. Because these spaces are rather compact, however, they did not take too long to peruse and we were out rather sooner than we expected.

By Tube to Apsley House:
With time still on our side (it was only a little past 3.00 pm), we decided to take the Tube to Hyde Park Corner to see Apsley House (which I had toured a few years ago but which I was keen for Chriselle to see). This stately mansion with its beige facade dominates the circle around Wellington’s Arch and has always been one of my favorite London manors. It was gifted by a grateful nation to Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington (whose much less-liked and less-popular brother Richard had been the Governor-General of India) upon his victory at the Battle of Waterloo that ended the dynamic campaigns of France’s Napoleon across Europe. Since it was situated at the very point of entry into the city, it’s address was simply No 1 London–an address it still retains!

Inside, the visitor is given an audio guide which allowed us to negotiate our way through rooms that were crammed with paintings and sculpture beginning with the towering one of Napoleon by Antonio Canova in the landing on the ground floor that leads up to the marvelous Robert Adams’ designed stairway. The floor had to be reinforced with a supportive pillar beneath it to take the massive weight of this marble sculpture that presents a young and very athletic Napoleon in Roman guise complete with spear in his hand and sandals on his feet. It is an immensely striking sculpture and one whose image has stayed with me from my last visit to this room.

Wellesley was a master general (some would say the best England has ever had) with a gifted aesthetic side to his personality and he amassed a multitude of paintings, many so significant that the Long Gallery contains works by Old Masters that would make the National Gallery envious! There were Carravaggios and Canalettos from Italy, Jose Riberas, Velasquezes and Murillos from Spain, Jan Steens, Peter de Hoochs and Breugels the Elder from among the Flemish cohort and indeed a number of English artists including Van Dyke –all of which would take another age to see in detail. For me, the highlight of this mansion is the sterling silver centerpiece on the Dining Table that runs along its entire length–a gift from Portugal to Wellesley as the defeat of Napoleon had been a joint venture between England, Spain and Portugal. We enjoyed our visit here very much indeed and though Chriselle was concerned about the time and ensured we left there by 4. 30, she had a very pleasant visit indeed.

Back on the Tube, I showed her how to use it (so that she can find her way around the city on her own once I leave for Paris and find her way back to my building on the Central Line). Though I was quite wiped out by the time I reached home, she logged on to her computer, while I set off for Bedford Square to pick up the sheaf of papers that my students have left for me to grade as their semester winds down and final exams begin next week. It is a profoundly busy and stressful time for them and as my grading work begins, I am still trying to fit in as much time with Chriselle as possible.

Duet for One at the West End:
Back from campus, I managed a very short nap as both of us would be going out again for the evening. I had booked us tickets to see Juliet Stevenson and Henry Goodman in Tom Kempinski’s Duet for One at the Vaudeville Theater and when we got there by Tube at 7. 30, we were just in time for a performance that swept us off our feet with its histrionic virtuosity, masterful direction and excellent script.

Indeed it was a marvelous night at the theater. Though Stevenson’s role as Keira Knightley’s mother in Bend It like Beckham had first brought her to our attention, it was in this play where she played a violinist afflicted by multiple sclerosis and battling the ghosts of her past, that we realized how gifted an actor she is and how wide is her range. Indeed, she was superbly supported by Goodman who, in a much quieter portrayal as her therapist, also had his occasional outbursts that brought vitality to his role. Indeed, we could not have had a more memorable night in a London theater.

A Night Out on the Town for Chriselle:
Throughout the evening, Chriselle had been on my cell phone with her friend Rahul whom she had once known as a child in Bombay. He moved to London to work for a hedge fund and she was renewing contact with him after years. He invited her to spend the evening out with his friends and taking the bus to St. Paul’s from The Strand, I dropped Chriselle into his hands and took the bus back home as I was seriously pooped and couldn’t wait to hit my bed.

She woke me up at 3 am to tell me that despite the fact that I had given her a key, the magnetic tag would not open the door of our building downstairs. I dressed quickly and went down to open the door for her and at 3. 15, we were both back in bed again at the end of what had been an astonishing day for her in every possible respect.

In Search of Burberry and The Jubilee Walk (Part 1)

May2

Saturday, May 2, 2009
London

I awoke at 4. 00 am today (groan!!!) and I could not sleep after that. So, I switched on my bedside lamp and began reading The Order of the Phoenix for an hour. At 5. 30, I felt sleepy again, dropped off (thank goodness!) and then awoke at 7 am.

Email, calls to India (to my brother Roger and my nephew) and I was ready to make myself some coffee. Holborn was silent as a graveyard (as it usually is on weekends). This weekend will be quieter than usual as it is the long “Early May Bank Holiday” (whatever that means!) weekend and I guess most people will have travelled out of town. I carried a tray with my coffee and other paraphernalia to my bed and began to work on a revised itinerary for Chriselle’s trip.

There were numerous calls to make. I phoned Bishop Michael at St. Paul’s to reschedule the tour of the Cathedral that he had set up for us this morning as well as our afternoon tea plans at The Wolsley Hotel and then the Backstage Tour at the National Theater. I also booked tickets for us to see Romeo and Juliet at the Globe Theater and finally I booked our 3-day London Pass which includes 3-day Travelcards because they are being offered at a special May Day 10 % discount rate and I figured I might as well take advantage. What with all this stuff to do, I could only have my breakfast at 11 am (eggs and bacon and sausages–yes, still low-carb).

Buying a Trench coat at Burberry:
By then it was almost 11. 30 and with the sun shining so beckoningly outside, I decided to do something I have wanted to do for a long while–get to the Burberry Factory Store in Hackney to buy myself a new trench coat. This was definitely something I wanted to take back home to the States and having done some research, I discovered that rates are best in this factory outlet. Though it is quite a hike into Hackney, I figured that with my bus pass, I could get there quite easily. Besides, there is a direct bus that goes from right outside my building (the 242) all the way to the far side of the East End.

And then since I was going to Hackney, I figured I would also visit Sutton House, a National Trust property that is not very well-known. Using the internet, I found directions to the venue and off I went. The bus trundled along within a few seconds of my arriving at the bus-stop. En route, I graded a bunch of student essays–so the ride was very productive for me. We passed the busy Bank of England area and went further and further into Shoreditch, past the Geffrye Museum and into an area that I had never traversed before. Before long, I was at Hackney Central mainline station and on my way to the Burberry store.

This part of London is entirely different from anything I have seen so far. First of all, it is all rather run down. Secondly, I passed a series of auto body shops that ran parallel to the railway line. Auto mechanics were the only people on this entire road. Thirdly, the population demographic had changed completely and I realized that I was right in the heart of Black Britain–there were loads of people with Caribbean accents all around the place–many recent immigrants among them. The bus stops were teeming with people and there was no sign of a queue of any kind.

I was amazed at how many people were at the Burberry store before me! It turns out that there was a big Sale on–now whether this sale was only for this weekend or has been on for a while, there was no telling. Many of the racks were all cleaned out–which probably means I had arrived at the tail end of it. The space is large and the amount of items to be perused was rather confusing. I did manage to find the racks that held the khaki trench coats that I wanted and in a few minutes I found one in my size–thank goodness they have American and European sizes listed on the labels–this made it easy for me to find the size I was seeking. The price was right, the fit was good, the decision was made. With my coat under my arm, I went looking for a scarf in their signature beige tartan and, guess what? I ended up buying the very last cashmere one on the shelf!!! These were exactly the two things I had hoped to find and as soon as I spotted them, I swooped on them and headed to the till. There was a long line ahead of me–people were buying clothing as if it were going out of style! Thousands of pounds worth of merchandise changed hands before my eyes as the line inched forward slowly. Then, with my buys safely in my possession and the VAT refund slip helpfully filled out by the sales clerk, I was on my way.

The National Trust’s Sutton House:
I asked for directions and in about ten minutes, I was at Sutton House, my next port of call. This is a really nondescript building clad in dark brick with a rather sombre look to it. Once inside, I found it rather empty. There was an assistant in the shop and a small cafe at the back (with very reasonably priced eats and drinks), a small courtyard garden that was quite delightful with its climbing vines and potted flowers. And then my tour of the house began.

Sutton House is a Tudor building that was built by one Ralph Sadleir in the middle of the 1500s. He was a close confidant of the King and played a major role in the politics of the reign of Henry VIII being involved in the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538. As a nobleman, his home boasted some of the trappings of the day that pronounced status and power such as the oak wood panelling that is still to be found in many of the rooms. My very favorite pattern of Tudor panelling called Linenfold Paneling is evident in the Grand Room on the ground floor. The carving on the wood looked like folded, or more correctly, pleated cloth. I had been most taken by this feature of interior decor at Hampton Court Palace about five years ago when Llew, Chriselle and I had spent the day there. Little did I think that I would have the chance to see it again–and this time I was delighted because I was able to take pictures of it as well (something that is forbidden at Hampton Court).

My self-guided tour took me upstairs into a few more rooms that boast more carved panelling and some paintings including one of Sadleir and his later 18th century descendants painted by a female portraitist called Mary Beale–a rather unusual find as women portraitists were so rare at the time. There were other rooms in the house (A Georgian Parlor, for instance and a Victorian dining room) but other than its age, there was really nothing that this property can boast and I wondered why the National Trust even bothers to run it (since not many people bother to visit it).

On the floor at the very top of the house, while I was inspecting a large mural that was presumably painted by squatters who had taken over the house during its transition into the care of the National Trust, I heard a buzzing sound (as if made by a bumble bee) and then a rustling. I have to say that I panicked as there was no one else in the room with me and no one around on that floor at all. My mind went immediately to a ghost as so many of these old London homes have resident ghosts in them and the last thing I wanted was to feel someone or something brush past me or tap me on the shoulder! I got the heck out of there as fast as I could and decided that if I am going to explore any more of these National Trust properties, I had better go to homes that are crowded with visitors. These deserted, even neglected, properties might be filled with interesting antiques and night hark back to fascinating epochs of history but they do give me the creeps!

A short walk later, I was back at Hackney Central and boarding the 242 bus home. My papers were graded on the bus and with a stack under my arm, I got back home to have a very late lunch (it was 4 pm and I was hungry but contented myself with a cup of soup and a salad). I spoke to Llew on the phone for a few minutes, then sat to rewrite my interview with Henry Holley–it required a great deal of restructuring to fit my questionnaire format and proofreading before I could send it off to my office for printing. By the time I finished, it was about 7 pm and with daylight still streaming through my bedroom window, I decided to set out on another one of my ambitions while in London–the Completion of the Jubilee Walk.

I had intended to do this when Chriselle came here but now with her plans having changed, we will not have the time to do it together and with the weather so perfect and my feet feeling much stronger, I figured I could complete it in the next few days before Chriselle’s arrival. So I picked up the Map and my bus pass and set out while the evening was still young.

The Jubilee Walk–Part One:
The Jubilee Walk is a 14-mile walking path that snakes over Central London’s most significant sights. It was created in 1977 in the year of the Silver Jubilee of the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. If you have seen silver disks every so often set into London’s pavements and wondered what those are…well, they mark the path of the Jubilee Walk. There is a crown in the center and the cross set in it always points in the direction in which the walker should proceed. There are several walkers, I understand, who just about do the entire walk in a day–while others do it over a period of a few days. I decided to do it in about 5-6 installments.

The bus took me to Leicester Square where the walk begins. Since the evening was so perfect, there were scores of people in Leicester Square and for the first time in my life, I actually noticed all of its many interesting features. I have to say, somewhat ashamedly, that I had never noticed the sculpture of Shakespeare right in its center! Nor had I noticed the one of Charlie Chaplin close by! There is a bust of Hogarth at one of the gates. Probably I did not notice these before because I had never entered this park. All I have done is skirt its periphery or make my way to the half-price theater ticket booth at one end

This time, armed with my camera, I took several pictures and then made one more discovery. Just as there are palm prints set in cement outside Grumman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood, California, so too there are palm prints cast in metal all along one side of the Leicester Square Park. The palm prints, of course, belong to eminent contemporary British actors such as Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, Hugh Grant and Colin Firth not to mention Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore and Sean Connery (James Bonds all!). Gosh, I thought, this walk is going to open my eyes to things I have passed by a gazzillion times and never noticed!

Then, I followed the crown discs and walked alongside the National Gallery where Baisakhi (a spiritual festival of the Punjabi Sikhs of North India) is to be celebrated tomorrow. I saw kiosks set up all over the square and thought I should go across for some Indian food. At each point, during the Jubilee Walk, the map I was carrying gave me details about the history and importance of the place and I quite enjoyed discovering new facts about each venue.

In The Mall, I passed under Admiralty Arch and the statue of the Duke of York on its towering pedestal and then I was walking alongside St. James Park (London’s oldest, I discovered, created in the mid-1500s) while the Mall was created in the mid-1600s. Most of the flowering trees are at their peak now and soon foliage will cover every branch and give every corner of this city a completely different look. I arrived at Buckingham Palace at the end of the Mall and discovered why it is so called. It started its life as a simple town house that belonged to the Dukes of Buckingham and I believe that the first British monarch to inhabit it was Queen Victoria!

Around St. James’ Park I went. The light was starting to fade away at about 7.45 pm and I had to hurry with the pictures I composed. There was a profusion of lovely spring flowers in the beds around the sculpture of Queen Victoria as past the grand gates I went and noticed so many lovely perennial flower-beds in the Park that sported an abundance of spring color as the azaleas have started to bloom in hot shades of pink and red and orange. Very striking indeed!

This time, I turned and walked the length of the Birdcage Walk and rounded the corner to arrive at the Cabinet War Rooms (which I hope to visit on the London Pass once Chriselle gets here) and the sculpture of Lord Clive of India dominating the grand steps that connect the two impressive buildings. Before long, I was passing the back of Number 10 Downing Street, the residence of the British Prime Minister since the mid-1700s, and found myself at the Horse Guards Parade where a number of stands have been set up around the periphery. I asked a friendly bobby what they were in aid of and he told me “Beating the Retreat and Trooping the Color”. I had no idea what either of these things meant and he explained that they were ceremonies associated with the Queen’s Birthday in June. He also told me that tickets are available and that I could purchase one if I went online. I made a mental note to find out more when I got home.

By this point, I was tired, it was 8. 30 and dusk had fallen. I could not longer take any pictures and I decided to stop and continue the Walk tomorrow. I reached the nearest bus stop and caught the buses that brought me home at a little after 9 pm for my dinner of fried cod (M&S) with a salad that I fixed with everything I could find in my fridge (romaine lettuce, feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh apricots, and a dressing of mayonnaise, mustard, olive oil, salt, and pepper. I watched Masterchef At Large on UK TV’s Food channel (in which there is a contestant called Michelle who, I suspect, is a South Indian Christian probably from Mangalore or Goa. She has been churning out a variety of typically Indian dishes–minced meat cutlets, Hyderabadi biryani and shrikhand with fresh mangoes. She has made the list of semi-finalists, so naturally, I am now rooting for her).

Then, at 10 pm, I sat down to bone up on my French (in preparation for my forthcoming trips to Paris and Lyon in France in the coming weeks) and sat down to write this blog. I finally felt sleepy at about 11. 30 pm and decided to call it a day. Hopefully, I will not wake up at 4 am tomorrow morning!

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.

Reading, Blogging, Grading, Viewing, Listening…

Nov17

November 17, 2008
London

On a day that began with rather dismal weather, I awoke to the eerie quietness of a flat that seemed to sorely miss Llew’s presence. It was still only 6 am, but I decided to get back to routine, which meant spending an hour reading in bed. I have begun The Mature Mind: The Positive Power of the Aging Brain by Gene D. Cohen, a recent birthday present from my friends Shahnaz and Mukaram Bhagat of Bombay who handed it to me personally on their recent visit to London. It is rather technical going at the moment as the author explains the workings of the brain and those parts of it that sharpen with time when the ability to make connections far from slowing the brain allows it to come up with rather creative problem-solving techniques.

With Chapter One done, I turned to my Blog and relived the joys of our Greek Odyssey in the pages I filled for the many days we spent on the mainland and while cruising through the Cyclades. I will now turn to my website and create a few pages there while adding pictures that will bring our holiday to life. Documenting in detail the great time we had together, made me miss Llew very much and I do so wish we could have spent the year together in London. I know he would have loved it as much as I am doing; but on his first day back at work in New Jersey and his undertaking of a new assignment in a new department, I did wish him the best of luck and much success. Of course, he did call as soon as he arrived at work at the start of a new day and I heard all about his return flight and the odds and ends he has left behind in my flat.

Then, I sat to grade a few of my student’s essays. The sun made a brave attempt to break through the clouds while I was at it and I wondered whether I should venture outdoors. When I saw the weather forecast and realized how cold it was, however, I decided to stay put and continue with the grading. I went through half a pile before I returned to my own travel writing with the intention of finishing the lot tomorrow.

With the calls I made to my parents in Bombay and to Llew in the States and the online dialogue I had with Chriselle, it was 4pm before I quite knew it and with darkness having fallen outside, I decided to go out for some air. Walking through Chancery Lane and on to Fleet Street, I took a bus to the National Portrait Gallery. One month ago, I would have walked there and would have scoffed at the idea of taking the bus…but now that my feet are slowly healing, I am determined to lavish them with some TLC. Anyway, I love riding the buses and I do look forward to the day when I will hop, a la Bombay buses, on to the back of a Routemaster and sail down Fleet Street feeling for all the world as if I am in the Fort or Colaba area again!

I spent almost two hours at the National Portrait Gallery. No matter how often I visit, there is always something new to see. And this time, there were the infamous portraits of the Queen taken on her Golden Jubilee by Annie Lebowitz that caught my eye as I walked to the cloakroom to hand in my coat. I was struck by how aged the Queen looks. When did she grow so old? When did she put on so much weight? How did that elegant lady in her hats and pearls become so forbidding? There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of a smile on her face in those portraits and I realized that she was either very bored, very cross or very unhappy the day she posed for the celebrated photographer. Shot in stark black and white, the pictures only emphasize the Queen’s distance from her people and I did not care for them at all. Was it the regalia in which she had chosen to be attired that made her seem so disconnected with the viewer? Was it the setting–Buckingham Palace–with its splendour reflected in the background that disengaged her so totally from the camera? I have no clue. What I do know is that I found those portraits too solemn, too grim, too lacking in any kind of human warmth or compassion and whether this is the fault of the sitter or the photographer is hard to fathom.

I began on the second floor and went chronologically through the collection starting with the Tudors. Almost all of these people are now instantly recognizable to me through the many movies and TV shows I have watched that have documented this epoch. The rarer portraits of Dudley and Devereux, Queen Elizabeth I’s alleged lovers, were interesting for the amazing similarity they showed with the actors who have played them in recent TV series. A girl passing with her boyfriend through the gallery saw the portrait of Dudley and said, “This was her boyfriend. She had his head chopped off”. Whew! Imagine that! She pronounced those words so casually, almost triumphantly, and with so much relish–as if she had something to do with the Virgin Queen’s decrees!

I progressed then to the more literary portraits that showcase Shakespeare and his contemporaries and called to mind the excellent lectures on the History of Renaissance Literature that I had attended in the classes of the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala at Elphinstone College, Bombay. Portraits of Beaumont and Fletcher, Sackville and Norton, Wyatt and Sidney took me back to those undergrad classes and I thought it lamentable that other stalwart writers of the period were absent–such as Spenser and Marlowe, either because they never had their portraits painted or because none exist to be acquired by the Gallery.

In the Civil War section, I put faces to the names of those monarchs whose history I recently reviewed at the Banqueting Hall–James and Charles I, James and Charles II and their wives. I learned, for instance, that Catherine of Braganza brought to Charles II as part of her dowry not just the islands of Bombay, but Tangier in Morocco as well. I saw why King Charles spaniels are so called. It was because Charles I loved them and popularized them in his court. He is seen in his portrait posing with one such puppy in his lap. I read interesting extracts from the diary of Samuel Pepys in which he records his experiences, including the crick in his neck that he received from having to pose endlessly for his portrait. I was only able to complete seven rooms, however, when I was politely requested to return tomorrow as the Gallery was closing. I have resolved to return on a Thursday or Friday night when the gallery remains open till 9 pm. I intend to go through each of the rooms at leisure but because the space is small, I can see myself accomplishing this goal within a week.

Then, I walked briskly down Monmouth Street, stopping at Starbucks to purchase a Black Forest Cupcake that is special to the Christmas season, and arriving at the School of Oriental and African Studies where, in the Brunei Gallery, Dr. Gary Day of De Montford University in Leicestershire, was scheduled to give a lecture at 6. 30 pm on “Class in the UK”. The audience consisted mainly of NYU students taking courses on British Politics and Government, but because I learn so much from these varied points of view, I try to make it a point to attend. Day’s views–he calls himself a Marxist Socialist–so riled up the capitalists in the American student audience that the Q&A that followed the lecture was indignant and aggressive. In proposing a classless society in Great Britain, created through the payment of equal wages to every single person irrespective of the kind of job he did (a somewhat Platonic concept if I remember The Republic correctly) , Day met with much opposition from my students who boldly refuted his perspectives. It made for a lively evening and one I much enjoyed.

On the way back, I stopped to pick up a few essentials at Tesco and Sainsburys, then ate my dinner while watching a few old Britcoms on GOLD, the channel that has resurrected the most beloved ones. In these days of reality TV, for those of us who are allergic to such programs, this channel is a savior and I am so glad that I discovered it.

A Sunday in the Parks with Ivana

Oct12

Sunday, October 12, 2008
London

I awoke at 6 this morning (despite going to bed after midnight) and could not fall asleep again so I sat in bed reading Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies. When I stuck my head outside the window, there was not a soul in sight on either side of High Holborn even at 8 am. It is amazing how quiet this area gets at the weekend when the law firms have shut down.

Then, Surprise! Surprise! My next door neighbor Barbara was in church this morning at the 9 am Mass at St. Ethelreda’s Parish on Ely Place. It was nice to be able to wave to one known face in the congregation in the midst of that sea of strangers. Our priest was a Frenchman, Fr. Dennis Labarette (he goes as Fr. “Denny”, said Barbara) who stood outside to greet us as we left the church. Barbara did me the favor of picking up a copy of The Mail for me from Holborn. I would have accompanied her but I was expecting a call from Ivana which came right on cue as soon as I entered the house. Now that I am buying the Sunday papers, I guess you can say I am getting acculturated to London. I am beginning to recognize the local celebrities that are almost unknown in the States: Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen, Agnes Deyn, Charles Saatchi, Stephen Fry, Sienna Miller.

Ivana (“you can call me Ivvy”) did call to set a time and a place–Sloan Square Tube Station at a quarter past eleven. Getting there took longer than I thought and Ivvy had beaten me there despite having arrived there on her bicycle. We found a bike stand on which to fasten it and were away on one of the self-guided walks in my DK Eye Witness Guide to London: A Two to Three Hour Walk in Chelsea and Battersea. I’m not quite sure that Ivana knew what she was in for when she agreed to set out with me but she declared at several intervals during our walk that she was having a great time. And I believed her…for what was not to love about our rambles?

Leaving the excited Sloan Rangers behind us, we turned into Holbein Place, named, of course, for Hans Holbein, the Dutch portrait painter whom Henry VIII befriended (his work graces the National Portrait Gallery with its wide array of Tudor and Elizabethan mugs shots in oils). Out on Pimlico Road, one of my favorite streets in London, I could not resist peeking into the showrooms of interior decorating doyens Linley (yes, that is Viscount Linley, the Queen’s nephew, son of her late sister Margaret) and Joanna Wood whose signature English County look has inspired me for years.

Then, we were walking past the Royal Hospital’s magnificent buildings (designed by none other than Sir Christopher Wren) where I was delighted to catch a glimpse of a Chelsea Pensioner complete with long red coat and dapper black hat. In the Ranelagh Gardens, I saw the site of the famous annual Spring Chelsea Flower Show and resolved anew to try to obtain tickets for next year.

We crossed the swirling waters of the Thames at Chelsea Bridge with its four golden galleons guarding the gateposts and were over on the other bank in Battersea. In the extensive park that borders the banks we stopped for a light lunch before passing by the Buddhist Pagoda and crossing the river again–this time on the elegant Albert Bridge with its white painted ironwork. Over on the Chelsea side, we strolled along the delightful Embankment unable to get over the grandeur of the day or how fortunate we were to be able to enjoy it so thoroughly.

I couldn’t resist taking pictures by the sculpture of Thomas Carlyle whose home on Cheyne Row I had visited only a couple of days ago and of St. Thomas More who also lived on Cheyne Walk. A few steps later, his very dignified statue came into view–in gilding and black stone against the charming backdrop of the old red brick Chelsea Church. Naturally, we had to step inside and were unexpectedly treated to the rehearsal of a German operatic duo which we paused to enjoy for a while. Then, we were inspecting the remotest corners of the church, taking in the private chapel and the memorial to Sir Thomas More, the poor ill-fated Chancellor to Henry VIII who refused to accept his supreme authority as Head of the Church of England, was beheaded in the Tower of London, only to be canonized a saint by the Catholic Church. Wonderful stone memorials, most of which were destroyed through German bombing in World War II and were loving restored, grace the dim interiors of this venerable church. Ivana was as enchanted as I was as we stopped frequently to read tomb stones and memorials dating from the 1400s.

When we did get out into the bright sunshine, we made our way to the King’s Road past the beautiful terraced houses that carry multi-million dollar price tags today. The shoppers were still hard at it as we walked through the Chelsea Arts and Crafts Market and picked up fresh walnut bread in Waitrose before heading towards Sloan Square where Ivana picked up her bike and left me to sample scents at Jo Malone’s showroom on Walton Street.

Half an hour later, half drooping with fatigue, I returned home on the Tube and treated myself to a cream tea–fruit scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream that I had picked up from M&S Simply Food. That and some rich fruit cake provided sustenance enough to allow me to sit and grade my first lot of essays from my Writing class. Except that the darn phone did not stop ringing and after a while I just left the machine to pick up.

An Inspector Lynley Mystery and watching Steven Fry’s new series on the BBC based on his exploration of the fifty US states got me ready for dinner and I fixed myself my Cheddar-Broccoli Soup with the aforementioned Walnut Bread. With some Chocolate Fudge Pudding for dessert, I was ready to call it a night.

And I hope I will sleep longer tonight.

The Graciousness of Greenwich

Sep5

What’s the first thing you think of when you hear the word ‘Greenwich? For me, it’s always been Greenwich Mean Time. Coming close on it’s heels is the Prime Meridian. All those geography lessons in grade eight or nine come back so vividly. So, when Freshmen Orientation included a visit to Greenwich on a Thames River cruise, I was ready to join in a heartbeat. After all, it had been 22 years since I had last stood astride the Prime Meridian and taken a picture of myself straddling the Eastern and Western Hemispheres; and I was keen to see how much the place had changed since I was last there.

Well, as luck would have it, the day dawned grey and somber–in other words, a typical English September morn! We had instructions to assemble at Westminster Pier at 10. 15 and changing a train at Bond Street, I made it to the Embankment in just about a half hour. (I still can’t quite get used to the fact that it does not take me more than half an hour to get anywhere in London. Being based in Connecticut, getting to New York meant at least two hours!)

Our NYU hordes were noisy as might best be imagined when about 200 students are restlessly anticipating a ‘field-trip’. We had the boat almost to ourselves and with a rather jolly guide providing a rather jocular running commentary, we were well entertained all the way to the Tower of London and beyond.

I was so excited! This was my first ever glimpse of London from the River Thames. Brown and muddy though the river was, towering Big Ben seemed to glow above us. The London Eye and all of the most easily recognizable monuments–St. Paul’s, the Tate Modern, Sir Norman Foster’s Gherkin, The Globe Theater, all seemed to look completely different from this perspective. And then there was so much I learned about the lesser-known buildings that dot the waterfront. Some of London’s oldest pubs and taverns enjoy river-views. I saw the infamous Traitor’s Gate–leading to the dreaded Tower of London–for the very first time. The Mayflower sailed to the New World from a wharf on the river. The city’s water supply comes exclusively from the river–though it goes through several purification procedures, no doubt, to make it potable and completely safe for consumption. A far cry indeed from the Victorian days of Benjamin Disraeli who described the river as “a Stygian pool reeking with ineffable and unbearable horror”. (London by A.N. Wilsom, p. 105) He did not exaggerate. The Houses of Parliament built so picturesquely on the waterfront sometimes had to close for the day as the stench from the river was so unbearable. The Thames is today one of the cleanest industrial waterways in the world. These were some of the facts I gleaned from the guide who kept us fascinated and deeply amused by his tongue-in-cheek commentary.

Then, we alighted at Greenwich Pier where we were met by the famous Blue Badge guides. Our large group was divied up into smaller segments and I was assigned the charge of 35 students under the guidance of a very upbeat guide named Fedra Jones. She led us past the Cutty Sark, one of the oldest surviving Victorian tea clippers, unfortunately, shrouded under canvas as it undergoes repairs following a devastating recent fire. I remember having toured it 22 years ago and been astounded by the depths of its hold and its immense capacity. I had also then seen the Gypsy Moth II on which Sir Francis Chichester had achieved a solo circumnavigation of the globe. His tiny vessel, almost toy-like, is today harboured at Clowes on the Isle of Wight, but a pub right by the pier still carried the name of The Gypsy Moth.

Despite the intermittent rain that had brought the temperature crashing down, the village of Greenwich was abuzz. Fedra led us through a narrow cobbled street to the Greenwich Market where business appeared rather slow. My eyes were attracted to a stall that sold commemorative china but I was unable to find anything I coveted.

Next, we were were heading towards the Royal Naval College where some of the world’s best known sailors had trained including Admiral Lord Nelson and the husband of the current Queen Elizabeth, Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh. I was completely blown by the magnificence of the architecture. The classical lines of those stately building that hinted at the work of John Vanbrugh (of Castle Howard fame)and Nicholas Hawksmoor and, of course, Sir Christopher Wren himself, was easily evident to someone with even a passing knowledge of London’s greatest designers. Then, just a few steps away was the Queen’s House, work of Inigo Jones. Imagine…in less than a quarter of a mile, I saw the architectural creations of some of the most eminent English architects of all time. How incredible was that???

And what astounding creations they were too! The imposing classicism of Wren’s twin domes flanked by uniform columns. And the buildings themselves–one meant to be a chapel, the other a dining room for the nation’s mariners. Right across the street, the severe lines of the Queen’s House that lacked any exterior ornamentation. To its right, the Royal Maritime Museum, crammed with some of the most intriguing memorabilia of all time. All of these jaw-dropping curiosities stacked within a few street blocks! How could one possibly comprehend this treasure?
Then, just when I began to feel overwhelmed by the splendour of the architecture, we entered the dining room, referred to today as The Painted Hall, and I almost passed out! The impact was so stunning visually that I gasped audibly. In a space that was meant to provide a sheltered room for the sailors’ meals, contemporary 18th century artist James Thornhill went crazy, painting the walls and ceiling with scenes that melded classical Greek mythology with contemporary royal figures such as King George IV, his queen and children. Neither pictures nor words can do justice to the magnificence of this room that ranks, in my opinion, as one of England’s grandest, on par perhaps, only with Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. It was in this sumptuous room that the body of Lord Nelson lay in state before it was transported up the river to St. Paul’s Cathedral for a state funeral.

I could have spent an hour at least contemplating those paintings and marveling at their detail, but I made my way next to the Chapel where the captivating altar piece by the American artist Benjamin West grabbed my attention. In a room whose decoration was markedly Greek with some of the most exquisite plasterwork I have ever seen, it was impossible to pray. Indeed, I felt as if I had strayed into a private room in an opulent European palace. Embellished liberally with Coade stone carvings in bas-relief, this chapel was not to be missed.

At this point, Fedra took her leave of us and the formal portion of our tour ended. Deciding to spend the rest of the day at Greenwich exploring the interiors of the Royal Maritime Museum and the Queens Palace, I went in search of a seat for a spot of lunch and a hot chocolate and could not have picked a better place than Paul’s Patisserie that was in the museum. My feet received a much-longed-for rest and then my exploration began in the Nelson Gallery where the suit of clothes worn by Nelson was on display, complete with bullet hole and resulting bloodstains! His status as a war and national hero was proclaimed by the variety of memorabilia that was gathered in that room, much of which I found deeply interesting.

Other highlights of that museum included the Baltic Exchange stained glass windows by Forsythe, the Bridge upon which one could virtually stir a ship through a harbor and to the high seas, the ornate gilded barge made for Prince Frederick and, my favorite, an exhibit on 20th century ocean liners. I saw pictures of Gandhi on the S.S. Rajputana, the P. & O. liner on which he sailed to England in 1930 for the First Round Table Conference, menu cards from the historic ships the Mauritania and the Lusitania, real portable wardrobe trunks, a reproduction of the sort of bunk beds that were laid out in the galley and a host of other things that further romanticized for me the glamor of luxury sea-faring in the Edwardian Age. I loved it!

Then, I was racing to tour the Queen’s House, built by Inigo Jones, which became the primary abode of Queen Henrietta Maria in the 18th century. Here, it was the exquisite Tulip Staircase that caught my eye, the black and white marble mosaic floor of the Great Hall and the wonderful Tudor portraits that I fancied. The ‘grotesque-style’ ceiling of the Queen’s Room was also impressive but truly after seeing Thornhill’s work in The Painted Hall, everything else paled into insignificance.

Back out on the streets, with 5 pm approaching, I decided to stroll around Greenwich Village to take in the 10th century churchyard of St. Alfrege’s, an old dominating structure in Portland stone. I did try to take a peak inside but it was locked. A quick stroll followed around the Greenwich Market where I browsed among the bric-a-brac. I almost bought an Indian gold necklace studded with tiny diamonds, rubies and emeralds but walked away from the temptation when I saw that one of the diamonds had dropped out hinting at rather poor workmanship.

Then, I decided to do something unique. I could have taken the Docklands Light Railway from the Cutty Sark Station itself, but I went out in search of another adventure.Forget about the Chunnel (Channel plus Tunnel), I intended to explore the Thammel–my name for Thames plus Tunnel, get it? Indeed, Fedra had pointed out a foot path that took the walker under the River Thames on what it called the Greenwich Foot Passage. Now while I have never travelled through the Chunnel, I had often driven under a river–the Hudson River between New York and New Jersey and, believe me, I have often wondered what it might feel like to walk in that space. Unable to resist the temptation, I decided to find out and what a fun adventure that turned out to be. I entered through one of the glass domed structures and went about eight floors underground on a spiral staircase. In a few minutes–somewhat scary as there was no one else there at the time and I almost turned back–I found myself under the muddy bed of the River Thames, striding along in a tube that was covered with white ceramic tiles, in the company of a handful of other brave souls. In exactly fifteen minutes, I reached the other side and found a lift, thankfully manned by an attendant, that took me back to the surface on the opposite bank. What an amazing adventure I had and how sorry I felt that I did not have Llew to share it with. I know he would have been bowled over by the idea of walking under the river as much as we once enjoyed walking behind the Niagara Falls through a similar passage hewn in the rock behind the cascading water.

By then I was exhausted and could not wait to sit on the train–my first time on the Docklands Light Railway from the Island Garden station on the Isle of Dogs that took me back to Central London passing through the exciting parts of Canary Wharf that have developed so enormously in recent times that I have resolved to go out and explore that area on another day–perhaps a sunnier one. I got off at Bank where it terminated and took the Central Line where I got back home in another two stops.

Suffice it to say that my day was filled with adventures and I returned home exhausted but deeply fulfilled by what I saw and experienced.