Tag Archive | Shakespeare

Incredible Jude Law as Hamlet at the Wyndham and a Walk in Soho

Jul15

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

London

Probably the strain of everything I have to do in these last few days is wearing me down because I am waking up too early again–today at 6. 30 am. Still, it gave me a chance to tidy up my room which now (with all my packing and discarding of unnecessary items) looks as if Hurricane Katrina has hit it. Also with Loulou and Paul here and with us having made plans for breakfast, I snuck into the kitchen to find out if they had awoken and got coffee going! They hadn’t and were still sound asleep. It is wonderful to have their comforting presence in this loft as it is vast and can get very lonely–so I am also glad that Llew will be here on Saturday to share this fabulous living space with me.

By 8. 30 am, however, Paul and Loulou had awoken. Loulou nipped down to Our Pantry (read M&S Simply Food) to buy coffee and croissants while I set the table–for four as we were also expecting their son Jack to join us. Well, a little later, he had arrived and we all sat down to crusty croissants with butter and jam and cereal with milk, coffee and grapefruit juice and chatted companionably as we reviewed our plans for the next couple of weeks. Hard to believe that I am down to the wire now and talking about what I will do when Llew gets here. We are planning a week in France with friends in Paris and Normandy, so I am also trying to set that part of our holiday up.

The carpet guy Dick came in to change the carpet in my wash room and I changed quickly and left him to it as I was headed off to NYU to do a few last minute things: I had to settle one last electricity bill, I had to print out a whole bunch of last interviews I had done and I had to photocopy something, not to mention chatting with the shipping guys about two more boxes that I need to deliver to their warehouse in North Acton. My friend Janie (who is currently with her mother in Yorkshire but who returns to London on Monday) has promised to help me out with that! Where would I be without all these friends who have sprung so amazingly to my rescue repeatedly during my stay here? They are truly incredible and I am truly grateful.

Errands at NYU:
At NYU, I did all the tasks I had to accomplish and then left my office knowing that I will return there for one last time next week when my Oxford Lecture is complete and I have to print it out. I said bye to Mimi, the security guard at Reception, and flew out the door (having lost a few precious minutes right as I was leaving in talking to Llew who called me. He is very excited about his return to London and we had to go over some last-minute details).

Lunch with Michelle:
My next appointment was at the office of my friend Michelle who is a lawyer working for Parliament. We had made plans to meet for lunch and I was delighted to see her. Michelle was in college with me at Elphinstone in Bombay where we had majored in English Literature and competed fiercely for every last mark! But, of course, we have remained close friends over the years despite her many international stints, first as a journalist in Hongkong and then as a lawyer here in London.
We had a really good lunch (their cafeteria is posh, the food very far from institutional)–a zucchini (0r courgette, as they call it here) quiche with a balsamic glaze and Brambly Apple compote–yummy! Needless to say, we talked nineteen to the dozen and before we knew it, I had to leave for my next appointment, but not before I hugged and thanked Michelle for the delicious lunch which was her treat. I am hoping to see her again on Tuesday at the little farewell get-together I am planning for a few friends.
Then, I was hopping into buses to get to Leicester Square for the 2. 30 pm matinee show of Hamlet starring none other than Jude Law himself at the Donmar Wyndham Theater. Because I was a bit early, I had a chance to browse through some of the antiques stores in the neighborhood and entered one selling old English coins. I was delighted to find a special gift for Chriselle. I had been looking for a while for something unique to buy her from London and when I did find it, I realized again that it is not the monetary value of the item you buy for someone but the singularity of it that matters and its connection with the person for whom it is intended. I hope very much that she will like it.

Then, I made my way to the theater to find a long line snaking out of it as people hoped to find tickets. I was thrilled that I had purchased my ticket online several months ago because with Jude Law playing Hamlet, the summer hordes that have descended upon this city (mainly star struck teenyboppers) are making a beeline for this theater hoping to find tickets. Well, they are going to need all the luck in the world as the house was full to bursting. I had fairly good seats and was so grateful for the opera glasses that I now carry with me every time I go to the theater as they are so useful.

Jude Law Plays Hamlet:
The play in general and Jude Law in particular have received such staggeringly good reviews that anything I say would be superfluous. Suffice it then to say that it was an extraordinary afternoon at the theater and that it is productions like these (it was directed by Michael Grandage who also directed the As You Like It production that I saw at The Globe last month) that make me realize why Shakespeare is so revered and why his work will live on forever. I have seen many versions of Hamlet in my lifetime (on stage and screen–I am most familiar with the Mel Gibson production but my favorite is the Kenneth Branagh version with Derek Jacobi playing Claudius) but I know that I will remember forever this anguished Hamlet played so vulnerably by Law. I have to say that I have never found him a heart throb myself, so I was able to watch the performance objectively and it was splendid.

But as has happened repeatedly since I started going to the theater here in London a year ago, what leaves me gob-smacked is the number of other cast members with whose work I am familiar through the small screen. So just imagine how pleased I was to discover that Claudius was played by Kevin McNally who was wonderful in a TV show from the 70s called Dad that I had seen on PBS screenings in the States…and best treat of all, that The Player Queen was played by Jenny Funnel whom I recognized immediately as the lovely lovely actress who plays Sandie in As Time Goes By! It is these unexpected treats that have made my stay in London so memorable and they just never stop coming.

At the end of the show, I inquired of the ushers as to where the Stage Door was located in order to try to catch a closer glimpse of these stars–I reiterate…I was more interested in McNally and Funnel than Law! Thankfully, we did not have to wait too long. Within fifteen minutes, the actors began trooping out and when McNally arrived, I requested a picture with me. He was very pleased indeed to pose with me (see left).

A few minutes later, Jenny Funnel appeared and I might have surprised her deeply when I asked if she would pose with me. I swear I felt as if I was fifteen again! Seems I might have missed my calling as a groupie!!! She, too, was very gracious and willing and when I told her that I have watched her and loved her for years in As Time Goes By, she beamed, her beautiful large blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. So here is the picture I took with her. And let me tell you that these two close encounters of the Anglo Kind so made my day that I called Llew in great haste on the bus to tell him whom I had just met!
In fact, in a few minutes, one of the stage hands came around to tell us that Jude Law does not appear at the stage door between shows (there was another show at 8pm) and that he would only be available at the end of the evening’s performance. The poor star struck teens outside were devastated, while I quickly waltzed away with not a crack anywhere in my own heart!
A Walk in Soho:
And then I got on a bus that took me back to Oxford Street as I wanted to explore Soho on my feet. I mean how crazy is this? I have been in London for a whole year and have not yet explored its trendiest part? I mean, were I twenty, I guess that’s where I’d be every evening…but not being twenty anymore, well, I have different priorities!

I started off at Soho Square, the lovely little park with a Tudor house in its center and the sculpture of Charles II (he once frequented the area and built a home for his mistress Nell Gwynne on the Square). Today, the place was rather crowded and a corner of it was taken up by a group of idlers and drug addicts who, once-upon-a-time, when I used to see them hanging out at Union Square Garden in New York, used to make me feel very uncomfortable indeed. It seems that I have gotten over even that aversion for this time round they did not bother me at all!

It was from a history plaque in the garden that I realized from where the word “soho” came. It was a hunting term, used each time a prey (such as a fox) was spotted. The leader would yell, SO HO!” and the troupe would give chase. Needless to say, this part of London in the 17th century was hunting ground being covered thickly with woods! French Huguenots and Catholics congregated here and as time went by built two churches that stand upon the square–one a Catholic church in which I had once attended Sunday mass.

From there, I picked my way to the beginning of Dean Street to see a shelter for the homeless called The St. Barnabas House. My book informed me (and I am using a different book now as I have finished all 24 walks in Frommer’s Book) it has one of the most beautiful Rococco staircases in the city and it was for that reason that I visited the spot. Well, the nice gentleman who led me in, then gave me a special private tour taking me from one historic room to the next where the plasterwork on the walls and ceiling was truly stunning. In fact, in one of the rooms I saw the largest central ceiling medallion that I have seen anywhere–featuring playful fat cherubs. It was really lovely. The man also then took me to another staircase to show me the special iron balustrades that were constructed to protrude out into the stairwell so as to accommodate the enormous crinoline hoop skirts for which the 18th century was renowned. It was very nice of him to do this for me but clearly he sensed my vivid interest in such things and even permitted me to take photographs. He also said goodbye to me at the door and presented me with a color brochure that gives wonderful close up views of the plasterwork.

My walk in Soho continued as I wound my way in and out of the maze of streets each one lined with restaurants of every kind and cuisine. I saw the home in which the young Mozart had once stayed and composed and where the essayist William Hazlitt died. The drizzle which had been sporadic through the day turned into a heavy shower at this point and though I had my brolly, I sheltered under the lobby of a building until the worst of it passed.

Next I went out in search of Mezzo restaurant which Terence Conran has turned into the largest one in Europe–or so my book said. Well, it turned out that my book was five years outdated! The restaurant closed down five years ago but has been replaced by two others–Floradita and Meza–still owned by Conran–so a nice guy told me at a neighboring place. I took a peek into them and then continued on my rambles looking in particular for The Gay Hussar, a Hungarian restaurant that has been packing them in for fifty years on this street–clearly it was opened as a time when Gay meant something else altogether different!

The interior of the restaurant is similar to Lindy’s in Manhattan in that its walls are covered with cartoon representations of the many dignitaries who have supped within them. The Gay Hussar is best known for its wild cherry soup and I thought it would be the perfect pick-me-up and a great way to escape the rain. So in I went. It was still rather early in the evening (about 6. 30 pm) and the diners hadn’t yet started to arrive. I told the maitress d’ that I was there only for the soup and she seated me down graciously at a window corner and brought me a bowl. It was amazing! I mean there I was sipping a great big bowl of what might be described as cherry flavored milk with a few cooked cherries hidden at the bottom–the perfect summer soup. I am determined to experiment with a few concoctions to replicate this delight once I get home to Connecticut for it was fabulous! At 4. 75 pounds a bowl, it is a steal as the portion was huge making it very filling indeed. Replete with this treat inside of me, I resumed my rambles and arrived on Berwyck Road at which point, I began to feel fatigued.

I know the area that the rest of the walk covered really well (Cambridge Circus and Charing Cross), so I decided to cut it short and took another bus to come straight back home.

I spent the evening in my room downloading my pictures, checking my email, sending out a birthday message to my cousin Bonnie in Bombay and winding down for the day, thrilled at its outcome. I had a very late dinner (rice and salads) and fell asleep.
It had been at least two weeks since I had done any serious sightseeing (as I had been preoccupied with work at the libraries) and I realize that one of the highlights of my year in London has been the many walks I have taken and the secrets and hidden gems of the city to which they have introduced me. I know that I can return again and still find a year’s worth of places to explore and it is this thought that is making the withdrawal symptoms a bit easier to bear as the days and hours fly by.

In Stratford–Shakespeare Found–and the Cotswolds

Jun29

Sunday, June 28, 2009
Stratford-on-Avon and Chipping Norton

I had no intentions to returning to Stratford-on-Avon while I was in Oxford. After all, I had been there the weekend of Shakespeare’s birthday (April 23) with Stephanie and would not have wanted to waste a day in the same venue. But just a couple of weeks after my return from Stratford, my colleague Karen began talking about a new Shakespeare Portrait that has just been unearthed and which is of supreme significance both for the literary and art worlds as it is suspected to be the only portrait for which Shakespeare ever posed during his lifetime. She told me that seeing it with her husband Douglas (who is a Renaissance scholar) was one of the highlights of her year in the UK–and I figured that if it is so special, I ought not to leave the UK without seeing it. I don’t believe that it was on display when I was in Stratford with Stephanie in April—maybe it was, maybe not. But in any case, since I was only 40 miles from Stratford here in Oxford, it made sense for me to take public transport to get there and have my own peek at this portrait.

And so I had ear marked today for this trip. I awoke about 7. 00, read Harry Potter for about 40 minutes, then left my bedroom to wash and get dressed for the 8 am Mass at The Oratory (a Jesuit-run church) on Woodstock Road near St. Giles. When I had passed by yesterday, I had discovered that there was a Mass at 8 am—a Mass that was described as “Old Rite”. I had no idea what this meant but I decided to find out since breakfast on Sunday is only served at 9 am. This left me time to attend Mass and get back in time for breakfast.

Old Rite Mass at The Oratory:
The Oratory is a very historic Catholic church in Oxford. It was established in 1845 which doesn’t make it old by Oxford standards, but it was the venue in which the famous Cardinal John Newman began his Ministry about the same time. I do not know enough about his Ministry (and the internet is not working efficiently enough here for me to get online and find out) but I do know that he initiated a chaplaincy that has resulted in Catholic ministry on every college campus world-wide—all of which are named after him. For example, the Catholic Center at the University of Hawai’i in Manoa, Honolulu, where I had spent a summer and attended Mass, is named the Cardinal Newman Center. These centers usually conduct masses for the Catholics on campus and provide ministerial support. Cardinal Newman was known to be an extraordinarily fine preacher and, no doubt, the pulpit in this oratory was the platform from which he gave his sermons.

The Oratory is famous for another reason: the early 20th century poet Gerald Manley Hopkins who was a Jesuit priest was a Curate in this church. Having studied his poems as an undergraduate student in India, I do remember reading that he was a Catholic priest and one who was especially drawn to Nature in attempting to find his way to God.

So I was very pleased to arrive at the church only to find that it had a strikingly beautiful interior. It isn’t very much to look at from the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, especially in the many beautifully carved saints that adorn the altar. But what amazed me about the church, more than anything else, was the congregation. I thought I had been whisked away in a Time Machine to the early 1960s (before Vatican II) when I used to attend Sunday masses in India with a veil in one hand and a Children’s Missal in the other. Upon entering the church, I would wear the veil on my head which my mother would often pin up as my hair is so silky and it would never stay put.

Well, most of the women in the congregation had veils on—in white or in black! I was stunned. It has been years since I have seen such a sight. Not only that, but the children in the church had missals in their hands and were actually following the service with the aid of these books. I was so struck by their good behavior. I saw no toys, no Cheerios, no books or anything of the kind to distract them (as I see in the churches in America where attending Mass is more playtime than anything else for a majority of the kids. These were old-fashioned children raised with old-fashioned parenting techniques that have gone with the wind. Needless to say, the Mass was in Latin, the priest facing the altar. Communion was distributed the traditional way at the Communion rails (you kneeled down to receive) and it was placed on your tongue and not in your hand! My God, I simply could not believe it! Seriously, one of the things I never thought I would take home with me to the States after my year in the UK was the variety of Christian forms of worship that I have experienced as I have gone to different churches every Sunday, representing various denominations of Christianity and conducted in vastly unique ways. As my stay here comes to an end, I am glad I had decided early in my stay here to do this: to try to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. It has left me with fascinating observations and experiences and for those I am truly grateful.

Sunday Breakfast at Norham Road and Journey to Stratford:
My three fellow lodgers were already at table when I joined them for Breakfast this morning. Sunday breakfast meant hard boiled eggs (two for each of us). I toasted white sliced bread and make myself tasty sandwiches with my eggs—the sort my mother used to make for me when I was in school! I also ate cereal and drank two glasses of orange juice as I had a long way to go on the bus and wanted to get a hearty meal inside me.

I left my place at 9.45 to catch the 9. 55 bus (Stagecoach S3) to Chipping Norton (via Woodstock). I had found out that a Daypass offered unlimited travel on the bus for 7 pounds which was really a bargain. The bus rolled in about 10 minutes later (at 10. 05) and then we were off. Luckily, the day was gorgeous once again—lovely blue skies and bright sunshine—in fact, it turned a little too warm by the afternoon and I heard on the TV that tomorrow will be even warmer—28 degrees which is close to 86 Fahrenheit. The bus was crowded with teenagers, most of whom alighted at Blenheim Palace leaving the front seat wide open for me to enjoy.

The driver had told me that from Chipping Norton the bus S3 became the 50, so all I had to do was sit on the same bus. He also informed me that we would arrive in Stratford by 11. 20 am. The Daypass was really a bargain as the total distance was about 50 miles. We drove through beautiful bucolic Cotswold countryside passing charming little villages made of the typical honey-colored Cotswold stone for which this area is famed and the black slate roofs that give each village a marvelous uniformity but also a rural quaintness. Front and back gardens were full of summer blooms—dahlias brought vivid splashes of color to flower beds and tall hollyhocks and delphiniums were impressive in their stately height. I have to say that I am truly jealous of the enormous size and quality of the blooms that the English seem to be able to coax out of their soil without the use of expensive or damaging fertilizers. There is no way that we could produce the same results in the States—I am sure it has something to do with the presence of certain metals in the soil which provide those much-needed nutrients.

Arrival in Chipping Norton:
When we arrived in Chipping Norton, I recognized it at once as the little Cotswolds town in which Llew, Chriselle and I had once spent a night during our own tour of the Cotswold more than 10 years ago. Indeed, I even recognized The King’s Arms Hotel in which we had stayed and simply for old times’ sake, I decided that I would stop by there on my way back and explore the town on my own before catching the bus back to Oxford.

As we sailed on towards Stratford in the bus, I enjoyed the passing scenery. Mile after mile of field full of thriving plantings lent striking shades of green to the landscape. Sheep did dot the pastures and occasional farmhouses advertised themselves as being B&Bs while signs announced that “Afternoon Teas” were available in village churches. Next weekend, most of these villages will be having their annual summer fetes and I am sorry that I will be too far away to enjoy them, as I am seriously thinking of attending the sailing regatta at Henley-on-Thames with my friend Amy when she arrives from New York.

Arrival in Stratford-on-Avon:
When we did finally arrive in Stratford, I made a beeline straight away for Henley Street where Shakespeare’s birthplace is located. The Portrait Found Exhibit is in the Shakespeare Center right next door to his house. I was pleased that one could buy a ticket for just five pounds only to see the exhibit without needing to buy an expensive ticket to get into the Shakespearean houses—these I have seen several times before and did not think I needed to see them again.

The Shakespeare Portrait:
Ok, so here’s the reason why I made this pilgrimage to Stratford. In 2006, an Irishman named Alex Cobbe who lived in a grand mansion outside Dublin attended an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London entitled Portraits of Shakespeare. Upon looking at one of the portraits on display there, he was struck by the fact that it looked curiously similar to a portrait of an unknown gentleman that was hanging on the walls of one of the rooms in his house. He brought this fact to the notice of the powers-that-be and the painting in his house was examined and studied. Considerable scholarly opinion has come to the conclusion (led by a Prof. Stanley Wells) that this is a portrait of William Shakespeare and that indeed this might be the only one for which he ever posed during his lifetime!

This means, of course, that all of the portraits of Shakespeare that we have seen thus far were either created by people from memory after Shakespeare had passed away (in 1616 at the age of 54) or that they were copies of this one portrait for which he, Shakespeare, actually posed. One of the reasons why Wells and other scholars believe this to be an authentic posed portrait of Shakespeare is that Cobbe also has in his collection a portrait of another unknown Elizabethan whom he had thought to be a lady (based on her long hair that flows down one shoulder and her rather effeminate face). Scholars who have studied this portrait have come to the conclusion that this is not a woman at all but a rather feminine-looking man who was known to the world as Henry Wriosthesley, Earl of Southampton.

Now, not only is this Alex Cobbe a direct descendant of the Earl of Southampton (which is why the portrait has come down to him) but this Henry Wriosthesley was also Shakespeare’s fond patron and the one to whom, for a very long time and even today, his Sonnets are believed to have been dedicated (“To Mr. W.H.”)—the initials deliberately inverted by Shakespeare in order to keep his identity unknown.

Now, if we know (and it can be proved by genealogical data and records) that Alex Cobbe is a direct descendant of this Mr. W.H., then it is also easy to see the connection between Shakespeare and this newly ‘discovered’ portrait. For Mr. W.H. might well have paid the money to an unknown artist to have his dear friend’s portrait painted—a portrait that he wished to retain in his own possession. In his later years, Mr. W. H. fell badly out of royal favor for his involvement in a plot to destroy Elizabeth I and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. We do have another portrait of him created at this phase in his life (which is also at the exhibition) and when you look at the two together –of the younger Mr. W.H. (which is very decidedly androgynous) and the older one, you do see a distinct resemblance that leaves you in no doubt that the two portraits are of the same person made several decades apart.

When Mr. W.H. died in disgrace, his possessions (including his paintings) passed into the hands of his next-of-kin and all the way down into the hands of Alex Cobbe who simply did not know that the unknown Elizabethans whom he gazed at daily in his home were Shakespeare and his patron Mr. W.H. So the discovery of this portrait is significant because if Shakespeare had posed for it then it is the closest likeness we could ever have of Shakespeare—though of course, being dated as having been painted in 1606 (by X-rays, tree ring dating and based on the rich and very expensive garments he is wearing in the portrait, particularly the style of lace collar around his neck), we think that the artist flattered the poet who at the age of 46 years in 1606 could not have looked quite so young and unblemished of complexion as he appears in it.

The controversy (like so many associated with the life and times of Shakespeare) will continue endlessly until we can prove without any shadow of a doubt that it is actually Shakespeare–through some incontrovertible documentary evidence. Meanwhile, whether we are convinced that it is Shakespeare or not, we can all delight in the superb quality of the painting and its marvelous state of preservation. For the other portraits of Shakespeare (also in the same exhibition), supposedly based on this one original, newly unearthed portrait, are such poor imitations of the original as to seem almost amateurish.

For all of these reasons, I was glad I read everything about the exhibition and spoke at length to the guide who explained things to me in great detail. Since the two portraits (of the young Mr. W.H. and of Shakespeare) have been loaned to the Shakespeare Trust for only a limited period and since Mr. Alex Cobbe will be taking them back to his Irish estate in September, I was very pleased indeed that I had the chance to see it and to understand the complexity involved in its discovery and its provenance. So I am grateful to Karen who told me all about it.

Back to Oxford—and a Bad Fall in Chipping Norton:
I took the 2. 20 bus back towards Oxford (having spent quite a while lazing by the river and watching the world go by). On impulse, I got off at Chipping Norton and decided to walk around the town a little bit retracing my footsteps as I remembered them. It was here that I had a fall. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay on the bus to Oxford or get off and see the town. I needed to find out what times the buses run (as they are few and far between on Sunday) and while I was checking the timetable at the bus stop, the bus started to move. Attempting to run after it to board it, I fell over the pavement and hurt my knee badly where it made impact with the hard surface of the road.

Well, after I was able to get up, I decided to go out and find the church we had visited ten years ago and which I remembered clearly as well as the neighboring Alms Houses( all rather picturesque and reminiscent of illustrations in story books). Unfortunately, most shops had closed for the day and the town seemed rather deserted.

An hour later, I returned to the bus stop and took the 4. 10 bus back to Oxford but decided again on impulse to get off at Woodstock in order to return to Blenheim Palace to buy two postcards as I had left the ones I had bought a few days ago in the loo on my way out the other day! Well, I have to say that my knee seemed to be carrying me fine through the ten minute walk to the shop and the salesgirls were good enough to give me replacements postcards without my having to pay for them again—because they remembered me from the other day!
Then, I was boarding the 5. 30 pm bus back to Oxford. I got off near Bevington Road on Woodstock Road and it was only about 10 pm that my left knee started aching really badly. I got myself an ice pack (on Llew’s advice) and rubbed some Moov on it and after writing this blog, went to bed, hoping that I will not be completely incapacitated tomorrow.

A Relaxing Summer’s Afternoon at the Chelsea Physic Garden

Jun14

Sunday, June 14, 2009
London

I am making quick progress on Potter–hoping to finish the Half-Blood Prince in the next couple of days. I like it most of all the ones I have read so far and it is quickly marching to a conclusion. I read about fifty pages when I awoke this morning, after which I proofread my blog and left for the 9 am mass at St. Etheldreda’s Church. Yes, I was going back to a Catholic service after a long while and to his church after several weeks, but I really did not have the energy this morning to go scouting on the web for a new church to visit.

Right after Mass, I returned home to have my cereal breakfast. Then, I sat at my PC and made Eurostar bookings for the trip to France that I will be doing with Llew at the end of July. I was fortunate to get tickets for the dates I wanted because most of them seem to have sold already and my choices were slim. Then, I emailed our French friends to let them know about our plans and I am still awaiting their responses. Still, it feels good to know that I have taken care of that element of our July plans.

These past few weeks have been just gorgeous here and I feel grateful for these spectacular days. The perfect weather is all the more welcome as it appears as if the English had a lousy summer last year with endless rain and chilly temperatures. This summer is certainly making up for the last one. Droves of Londoners can be found all over the city’s parks and gardens. Indeed wherever there is a green patch, you can be sure to find a sunbather or a picnicer. We all know the English obsession with the sun and all I see everywhere I look are people soaking it in and let the cancer warnings be damned!

I met Barbara at church this morning and because she knows that I am always looking for sight- seeing ideas, she told me about the Open Garden Square Weekend. I googled it and discovered that all the private gardens (usually built around square residential terraced properties) that are usually accessible only with keys, are kept wide open this weekend for the perusing pleasure of anyone who cares to visit them. Since I am not going on my Houses and Gardens Tour this week, I figured this would be a good way to see a couple of London gardens–so I decided to start at the Chelsea Physic Garden which I have wanted to visit for a long while.

Soaking in Summer at the Chelsea Physic Garden:
Though Llew and I have wonderful memories of summer holidays we have spent in Chelsea when his brother was posted by his bank to London, about ten years ago, we had not visited these famed gardens. For one thing, they are only open to the public twice a week (on Wednesdays and Sundays) and for another, we always had more exciting things to do such as theater, museum and restaurant hopping.

So, I was pleased to have the chance to browse through this centuries-old garden on a day which seemed tailor-made for lazing in a green grove. I had spent a good part of the afternoon browsing in the thrift shops on the King’s Road in Chelsea and made a couple of good finds: a set of Coalport bone china place card holders and a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses. But, for the most part, the shops were closed or the prices were atrocious! When I was tired of traipsing from store to store, I took a bus to the garden and enjoyed walking through the beautiful Georgian terraced homes that make up this area before I arrived at the hidden garden gate.

Summer flowers are out everywhere–lavender scents the air softly, roses the size of quarter plates wave airily from towering stems, carnations appear sprinkled in flower beds like pink confetti, fox gloves sprout tall and stately and delphiniums add grace and stature to every herbaceous border. The Chelsea Physic Garden (so-called because it was created in the 18th century to grow plants that aided in the creation of remedies for the use of apothecaries) has a collection of plants with an emphasis on herbs and medicinal specimens from around the world, but there was enough color and interest in the beds to keep the home gardener happy.

Though rather small in terms of acreage, it is very well constructed to maximize use of space. Green pathways link the various sections together and landscaping is rare and unobtrusive. There is an ornamental pond or two and stone has been used sparingly in creating stepped tiers, but, overall, the space has been allowed to develop naturally. There is a stone sculpture of Sir Hans Sloan in the center of the garden–he, undoubtedly, was responsible for the development of horticultural interest in plants that were not native to the UK. Much of his botany collection is on display in the British Museum in the room entitled ‘The Enlightenment’. Indeed, we owe so much to the obsession that the Neo-Classical era had in learning and nowhere is this better illustrated than in a completely natural space such as the Chelsea Physic Garden.

When I had strolled through the beds and borders and taken a bunch of pictures, it was time for a cuppa in the tea garden where chairs and tables had been set out welcomingly to entice the weary. I had a pot of Darjeeling (I love the fact that tea is always served in pots in the UK–when, oh when, will we learn to do likewise in the States?) and a thick slice of fruit cake that was served with a luxurious dollop of creme fraiche and seated myself at a table where I sipped and nibbled and enjoyed the buzzing of bees and the distant chirping of birds. Indeed, it was blissful out there on this glorious afternoon and I felt blessed to be able to enjoy this much leisure.

I have often said that there is nothing more beautiful than a summer’s day in England and I know why Shakespeare once wrote:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate…

This is the essential difference between a summer’s day in England and one on the North Atlantic coast. If we are very lucky, it will be both lovely and temperate in Connecticut or in New York. In most cases, it is blazing hot and oppressive and after five minutes in the open air, one is rushing inside to find relief in the coolness of air conditioning! It is the extremes in Connecticut weather that I find so difficult to endure–the biting ruthlessness of those endless winters and then the humidity of the summer when sweat runs down my back and I feel at the end of a walk like a fried chip–and I mean a soggy one!

At 6 pm, when the garden closed, I found a seat on Bus Number 11 and returned home–still tired and with a restless tummy (perhaps from having overeaten last night). At any rate, email, blogging, transcribing an interview I did with Dorothy in Wembley and reading a bit more Potter kept me busy as did a call to Llew. I decided to stay light and skipped dinner and made a fairly early night of it.

Ah, I do LOVE summer in England!

Two More Walks and ‘As You Like It’ at The Globe

Jun8

Monday, June 7, 2009
London

My day began with Harry Potter and then the transcribing of an interview with Coreen. Frustratingly, another interview that was scheduled for the morning with an Anglo-Indian was cancelled with no desire on the part of the lady to reschedule it. So, there it went! Another contact bites the dust! Still, I suppose I must be grateful for the many Anglo-Indians who have cooperated with me in my research, made the time for me and extended their legendary hospitality to me.

When I finished the transcribing and the proofreading, I decided to get out and finish two more self-guided walks from my Frommer’s Book. Perhaps it was for a reason that I had saved these for last–they are both based on the eastern side of the city and easily accessible by foot from where I live.

Ghosts of the Old City–Dick Wittington’s Influence:
This walk, though entitled “Ghosts of the Old City” took me to a number of Christopher Wren designed churches, each of which was filled with marvelous legends and folklore, not to mention ghosts! This walk began at the Church of St. Mary Le Bow whose bells are supposed to have rung out the ditty: “Turn again Wittington, Lord Mayor of London” to prevent the orphan Richard (Dick) Wittington from running away from his life of cruelty in London.

The legend of Whittington is all over this part of the city in the many churches with their lovely ornate Wren steeples. I stepped into this one right off Cheapside (so-called because a daily market was held on this street for the common man in the Middle Ages) into Bow Churchyard. Like all Anglican churches built by Wren, there is a quiet austerity about these interior spaces made more ornate by stained glass windows through which jewelled light streams on sunny days and the odd touches of gilding on plaster decorated ceilings. There is a crypt in this church (which is probably Roman) where a Healing Session was taking place when I visited briefly.

Out of Bow Churchyard, I stepped into Bow Lane in search of the Williamson’s Tavern and found it in a little alleyway. This building used to house London’s Lord Mayors (until Mansion House was built) and the pub that is on the ground floor proudly reveals this fact. I also discovered that this pub serves traditional English ales and is on The Ale Trail–a series of well-marked walks that allows the ale-lover to sample the ancient brew in rather quaint surroundings. If you order a pint of ale at any one of the pubs on these routes, you get a stamp on a card. Five stamps and you are entitled to an Ale Trail T-Shirt! Now had I known about this earlier, I might have tried to do this as well and perhaps there might still be time for me to do one of them–let’s see.

A Haul of Roman Coins and Pottery:
It was while I was getting out of this pub and heading towards another one called Ye Olde Watling Pub that stands on the crossroads where the old Londinium Roman Road intersected those going off to Canterbury and Winchester, that I spied another church. This one was not mentioned in my walk (I wonder why???) but my eye was attracted to a notice outside the church that said: “New stock of Roman coins on sale. Inquire within”. I entered the Guild Church of St Mary and was stunned. You have to see the fan-vaulted plasterwork ceiling to believe it. I mean, it is gorgeous!!! And yet, this church was not on my walk! How is such a thing possible? I spent a long while inspecting the interior and taking pictures and then ran into the Verger who took me into the sacristy to show me the haul of Roman coins.

Now I have to say that, in my ignorance, I thought he would produce some museum-shop style reproductions. But, get this, he had a haul of real, genuine Roman coins that have been found in digs all over the London area. It turns out that the Vicar of this Church, one Rev. John Mothersole, has been a dedicated antiquarian since the age of seven. He spends his free time traveling to sites associated with the ancient world and brings back genuine souvenirs of his visits that he is able to gain access to, thanks to his clerical collar!

Well, not only did I find each Roman coin (which he has collected from the many people who have found them in the basements of their London houses or wherever there is a dig of some sort going on in the city) but he categorizes them, gives you detailed provenance of each of them, dates them, etc. and sells then to raise funds for the church. I saw a beauty–a silver coin from the reign of Antonious Pius (first to second century AD) that I wanted to buy right away because I was so excited that I was actually holding a genuine Roman coin that had been working currency in the ancient world!!! However, the Verger did not take credit cards and I did not have enough cash on me, so I will have to return to pick it up.

When he saw how interested I was in the coins, the Verger took me to his safe and showed me fragments of pottery from archaeological sites that his Vicar had collected and labelled and which he was willing to sell me for any donation I wished to give. I parted with a few sous and ended up with two fragments–one from the Bhir Mound in Taxila (the ancient Indo-Gangetic university town), now in Pakistan and another large fragment from the handle of a Roman amphora from Monte Tess…. in Italy! Can you imagine how excited I was? Now, I know for a fact that these things have no monetary value at all–but for me, history buff that I am, this is a part of the ancient world that is actually in my possession–a tangible reminder of the glorious past that I can hold in my hand and marvel at. That was all I cared about as I safely bundled my goodies in my bag and left the church. Just see where happenstance led me???

Well, the walk continued then to the Temple of Mithras, an underground Roman Temple which has been recreated at ground level and is nothing more inspiring right now than a heap of cemented brick. The actual marble statues of Mithras (that were part of this haul) I have seen in the Guildhall Gallery and in the Museum of London. The Church of St. James Garlickhythe, my next stop, was closed though it is located in a very picturesque square, so on I pressed towards College Hill to the church of St. Michael Paternoster Royal (mind you, these are all Wren churches) where there is a stained glass window depicting Dick Wittington and his cat! Wittington did indeed become Lord Mayor of London four times and donated large amounts of the money he made to this church. Just a short walk uphill, you come across a blue plaque that announces the actual site of his mansion, now long gone.

The London Stone:
The last really interesting item to discover on this walk is the London Stone. This is now ensconced in an ornate wrought-iron grilled receptacle near 111 Cannon Street. While no one knows exactly what this is, it is conjectured that it was placed at the very heart of the old city of London during the Middle Ages though it is also possible that it was a Roman Milestone used to measure all distances from Londinium to other parts of the Roman empire in the province of Britannia. Not a single soul stopped to look at it (probably because no one really knows anything about its existence), but to me this was a remarkable find.

Meeting a Fellow-Blogger:
Then, I went out on foot towards Liverpool Street Station where I’d made plans to meet a regular reader of my blog. He chanced upon it a few weeks ago and has been giving me wonderful suggestions on places to see in the city. Murali is a mathematician in a bank who shares my passion for poetry, travel, London, theater, history, art, old houses, etc. and it was decided that we should put faces to each other’s writings as I have been frequently browsing through his blog and gaining valuable information from it.

He bought me a peppermint tea and settled down with a hot chocolate himself as we talked about our backgrounds and the circumstances that brought us, both Indian-born, to London. After a good hour during which we got to know each other better, he left me with some more suggestions for things to see and do in this city, before we said goodbye.

I had a couple of hours before I would make my way to the Globe Theater to see Shakespeare’s As You Like It, so I decided to do a second walk as its origin at the Museum of London was not too far at all from where I was.

Remnants of Rome:
This walk entitled “Remnants of Rome” has been done by me in little dribs and drabs over the past few weeks (without my really meaning to do this). It started at the London Wall near the Museum of London and took me into a little Herb Garden attached to the Worshipful Company of Barbers (can you even believe there is such a thing???!!-only in England, kids, only in England). From there, I could see the tall steeple of St. Giles Cripplegate Church where the poet Milton is buried. But it was closed and all I could do was admire it from the outside.

Reading about the London Wall taught me that the Romans had built a wall to surround the city of Londinium (in the same way that they did in York–which still stands quite superbly enclosing the old city). While much of it was destroyed by the Middle Ages, successive kings did fortify it so that the walls of the city of London stood until it was no longer necessary to use it as a form of defence. The various parts of the city today whose names end in ‘Gate’, as in Aldergate, Bishopsgate, Ludgate, Cripplegate (probably because crippled people congregated outside this gate begging for alms) etc. were actually gates into the city through the old walls!!! At any rate, I shall try to visit this church sometime in the future. Its antiquity is doubly curious since it stands today right in the midst of the huge township-like community that has developed around the Barbican including St. Giles Terrace, a number of very modern apartment buildings built around artificial lakes and fountains whose balconies spill over with colorful geraniums. Dotted around the area are old gardens, all of which are still so beautifully maintained.

A Tribute to Hemminge and Condell:
This walk continued towards the Guildhall which I have covered on other trails, so I decided to skip it this time and take a rest in a small garden on Aldermanbury Square where I made another charming discovery! This was not in my book either, so it was another one of those happy spots to which only serendipity led me. I found myself in a small garden with a bronze bust of Shakespeare in the center. Now I was going to see As You Like It later in the evening, so I wanted to find out what Shakespeare was doing in the middle of London’s Financial District.

Well, it turned out to be a monument to John Hemminge and Henry Condell, two of Shakespeare’s earliest editors. It was they, Shakespeare’s friends and fellow-actors in the theatrical world, who after his death in 1616 decided to put together a volume of all his plays–his Collected Works as it were, to be made available to the public. Now you must realize that none of these plays were in any one place. They were scattered all over, in Shakespeare’s own handwriting, with theater notes made on them, any amount of corrections and changes made to the script as Shakespeare or his collaborators thought suitable. Hemminge and Condell painstakingly brought all Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Comedies and Histories together in one volume–what we call the First Folio of 1623 (the Second Folio came out in 1632) and were it not for their labors, the works of the world’s greatest playwright might well have been lost (since play writing was not considered a respectable profession or a high art form and these working manuscripts were usually destroyed right after a play had finished its run).

Can you imagine a greater catastrophe than that!!!??? I had, of course, studied all this during my undergraduate years from the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala, a Shakespeare scholar par excellence at the University of Bombay so many years ago. But to actually see a monument that acknowledges their efforts was deeply moving to me and as I sat there and gazed upon the bust of Shakespeare, I felt a tear well up in my eye.

And then when I considered how unassuming and modest about their achievements Hemminge and Condell had been, I was even more moved. For this is what they write in their Preface:

“We have but collected them, and done an office to the dead,–without ambition either of self-profit or fame; only to keep the memory of so worthy a Friend and Fellow alive as was our Shakespeare”.

Awwww!

Yet, despite their huge contribution to the History of Dramatic Art, nowhere have I ever seen them publicly acknowledged in this form. It was not until 1896 that someone called Charles Clement Walker of Lilleshall Old Hall, Shropshire, thought it fitting to reward their endeavors by creating and funding this monument that he placed in their memory in a part of the old City that they might have frequented. Bees buzzed around a great big patch of yellow flowers and another great big patch of lamb’s ears that grew tall and stately and were full of purple flower heads as I contemplated the long journey of the Bard from the Globe Theater to the hearts and minds of people around the world.

Off to the Globe Theater:
So it seemed only appropriate that my next port of call was Sam Wannamaker’s new Globe Theater on the opposite bank of the Thames which I crossed by strolling over Southwark Bridge. I pulled my suede jacket a bit more warmly around me and wondered if I had done the right thing going directly to the play without stopping at home to pick up a warmer coat. Still, I imagined it wouldn’t be too bad.

It was the opening night of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, a play which I know really well from having studied it as a student of Eng. Lit. years ago. I have also seen it in performance on at least two occasions and both times I remember that the character of Celia had been far more memorable than Rosalind.

Anyway, I was meeting my NYU colleague Matt who teaches Drama at NYU-London and is also the Theater Critic for the International Herald Tribune. He had invited me to use his free press pass on press night, an occasion that included a lovely buffet with a bar and an opportunity to pick up freebies–like a programme and a free cushion! Matt arrived at 6. 45 pm as we had planned and we spent a lovely evening together filling up on quiches and pork pies and sandwiches at the buffet and sipping elderflower juice (which I have developed a great fondness for here in London) and white wine for him.

As for the play, gosh, it was good! We loved every second of this charming production to which all of the characters lent their histrionic expertise. This Rosalind was far better than Celia, I have to say, and by far the two most interesting characters were Touchstone the Fool and Jacques who in their supporting roles provided refreshing comedic nuances. We also loved Peter Gayle who plays Amiens and lent his very pleasing voice indeed to the songs that are so intrinsic to this play. I told Matt that years ago, during my life in India, I had served as Theater Critic for The Free Press Journal–I had done this for almost ten years and had seen every significant dramatic production (both international and indigenous) that had ever come to Bombay. This explains why Chriselle gravitated towards a career in Acting–it was because she had accompanied me for years on end as a child, from one play production to the next, as I took notes and then churned out my reviews.

At the interval, we were downstairs nibbling again (on some really outstanding olives) and socializing and then we were back in the ‘galleries” (and how very grateful I was for my seat for I felt really sorry for the poor groundling sods standing in the pit!).

Darkness had fallen when I returned to Wobbly Bridge to cross it and walk home. Matt who lives in beautiful Hampstead was envious of the fact that I could just walk back. He turned towards London Bridge and left. Though I had expected a chilly night, it really wasn’t bad at all. The lights illuminated the many striking buildings, their reflections dipping into the river and in less than ten minutes after I passed by St. Paul’s Cathedral, I was home.

Seeing Samantha Bond in Stoppard’s Arcadia and Liberty of London

Jun6

Saturday, June 6, 2009
London

In keeping with my resolution to always get substantial work done before I goof off, I awoke at 7. 30 am, read some Potter, proofread my blog, caught up with my email, then stopped for a spot of breakfast–make that a whole cup of coffee and some toast with preserves. I am trying to finish up all the odds and ends of food stuff left over from my pantry supplies as I do not want to take any of it back to the States. And time is flying…

Then, it was back to the drawing board for me as I began transcribing an interview I did with Gerry in Wembley. This neighborhood is quiet, quieter than Holborn, if that is at all possible. While Holborn did carry the occasional screech of tyres up to my third floor window even on weekend mornings, I do not hear a squeal here at all–the better to get my work done.

It was while I was hammering away at my PC that the email came–offering me free tickets to see Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia. This is a play I had toyed with the idea of seeing for a while–not only do I think Stoppard is quite the most brilliant living playwright in England (I speak here with knowledge of The Real Thing, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and, of course, his unforgettable Oscar Award-winning screenplay for Shakespeare in Love)–but the play stars Samantha Bond whose performance in Distant Shores I had loved when I saw her play the very feisty wife of a physician (played by Peter Davison) on a PBS channel in the States. So, when the offer of free tickets fell into my lap, I grabbed it. A few calls on my cell phone and I found company–my buddy Rosemary agreed to drop all her scheduled cleaning chores to go with me (I didn’t have to do too much arm-twisting!) and we decided to meet at the Duke of York Theater at 2. 15 pm. This gave me enough time to have a relaxed shower, get back to my transcription, dress, and leave the house at 1. 15 pm to pick up tickets outside Covent Garden at 1. 45 pm.

I have yet to figure out which bus stops are closest to my new roost, which routes they serve and how to make connections–but I am sure all that will be sorted soon. What I did find when I set out was that the entire Smithfield Market area was barricaded. Apparently, there were to be some major bicycle races there in the evening. I did find an odd Number 11 stop by (all buses were re-routed) and hopped off at Covent Garden and, against all my expectations, made it there on time to pick up the tickets.

London is just crawling with tourists right now and the attractions are buzzing with buskers. It is difficult to cut through the crowds and though, at most times, I do enjoy the travel energy associated with these folks (God knows I have enough of it myself!), I have to say it was annoying this afternoon.

However, I did pick up the tickets and a hearty ham and mustard sandwich from M&S Simply Food which I munched en route to the Theater on St. Martin’s Lane which kept the hunger pangs at bay.

Rosemary was waiting for me in the lobby. It wasn’t long before we found our seats and chinwagged until the curtain went up. She had bought a program while awaiting my arrival and I was glad she did. Not only did it have an extraordinary amount of information on the actors, but it was full of notes about the history of landscaping in England as the play is themed around the changing fashions in English garden design from the classical to the naturalism of Lancelot (Capability) Brown to the Picturesque style that followed. Hannah, in the play, speaks of Brown who was influenced by Claude Lorraine (French landscape painter) who was, in turn, influenced by Virgil (Italian medieval poet). She says:

“English landscape was invented by gardeners imitating foreign painters who were evoking classical authors. The whole thing was brought home in the luggage from the Grand Tour”.

These have to be among the most striking lines in the play and a perfect example of Stoppard’s erudition–and this is only one example. . Of course, those of us who have kept up with the trends beyond the 19th century know that in the 20th, English garden design continued to evolve with Gertrude Jekyll and Edwin Lutyens collaborating to create the concept of Garden Rooms–a venture in which they were joined by the redoubtable Vita Sackville-West who presented us with her famous White Garden at Sissinghurst.

I know I digress when I say that perhaps it was fitting that I should see this play the very weekend I am beginning to make plans for a week-long tour of the Grand Country Estates and Gardens of England. This is another one of the items on my List of Things To-Do before leaving England and since June is possibly the best month to visit English gardens, I can think of no reason to waste any more time. Besides, my friend Loulou in whose fabulous loft I am currently staying, was just telling me only a few days ago that she has to get her garden ready for a local garden club that is about to visit her estate garden in Suffolk. For she is a dedicated gardener and if her home (whose en suite spare room I am currently occupying while she spends most of her week in Suffolk) is anything to go by, her garden must be ethereal! I can’t wait to take her up on her offer to visit her there and see it for myself. By comparison, I am sure that my Connecticut garden, a tour of which is on my website, must seem like a blooming traffic island!

So there was I familiarising myself with the vocabulary of English landscape design from ‘hermitages’ and ‘hahas’ to ‘gazebos’ and ‘wilderness’ as much as I grappled with the more esoteric aspects of the script that derive from mathematics about which, I have to admit, an abiding ignorance–one of the characters deals with chaos theory and utilizes it to help figure out the grouse population on the estate. Infused into this rather abundant pastiche of allusions are those from literature–from Lord Byron (who is central to the plot) and Lady Caroline Lamb, to Mrs. Radcliff and Robert Southey–so that the creative arts constantly intersect the sciences. Newton is thrown in for good measure as are Euclid and Fermat and Carnot. Stoppard is nothing if not intellectual, so go prepared for a cerebral roller coaster ride in the theater.

After you have stopped gasping at the verbal and conceptual pyrotechnics of this play, you will have a chance to be swept away by the engaging performances especially of Bernard Nightingale (played very energetically by Neil Pearson whom we have all seen in the Bridget Jones films among other things) and Bond herself (who brings to this role the same mixture of sensuality and physicality I had grown to love in Distant Shores). The set design lends itself perfectly to the juxtaposition of two different eras (the early Romantic Age and our own early 21st) and the comings and goings of historic and more contemporary characters who waltz around each other literally and figuratively on the stage. Prepare to be enchanted.

Inside Liberty of London:
When the play was over, we went our separate ways. Having equipped myself with a map and bus guide, I found my way to Liberty of London which is on Great Marlborough Street just off Regent Street but closer to the Oxford Circus (not the Piccadilly) end. And what a building it turned out to be! Just charming! I mean, I had seen pictures of this store and was prepared for a Tudor building. But how cleverly the space inside has been employed. It is simply stunning. I have yet to read up a bit about the history of the building. Is it a genuine Tudor building? Or a Victorian masquerade made in imitation of the Tudor idiom? God knows…and I will find out, I know, soon enough from the garrulous Web. But for the moment, I have to say I was delighted I stepped in.

It really is a London institution and I cannot for the life of me explain why I haven’t been in here before! Why is it that I have always visited Harrods? Why is Selfridges always on my list of stores to sample? Well, better late than never—so I guess I can say Been There, Done That to Liberty to London and tick another item off my List. Needless to say, everything was screamingly pricey, but then what did I expect if not sticker-shock? And this is perhaps the very first store in which I have ever browsed where every possible precaution has been taken against those endowed with sticky fingers. I mean as if the CCTV thing (such a fixture in London) were inadequate, there are locks and long telephone coil-like extensions attached to all the big label items! Watch out Winona!

Nor did I walk out empty handed. Indeed I was presented with some pretty nice samples–Dr. Perricone’s skin care products for face and eye area–the deep penetrating night creams, said to work wonders in two weeks. I’ve seen the good doctor peddle his wares on the box in the States but never have I seen his range in a department store. Well, try them I will. Hopefully something lovely will come out of my gallivanting into Liberty!

I had half a mind to undertake one of my walking tours in the St. Paul’s Cathedral area but then it had turned nippy and I wasn’t adequately dressed (nor did I have the right walking shoes on) for a gad about the graveyards of the East End. I decided to get home instead and finish transcribing my interview as I have another full day ahead of me tomorrow (a Thames-side visit to Osterley House and Park), so I figured I’d better conserve my stamina for the hike that lies ahead.

The area around Smithfield Market had been transformed. Crowds had gathered to cheer the cyclists on and provided me with the opportunity to take a few pictures as the competitors warmed up. I do not believe that this sports meet has a name yet, but the commentator kept raving about the fact that it is becoming more popular each year and poised to take its place soon as one of the capital’s most exciting events. Well, if that ever happens, I will be able to say that I caught the races while the event was still in its infancy. For I did stand around and take it all in and then I continued to stay abreast of what was going on as the commentary floated up to my loft home while I ate my dinner.

Yes, indeed, back home, I ate an early dinner (chicken noodle soup out of a packet and pasta with Chocolate mousse out of a pot) and I returned to my room to continue my transcription. When it was all done, I stopped to brush and floss my teeth, get ready for bed and write this blog.

I’d say it was rather a productive Saturday, wouldn’t you?

June 8, 2009:
PS: Did have a chance to read up a bit about the history of Liberty of London and this is what I have found out (Courtesy of The English Home magazine):
Liberty of London was founded by Arthur Lasenby Liberty in 1875. “The creation of a recognisable look for the shop was always a conscious aim of its founder and his most shrewd move was the building of a Tudor shop, which was completed in 1924. This addition meant that the building itself became the shop’s trademark and a symbol of its founding values”.

I would also agree with writer Harriet Paige who says, in the same magazine, that:
” And it is perhaps the buildings themselves–Liberty’s timber-frame structure, Fortnum and Mason’s eccentric time-piece and Harrod’s Edwardian frontage–that has ensured Britain’s great department stores have become true London landmarks”.

I mean, I think this is absolutely true. Other than Macy’s which does have an iconic building all its own on an individual block at 34th Street and Sixth Avenue, none of the New York department stores stand out in any way in terms of their buildings. Each one looks exactly like the other–there is no character, no individuality, indeed no imagination whatsoever that has gone into their making. This is what, I suppose, has always made England so enthralling to me and the States…well, so blah!

Dallying in Dulwich! And Transcribing Another Interview

Jun5

Friday, June 5, 2009
Dulwich, London

It seems that either I stay up half the night with sleeplessness or I awake at 8. 15 (now this has to be the latest I have ever awoken here!) and panic. Because I had plans to meet my friend Janie at East Dulwich Station at 9. 30, I tore out of bed, washed, got dressed (no, I did not shower–no time!), threw two slices of bread into the toaster (to eat on the bus) and was out the door like greased lightning!!!!

The 63 took its time trundling along Farringdon Road, but I made the connection to the 176 heading towards Penge really quickly on Blackfriars Bridge and I was at the appointed place at the appointed hour–by some inexplicable miracle! And Janie was not there! It was then that I realized (quelle horreur!) that I had left my cell phone at home!!! I am now beginning to realize that I can get out of the house without my bus pass but NOT without my cell phone.

So, of course, all I could do was twiddle my thumbs and wait…and wait…and wait. Just when I was beginning to despair, I stepped inside and asked the ticket clerk if there was another entrance to the station. Nah. So there I was freezing slowly (because it was a really chilly day which felt like a normal summer’s day in England instead of the scorchers we’ve recently had). At a few minutes before 10 am, I began to consider alternatives. I could take a bus and get to the Dulwich Picture Gallery which was our aim and meet her there. Hopefully, she would still stick with our original plans and not go back home to Clapham (she was driving).

Well, just when my options began to become more concrete, along came Janie! Hallelujah!!! Many relieved hugs and kisses later (she was waiting at the wrong station–North Dulwich instead of East Dulwich!), we were off. Janie suggested she give me a little driving tour of Dulwich Village first. I requested a stop on the street on which Kamala Markandaya used to live. She is the late Indo-British author on whom my doctoral dissertation was based (which subsequently led to the publication of my first book, a scholarly criticism of her novels).

A quick check into Janie’s A to Z revealed that we were not too far away from her place at all and then within five minutes, there we were, in a street filled with lovely Victorian terraced homes with their plaster embellishments running all along the porches and the window frames. I stepped out, took a couple of pictures and then we were back again in the car, heading off to the Village.

My friend Janie is a lover of all things Georgian but mainly their architecture and she is also an authority on it–so it is always a joy to take an excursion with her as I end up learning so much and to see with informed eyes. Traveling with her means becoming aware of things I would never have found out on my own. For instance, she stopped outside a block of houses with blackened brick and explained to me how the windows were raised and lowered using a concept of weights and pulleys that were concealed in the broad window frames! Just next door was a later Victorian house that still used the same mechanism, but the apparatus was hidden inside the house so that the broad window ledges and crowning frames disappeared by the mid-1900s. Not only has Janie an eye for these things but she has the knowledge and the enthusiasm to explain every last detail and the awe and passion in her voice as she speaks is unmistakable.

Getting to Know Edward Alleyn:
She then went on to tell me about Edward Alleyn, a name that I knew was familiar but could not immediately place. When she mentioned Christopher Marlowe, something clicked in my brain, and I remembered he was the Elizabethan actor-manager (of the Rose Theater, a competitor of the Globe) who had taken the debut role of Dr. Faustus in Marlowe’s play. Well, like Shakespeare, Alleyn made a stack of ducats and ended up with a finger in many business ventures, including dubious ones like bear baiting and brothels! Then, one day, during the scene in Dr. Faustus with Mephistopheles in hell in which he is surrounded by 12 devils, Alleyn counted 13! And that changed his life. He decided that he was a man wealthy beyond his wildest expectations and ought to give something back to the society that had so nurtured his talents and allowed them to bloom. It was schools for little boys that he was going to found with his excess wealth and that he set about doing in the Village of Dulwich in which he lived and had a grand mansion.

So began the God’s Gifts School–first one, then another, then yet another, until the education of boys became his passion and he poured all his profits into them. The establishment of Dulwich College (a private school for boys) soon followed and you can see the imposing red brick building with its exterior Victorian flourishes (reminiscent of The Victoria and Albert Museum) and its magnificent wrought-iron gate alongside his house just next door to the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Janie’s son goes to one of these schools which is how she is so familiar with the history and origin of this set of fine public (which means private!) schools. I took many pictures (despite the drizzle that played almost all day) and decided to explore the area on foot after Janie left at mid-day as she had domestic commitments.

The Dulwich Picture Gallery and Sickert in Venice:
By the time we arrived at the beautiful purpose-built building that comprises the Dulwich Picture Gallery (no marks for guessing that the architect was Sir John Soanes, he of the Bank of England and the famed Museum that bears his name), we were starving and decided that a little pick-us-up of toasted croissants with caffe lattes would do very nicely, thank-you. So we headed off first to the cafeteria and sat ourselves down and caught up! I had last seen Janie when she was kind enough to drive me to Rochester, Kent, to pick up my antique weighing scale. Turned out, she had since then received the contract to design posters and other such graphics for the Rochester Cathedral based on their eagle logo, which she had visited for the first time on her trip with me!

Well, it turns out that Janie actually knows some folks in the antiques shipping biz and I might end up getting a better quotation for the shipping of my antique bureau-desk back home to Connecticut. Wouldn’t that be lover-ly, as Eliza Dolittle would say? More chatter, more sips of latte, more bites into our crispy croissant, and then we were ready to see the collection.

My Met ID card worked and I was granted free entry into the special exhibit entitled “Sickert in Venice”. Entrance into the Gallery is usually free–it is only the special exhibits for which you pay. I felt very pleased indeed though Janie did buy herself a ticket–a rather steep nine pounds, I might add for an exhibition that spanned just four small rooms.

So it was the Sickert we looked at first of all. Those canvasses took me right back to Venice and the fun days I had spent there last March with my friends Amy and Mahnaz. I had gone there for a conference organized at the Venice International University and made a holiday of it–and what a blast it was! Well, there they were…all those images reminding me of those awed times that we climbed the Campanile in Piazza San Marco to watch the pigeons in the square below; the baldachino in the Basilica San Marco that conceals the stunning Pala D’Oro behind it (easily one of the most beautiful things in the whole world that I have ever seen!), the canals with their bobbing gondolas or stopping by the pallazos–some still shining, others rather decrepit, the Rialto Bridge gleaming in the artistic sunshine in shades of pink and blue and yellow. All those memories came rushing at me in Impressionistic idiom and color and I sighed and gazed and sighed again. Sickert’s perspective is often oblique, his tendency (as in the new photographic form) closely cropped to focus on just one element of a Renaissance structure or on the effect of silvery moonlight on a watery canal. It was magical.

And then there were his portraits–mainly of prostitutes who posed for him, their hair coiled up like Japanese geisha girls. More portraits of their mothers saw them looking pale, forlorn and very pathetic indeed. Women in bed sleeping quietly while watched, women stretching lazily like so many graceful felines, women bending over their baths, women chatting companionably (though, in reality, they were ruthless rivals for the same clientele). Surely those years in Venice (the early 1900s) might have been adventurous in the extreme for the young Sickert escaping strait-laced Victorian respectability and middle-class morality in England and sowing his wild oats under the Venetian sun!

Janie left soon after, allowing me to browse through the rest of the small but rather lovely collection. There were a few outstanding canvasses, I thought–the one of ‘Mrs. Moody and her Children’ by Gainsborough was particularly evocative because she died so soon after it was painted and her little boys (both wearing girls’ dresses with great big sashes and bows as, I understand, was the custom until boys were potty-trained!) were painted in later. This naturalized portrait compares intriguingly with Gainsborough’s earlier work such as Mr. and Mrs. Andrews (in the National Gallery) which are so much stiffer and stylized. Also lovely was a portrait of a girl at a window by Rembrandt (recently restored and rather beautifully at that) in which she gazes at the viewer quite saucily, her eyes bright with hope for her future. Peter Lely’s young man (not really a portrait since the person in neither known nor named) is wonderfully lit, his features glowing golden in the clever artificial lighting. There were stunning Murillos, Riberas and a Velasquez portrait of Phillip IV in rather an unusual pose.

All the while, you are walking through rooms created by Sir John Soanes, himself a great lover of art and a collector (see Hogarth’s series called The Rake’s Progress in his house at Lincoln’s Inn Field) and I can see how carefully he must have considered the placement of the windows to allow maximum natural light without diminishing the clarity of the paint as time passed by. There are his classical embellishments–the use of four decorative urns at the top of the main entrance, but some modern touches as well–the use of rather unusually designed doors. There is a classical austerity in the many arches, brick-bound and sombre. Enjoy the art but also pause to enjoy the architecture–for the more I see of the work of Soanes and the more I get to know the man, the more he is beginning to feel like an old friend.

Exploring Dulwich Village:
It was time to potter around the Village and my first stop was the spacious grounds of Edward Alleyn’s house (now turned into a number of almshouses). There is a chapel that is open only on Tuesday afternoons but beautifully landscaped rose gardens that were brimming over with fragrant blossoms–a significant flower for the Elizabethans loved roses with a passion. There is also a bronze sculpture that celebrates Alleyne’s thespian contributions to the Theater and set against the quiet square and the blushing roses, they took me right back to those passionate times when blank verse rang out from sawdust covered stages and the groundlings screeched their approval of bawdy lines.

I strolled through Dulwich Village which revealed itself to be studded with coffee shops, a church hall filling rapidly with adorable pink tutu-sporting toddlers off for their ballet lessons, one-of-a-kind boutiques and a few patisseries. It wasn’t long before I got back on the bus, delighted to have made the acquaintance of a rather lovely part of London that has largely remained undiscovered by the conventional tourist.

As the bus wound through Peckham High Street, I spied the Clark Factory Store and out I jumped, hoping to find some plantar fascittis-friendly sandals for the coming summer. And there they were –just the kind I wanted marked at one-third the price in the high street plus I got the second pair at one pound! Hey, you can’t beat a deal like that, so out I walked with a big bag and my summer footwear wardrobe in my hand. I might just make a trip there again next week to take a look at the newer stock as I had reached there at the very end of the day when the shelves were mostly empty and my size was almost impossible to find.

Back home, I made myself a very early plate of dinner (was starving as I had eaten no lunch) which I ate while watching TV for exactly 15 minutes and at 6. 40pm, I began transcribing the interview I did with Noel in Hounslow–an interview that had gone on for hours and would take at least three more to complete. In-between I chatted with Llew and made a few more calls. After the transcribing, the proof reading began and when I looked next at my watch, it was 11 pm!!! Just enough time to get ready for bed, read a bit of Potter and fall off (hopefully without having to count too many sheep).

Supertour at St. Paul’s Cathedral and Exploring Southwark

May13

Wednesday, May 15, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

London Pass with Chriselle–Day Two

May9

Saturday, May 9, 2009
London

The weekend dawned in Holborn with its customary silence as the legal world ground to a two-day halt. Chriselle and I showered, ate our breakfast and set out as quickly as we could taking buses to Kensington and passing through most of the important sites along the West End that I pointed out to her.

The Albert Memorial and the Royal Albert Hall:
Our first stop was the Royal Albert Hall where, with our London Pass, we were entitled to a one-hour long tour of this famous auditorium upon whose stage everyone who is anyone has performed. Discovering that it would not start for another half hour, we walked outside, crossed the main road and arrived at the ornate and very beautiful Albert Memorial with its gilded sculpture of Prince Albert surrounded by more sculptures representing four of the world’s continents (Asia, Africa, America and Europe) and a stunning frieze upon which was depicted a multitude of personages from the worlds of science and industry, arts and technology. It was indeed a monument worthy of a king and spoke volumes of the stupendous love and devotion that Victoria had for her beloved Albert. Chriselle was as deeply moved by the depiction of an elephant (for Asia), a camel (for Africa), a bison (for America) and a bull (for Europe) as I was and was deeply struck by the thought that went into the creation of this marvelous piece of work.

Across the street, the round contours of the Royal Albert Hall were equally striking especially as it is set in the midst of Albert Court which is surrounded by the Royal College of Organists, the Royal College of Music, etc. each building of which is more beautiful than the other. I am thrilled, so thrilled, to find that Chriselle is reacting to London’s architectural grandeur with the same delight with which I have reacted for years–how fabulous it feels to be able to share this sense of wonder with her. She wanted to take pictures of so many of these courtyards and we requested ever so many passers-by to oblige us.

As for the tour, it was worth every second of our time as the guide took us to so many hidden corners of the Hall. It was, in many ways, a behind-the-scenes look at the mechanics of putting so many grand productions on stage from musical entertainment, to interviews, to the BBC Proms, etc. It was not long before we were led into the auditorium itself where the crew were getting set for a performance of Verdi’s Requiem later that evening. Our reaction on first setting eyes on the interior was one of the utmost wonder for the Hall is so large, so richly furnished and so beautifully decorated that we were lost for words and could only gasp. Seated right next to the Queen’s Box, indicated by the presence of a crown right above it, we could only imagine how it must feel to actually be a spectator in this amphitheater-like enclosure.

From here, the tour took us to the Private Rooms where the monarch meets the performers and is introduced to them. This allowed us to sit on some of the seats used by these ultra famous personalities. The tour ended with a short film which summed up a great deal of what we had seen and it was with a sense of deep satisfaction that we left the Hall delighted to note that we had just seen one of the greatest spaces of public performance in the world.

On the Bus to Kensington Palace:
A quick bus ride later, we were striding through Kensington Gardens where late spring flowers were valiantly hanging on to their ribbons of color. The gorgeous morning had lured a number of strollers and joggers to the park while other lazed or basked in the warm sunshine. Arriving at Kensington Palace was a first time for me and I was inevitably reminded of the sea of flowers we saw outside its gates, ten years ago, when Princess Diana who occupied and lived in the palace after her divorce, passed away.

The ground floor was devoted to an exhibition of clothing in the Edwardian era and took us through the etiquette involved in the Debutante Ceremonies that were part of the formalities of upper crust life in that era. A room was devoted to some of the formal dresses worn by Diana during her lifetime including the famous black velvet number in which she had bogeyed with John Travolta at a formal White House dinner in the Reagan era.

Once we left the ground floor behind, however, and climbed the grand staircase that led to the upper storey, the place truly began to look like a Palace with each room more glorious than the next. We learned a lot about the various members of the royal family through the centuries that called this Palace home. For me, the most moving room was the bedroom in which Queen Victoria was awoken at the age of 18 and delivered the news that she had just become the new Queen of England! She had loved Kensington and it was with a very heavy heart that she left it for the last time to take up her new residence at Buckingham Palace as Queen. By now, you have probably guessed that Queen Victoria has been my favorite British monarch for ages–actually ever since I red Antonia Fraser’s biography of her more than fifteen years ago! To walk through the rooms in which she was born and lived as a teenager was deeply poignant and I was moved almost to tears. Also pretty wonderful to behold was the wood carving of Grindling Gibbons whose work I first grew to love at Hampton Court Palace a few years ago. Gibbons specialized in the depiction of fruits and flowers. I was struck, therefore, by his depiction of human faces on a skein that adorned a mantle in one of the rooms.

Kensington Palace has lovely gardens surrounding it as well as a lake with a wide promenade–reminiscent of the landscapes of Capability Brown. By the time we had toured the Palace, we were ready for a cuppa and thought that the Orangery would make the ideal place to take a break. Seated in the pretty interior with its marble sculpture and fresh flower arrangements, we sipped our Darjeeling with lemon and then made our way towards the Tube station at Kensington High Street in order to get to Warwick Avenue.

A Canal Cruise to London Zoo:
It was our intention to board Jason’s Canal Cruises to London Zoo–indeed it would have been a treat as the cruise takes one at a very leisurely pace along Regent’s Canal in a 100 year old narrow long boat that is painted in vivid red or stark black. When we arrived at the pier, however, we discovered that the last cruise for the day had left fifteen minutes earlier. Now had we not stopped to sip that tea, we might have made the cruise–but then I guess you can’t do everything!

At the Zoo:
Deciding to take the bus instead, we made our way to London Zoo–another excursion for me after 22 years. I do remember when I had last been there, the pandas were the big attraction and indeed I had seen a pair of them. Now the pandas are no longer around, but Chriselle and I had such a blast crossing the Regent’s Canal on one of the bridges and making our way into the zoo in the midst of a vast number of kids who were caterwauling all around us with their harassed parents scrambling all around them.

We spent the next two hours having such a wild time–there was the most amusing gorilla in the world, a true show-off who put on such a display of antics as to have us all in splits. We saw lions and tigers, penguins and pigs, birds of such colorful plumage and so many other creatures as to leave us enthralled. We truly wished we could have spent a much longer time in the zoo but I had to run an errand–I had some graded papers to deliver to NYU and we wanted to grab some dinner before we hit the Globe Theater for our performance later than night of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

So off we went, on the bus to Baker Street and from there, we took yet another bus to Tottenham Court Road to arrive at Bedford Square where Chriselle was able to see our beautiful campus building as well as peek into my basement office that I have so grown to enjoy. We did not linger long, however, as we did want to get some dinner and since the South Indian restaurant called Malabar Junction was close by, we went there and requested the wait staff to serve us as soon as possible. With a delicious paper dosa, appam and vegetable coconut curry, we had ourselves a very good meal indeed and were able to head off to the theater for the next part of our evening.

Romeo and Juliet at the Globe Theater:
Having had the experience of sitting in the galleries last September when I had watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I decided that this time we would be groundlings. Tickets purchased for five pounds a piece took us to the groundlings area where we spent the next hour having a truly grand time. This play was especially significant for Chriselle as she had played the role of the Nurse many years ago while in high school and knew every line by rote. Though we were both beat and had spent most of the day on our feet, we found the energy to stand for the next two hours and watch a wonderful production of Romeo and Juliet. It was only at the intermission that Chriselle told me how badly her back was aching and that she had really had enough for the day. We left, fifteen minutes later, after taking a rest during the intermission and made our way across ‘Wobbly’ Bridge to St. Paul’s Cathedral from where we took the bus back home. All along the way, we talked about the play and discussed the performances of the various characters.

Despite the fact that our day was long, neither one of us was able to get to sleep right away and after some more chatting, we finally called it a day.

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!

Celebrating Shakespeare’s Birthday–in Stratford and Warwick

Apr26

Sunday, April 26, 2099
Stratford-on-Avon and Warwick

Though I switched off my bedside lamp at 1.30 am last night, I did not fall asleep for at least an hour. Awful tossing and turning and vain efforts to count sheep left me deeply frustrated. Yet, I awoke at about 7. 00. So it is little wonder that I was yawning loudly and frequently in Stephanie’s car on our way back from Warwick this evening. We’d spent the day in Warwickshire (visiting his birth place of Stratford-on-Avon–for the third time, in my case– which is the second most popular tourist town in the country after London) in celebration of Shakespeare’s birthday. Can you believe that he was born and died on the same day–April 23!!! Stephanie couldn’t. ” How weird is that?” she kept asking for she simply had never heard of anyone coming into this world and leaving it forever on the same day.

Now that Stephanie lives in Richmond and I have a bus pass again (and the Tube fare to get there and back is a whopping 7 pounds), I thought I would try to figure out the way to get there by bus. And using Journey Planner, I discovered that it wasn’t difficult at all, especially on a Sunday morning when there is barely any traffic and the bus flies. I was there in about an hour and a half and that’s just because I wasn’t sure where to make bus connections. On the way back it took me just an hour and ten minutes–on the Tube it takes an hour–so it felt really great to find the way without having to spend a bomb on the Tube ride.

Stratford-on-Avon–Shakeapeare’s Beautiful Birthplace:
Stephanie and I first made our way to Stratford-on-Avon (which, I finally found out, is pronounced exactly like the name of the cosmetics company). It took us about an hour and a half to get there which meant that we were parking at the Stratford Leisure Center a little after 12 noon. Stratford was swarming with visitors–not just because this is The Bard’s birthday weekend but because the Stratford Triathlon was also held today (the same day as the London Marathon) and hundreds of people had arrived on what was a splendid day indeed.

As usual, we were famished by the time we reached the town and headed straight for food. Only since my low-carb diet lays strict restrictions, I could only eat the fried fish part of a fish and chips platter that I found at a place called The Golden Bee–certainly not the best fish and chips I have eaten. It was soggy and greasy and over-fried and quite disastrous. Stephanie had gone off to see Shakespeare’s birthplace (I have seen it before, so did not go inside). When we did hook up again, we walked through an antiques fair where I was delighted to find a watch at a rock bottom price. It felt so good to have a wrist watch again!

Our next port of call was Trinity Church with its beautiful grave yard and moss-covered grave stones. This is the church in which Shakespeare was baptised and then buried. Inside, I made the discovery that visitors are required to pay 1. 50 pounds to visit Shakespeare’s grave as it is badly in need of funds and figures it could make some money this way. On the two occasions in the past when I have visited this church–once, 22 years ago, when I was a student at Oxford and then about 10 years ago when I had returned with Llew and Chriselle during our tour of the Cotswolds–we had seen the grave without paying any money. While Stephanie went up to the altar to take a look, I used the opportunity to say a few prayers in the church before we walked out again on to the sun-flooded banks of the River Avon where boats plied on the swan-filled waters.

En route, we had seen the other important Tudor and Elizabethan buildings for which the town is known such as Nash’s House and Hall’s Croft. Since this is the week on which Shakespeare’s birthday is celebrated, there were yellow flags lining the streets and arrangements in the garden that created his portrait in fresh flowers–a rather unusual touch. Poetry readings and a literary festival were a part of the week-long celebrations but both Stephanie and I lacked the enthusiasm to do much more than stroll around at leisure.

Everyone felt suitably festive in the bracing spring air. For me, one of the best parts of England in the spring is the opportunity to admire the incredible chestnut tress with their profuse large candle-like white flowers that we do not see at all in the United States. Also putting on a showy display of lavender blooms all over the stone walls of aged houses are wisteria vines. It is impossible to pass them by without stopping to examine their complicated construction–they hang in heavy bunches, looking for all the world, like grapes. Flower-beds in all the public gardens are blooming luxuriously with flowers in a shocking variety of colors and I have been taking pictures galore. Oh, it sure feels good to enjoy England in the spring time!

It was just 3 pm when we were done strolling around Stratford. We were both disappointed the The Royal Shakespeare Company’s Swan Theater is undergoing massive renovations and has been closed down temporarily. All shows are being performed in the nearby Courtauld Theatre which we visited briefly. Stephanie was not interested in seeing the home of Shakespeare’s wife–Anne Hattaway’s Cottage in nearby Shottery–even though I told her that it is one of England’s prettiest thatched cottages with a delightful cottage garden. She was more keen on seeing Warwick Castle which is only an 8-mile ride away.

Arrival in the Town of Warwick:
I thought it was a a capital idea and into the car we went. Just fifteen minutes later, we arrived in the medieval town of Warwick which I had never seen before. We headed straight for the castle but by then it was already 3.45 pm and we discovered that entry fee was almost 17 pounds. Neither one of us thought it worthwhile to spend so much money on a ticket that we’d only be able to use for a couple of hours. We skirted the periphery of the Castle property spying some showy peacocks in the Elizabethan Knot Garden before we decided to discover the town on foot as we had already spent money on the parking meter.

Warwick is one of England’s most intact medieval towns. It has all the ingredients that make a town a tourist attraction and we had a chance to sample some of those: the River Avon flows gently through it (as it does at Stratford) and we were able to see a few oarsmen rowing their boats in the water. There is the beautiful stone Church of St. Mary with its blue-faced clock staring benignly upon the bylanes of the town that are lined with listed houses. Then, there is, of course, the massive 13th century castle which until very recently was inhabited by a family of Dukes. There was several medieval buildings with exposed beams and stucco walls including the stunning Lord Leycester’s Hospital which is a misnomer as it was never a hospital at all. It was once the guildhall of the town and then a chantry and a chapel and, ultimately, on being purchased by Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex (and supposedly the only man that Queen Elizabeth I ever really loved), it was turned into homes for former military men –a function it still fulfils. We took some charming pictures of this lovely gabled building before we strolled for a bit in the public gardens that were a riot of colors as flower-beds had sprouted to life bringing tall and stately tulips in their wake.

It was at about 5 pm that we started our drive back home and it was at 8. 30 that I arrived home, tired and very eager to have myself a nice shower and a light dinner, to write this blog and get straight to bed.