Tag Archive | St. John’s Bar

Last Day in London

Monday, August 2, 2010
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As they say in the UK, Cheers!

A Museum, Tavern, Court, Church, Store, Restaurant, Theater…

Jul29

Wednesday, July 28, 2010
London

The Foundling Museum:
With the sun shining down upon London today, I thought it a shame to be spending time in a museum, but after a delicious muesli breakfast, my friend Cynthia joined me on the bus to the Foundling Museum, one of London’s best-kept secrets. Tucked away in a recess of Brunswick Square is a place that has its origins in the 18th century when no less than 1000 babies were abandoned on doorsteps by unwed mothers to fend for themselves. Most died in infancy or early childhood on the streets of the city. It was time, thought the merchant seaman Thomas Coram, to create a safe haven for these unwanted mites. He sought the financial aid of the king (George II) in his philantropic scheme but met with little cooperation. It was not until the Duchess of Salisbury granted his venture her patronage that others lent their support. In course of time, he managed to garner the assistance of two leading artistic lights of the period–the composer Frederic Handel and the painter William Hogart. The trio eventually raised the ‘hospital’ that stood in what came to be called Coram Fields–a ‘foundling’ home for society’s littlest rejects. By the Victorian Age, it was a thriving resource for miserable young women who brought no less than 60 babies in per week (of which, by a cruel lottery system, no more than 20 were admitted). The Foundling Home was moved from its city location to Berkhamstead and continued to function until the 1930s where it was finally closed.

To walk through this museum is to suppress tears and deal with a constant lump in the throat. The most poignant exhibits are the ‘tokens’ left by the poor mothers–a medal, a small coin, a necklace of cheap glass beads, a cross–items that would identify their babies whom they hoped would be restored to them if and when they saw better days. Some were happily reunited with their children (whose names were changed as they went through a baptism upon entry into the home), most found that their babies had died already (the infant mortality rate was high) by the time they had the means to retrieve their little ones.

The museum also has a clutch of wonderful paintings that filled The Picture Gallery, which was used as the Dining Room when the foundlings lived in the building. Rich Victorians made a Sunday afternoon outing of visiting the Gallery while the children were at lunch–a bit like visiting the zoo today, I suppose. The Court Room is a splendid place decorated with intricate plasterwork by William Wooton and sporting an unusual olive green color. It contains some fine paintings by Hogart themed around the finding of children–as in the case of Moses from the Bible.

There was a particularly intriguing painting by William Stuart depicting the Battle of Trafalgar which caught my eye because, apart from the HMS Victory (upon whose deck Nelson died), it featured the Temeraire, the ship that features in Turner’s famous painting The Fighting Temeraire, which hangs in the National Gallery in London and which the British pick repeatedly as their most beloved painting of all time.

Upstairs, in the Handel Room, is the composer’s own copy of The Messiah which was performed as a fund-raiser in the Foundling Home. Coram was far-sighted enough to realise that he could use the space for cultural activities that would raise the money to fund his enterprise. Sadly, much as I would like to believe that the children were treated kindly, I discovered that Charles Dickens based his Oliver Twist on this place–so it could not have been a haven at all. In fact, children were raised to do hard physical labor since most of the boys were farmed out to the army at the age of 13 (if there was a war at the time, they were expected to go out and fight in it) while the girls were ‘picked’ out to be domestic servants and subjected to a life of further hardship. You can tell why, while it was a fantastic experience to be in the museum, it was by no means an uplifting one. Still. The Museum was on my To-Do List, so I was glad I ‘did’ it.

Cynthia and I then nipped into the Waitrose at Brunswick Center so I could buy my supply of English powdered soup. She had no idea there was a Waitrose in this location and wondered at my knowledge of the city. She told me that she and Michael think I ought to become a London tour guide! Well, that’s one job I think I would gladly accept if anyone offered it to me. Except that in London, I’d have to go through six years of grueling study to be certified as a Blue Badge Guide–unless I’d want to be a free lancer!

The Jerusalem Tavern:
It was time for me to part company with Cynthia and hop on to a bus to Britten Street which I overlooked from my room from the loft I had stayed in for the last 2 months of my year in London. I had plans to meet Jack Cooke, son of my friends Paul and Loulou (who happen to be in Italy) and there he was, awaiting my arrival at a little past 1.00 pm. Jack used to be my occasional theater companion. A strikingly intelligent young man in his 20s, I enjoy his company and have always been struck by his degree of general knowledge and humor–both of which were in evidence at the Jerusalem Tavern that I wanted to visit as it is listed in one of my books as one of London’s most interesting pubs. Dating from 1710, it is a quaint, crammed space (which explains why there were always hordes of lawyers crowding the pavement in the evening, pints in hand, when I passed it on the way back to my digs from the bus stop). Jack bought me a drink (my choice was a very good grapefruit beer), his was a glass of red wine. We caught up on everything that has happened in the past year before he told me that he would be in New York in September where we promised to continue our conversation as he had to rush off back to work.

A Session at the Old Bailey:
There are some London guide book writers who say that if there is only one thing you can possibly find the time to do in London, it should be attending a session at the Old Bailey. Since I can actually see the dome right outside my bedroom window and have never been there before, this visit seemed as good as any to accomplish that goal. So off I went, on foot, down Warwick Passage to the imposing building on Newgate Street (where the notorious Newgate Prison once stood), to find the entrance to the sessions court. I was admitted into Court 6 on the Second floor where I spent a half hour listening to the reading of a transcript of a case that has been going on for months. The accused, two women–one white, one black–were in the dock awaiting the verdict in their role in aiding and abetting a robbery. It was interesting to see that the judge and the barristers still sport the white powdered wigs of the 18th century–a custom that has died out in every other part of the English-speaking world. I do wish I had seen the proceedings in an actual case, but my appetite was whetted enough to consider making another trip to this venerable old building on another trip to the city.

St. James’ Church, Piccadilly:
It was time to hop on a bus again–this time to Piccadilly–with the hope of getting inside the Church of St. James which Christopher Wren considered his own personal favorite among the many post-Fire churches he built. En route, I passed by the Apollo Theater on Shaftesbury Avenue, and on impulse I hopped off the bus to try and see if I could get a single ticket for the evening’s show of Arthur Miller’s All My Sons which has received fantastic reviews and for which half-price tickets are not available at the theater booth at Leicester Square. Can you imagine how my heart sang when I snagged the last ticket in the balcony for the show? Boy, I thought, this could easily become the highlight of my visit.

Set in a lovely courtyard which has special personal memories for me (it was here that the late Indo-British author Kamala Markandaya upon whom my doctoral dissertation is based, had posed with me after treating me to afternoon tea at next-door’s Fortnum and Mason, 23 years ago). St. James’ was open, thankfully, which allowed me to enter a hushed space and after a few moment’s of prayer and reflection, treat my eyes to the sight of the wooden carvings on the altar which I recognized instantly as the work of the one and only Grindling Gibbons, the most skilled wood carver of the 18th century and one of my own favorite decorative artists. Apart from his skill in wood, I saw, for perhaps the first time, a marble carving by him at the Baptismal Font where none other than the poet William Blake had been baptised. The church is full of artistic interest and I can see why Wren loved it so much–its ceiling with its gilded plasterwork is particularly interesting. I was delighted that I finally managed to see the inside of a church that Wren had so loved.

Fortnum and Mason:
It was time to enter another temple–this one a temple to Mammon. It is one of my all-time favorite London stores–the 18th century F&M where I make at least one pilgrimage on every visit to London. I always find some little trinket to tickle my fancy and this time I found an unusual musical biscuit box for Chriselle and a reversible tea cozy for me that sports the logo of the store. I saw a lovely exhibit of artistic ceramics on the first floor, took a glance at the famous picnic hampers for which the store is renowned and paused around the tea counter wondering if or not I ought to buy one of their assorted tea caddies. I decided against it–perhaps on another trip.

St. John’s Bar and Restaurant:
On the bus again, I fought against the clock to make my 6.oo pm appointment with my friend John at the St. John’s Bar and Restaurant where it was my aim to have an early dinner of Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad on Toast, apparently the signature dish of its acclaimed chef Fergus Henderson whose philosophy of Nose to Tail Eating has put the restaurant on the city’s gastronomic map. John arrived at the appointed hour to join me in a glass of wine while I finally had the pear cider I’d been craving since I arrived in London. The salad was every bit as good as it sounds though the presentation was odd. I was served four large marrow bones (thankfully with a long picking fork), and the well-dressed parsley salad on the side with a teaspoon of salt. The combination of flavors was very good indeed and this is easily something I could reproduce in my Southport kitchen. The last time, Stephanie and I had eaten in this restaurant, the salad had gone and I had promised myself I would return to taste it.

All My Sons at the Apollo Theater:
It was great catching up with John, who was one of the respondents in my Anglo-Indian immigrant survey before I scooted off, this time by Tube, to Piccadilly Circus to make the 7. 30 pm show of All My Sons. Starring David Suchet (best known to me for his role as Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot–though I can’t stand him in that avatar) and Zoe Wannamaker (whom I had become acquainted with through her role as the mother in the long-running Britcom My Family which I used to watch religiously during my year in London), it is considered Arthur Miller’s best play and among the handful of best plays of the 20th century. Though I have seen many stage versions of Death of a Salesman and A View from the Bridge, I had never seen All My Sons on stage, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity to do so in London in a production that has earned rave reviews.

And I could easily see why. Even my nose-bleed seats (my opera glasses helped tremendously) did not stop me from fully immersing myself in a play that tore at my heart strings and left me a snivelling mess at the very end. I had no tissues with me (I travel light) and as I fought back tears provoked by the crushing denouement, I had a very hard time indeed. If you live in London, run–don’t walk–to the Apollo and book yourself a ticket. As I had imagined, it is easily the highlight of my stay, so far. Talk about drama…this was theater at its finest and I felt truly privileged to have been allowed to partake of it.

It was about 10. 30 when I sat on the bus and was home at Amen Court about 20 minutes later. Cynthia and Michael had just returned from a black tie dinner appointment at Mansion House with the Lord Mayor of London and presented me with the printed menu from their formal evening out. We sat chatting for the next half hour as we caught up on our day before we thought we could close shop for the night.

Welcome Back to London Llew! And Dinner with Friends at Moro

Jul19

Saturday, July 18, 2009
London

I awoke at 6. 30 am, switched on my PC and received the disappointing news from Sylvia in Canada and Chriselle in New York that Llew’s flight had been delayed –by four hours!!!! I was devastated–not just because it meant that he would now only arrive at Heathrow at noon, and, therefore, at my flat after 2. 30 pm, not just that it would mean a complete disarray in my intended plans of going to the theater to see The Mountaintop (a new play about the last days of Martin Luther King, Jr), but because it was such a gorgeous day and I could not believe that all of it would be wasted–when we had such few days together in London. Well, after I got over my disappointment, I figured it was just as well.

The delay left me time to take a shower and clean my room as well as finish work on my Oxford lecture to which I put the finishing touches. Needless to say, I was greatly relieved when this was all done as I am now ready to face my audience of graduate students at Exeter College this coming Wednesday. I put myself through part of a practice run with it when I realized that I had to go and pick up the tickets for The Mountaintop as I had told Chaichin to hold them for me and didn’t want to disappoint her. The trip to Charing Cross and back took over an hour and by the time I reached home, I barely raced Llew (arriving from Heathrow) by about 15 minutes.

Then, at 2. 30, he was ringing my doorbell downstairs and then, finally, he was with me and my year-long solitude came to an end. Of course, he was equally disappointed and fatigued and sleep-deprived when he came in and after a glass of grapefruit juice and a late lunch of pasta with asparagus and ham and peas, he felt better. It was time for him to shave and take a shower and because neither one of us wanted to waste a spectacular day, we got dressed and went off for a walk.

I took Llew around our new neighborhood, showing him the sights that are most notable–St. John’s Gate and Museum, Smithfield Meat Market, The Church of St. Bartholomew the Great, the home of Sir John Betjeman and the cafe that is named after him at Cloth Fair, The Church of St. Bartholomew the Less, St. Bart’s Hospital, Charterhouse Square and the Cloisters and the marvelous variety of architectural styles around the square including the Art Deco building which was used as the location for the Hercule Poirot TV series–Llew is a big fan!

On our way past the Charterhouse Monastery, we spied a mulberry tree just laden with luscious ripe fruit and it was all I could do to resist stripping it down completely. Well, we requested permission of the guard and the next thing you know, rivulets of red juice were running down our fingers and on to our elbows as we plucked the jewel berries from the tree and popped them straight into our mouths. When we had our fill, we left, having dragged the guard into our mischievous pursuits as well.

Then, we walked briskly up to Fleet Street and took the Number 15 bus to Trafalgar Square when we alighted into a slight drizzle. As neither one of us had the foresight to carry our brollies, we had little choice but to shelter under a protruding roof line that offered quite a good view of Anthony Gormley’s Plinth that is supposed to be a form of Live Art in that it offers human beings the chance to climb upon it and hold the fort for a fixed period of time. Passing in the buses over the past few days, I have seen all sorts of entertainment being presented from the vantage point though this evening while we were there, all we saw was a rather dour man sitting and facing the square and doing absolutely nothing at all. It was quite boring and made the entire concept seem more bizarre.

Since the rain continued unabated, we figured it was best to take the bus and get back home so that we could rest for a bit before starting to get dressed for our evening dinner appointment with Tim and Barbara. Back home, I brewed us a pot of tea and over steaming cups and a pack of French macaroons which Llew really enjoyed, we caught up as there were so many things we had to talk about–it just did not stop.

Finally, we got dressed and awaited the arrival of my former neighbors who arrived promptly at 8. 40 pm. We sat down and chatted for a while over a glass of rose wine and some roasted almonds and left our flat at 9. 05 to walk to Moro for our 9. 15 reservation.

Moro has become a legendary restaurant in Exmouth Market in London’s Clerkenwell area, a ten minute walk from my flat. Its chef is the son of Kenneth Clark of Civilization fame, who, when I was fifteen years old and watched screenings of it on Bombay TV, became madly involved in the study of Art History–something that has remained a passion for me. So I was pleased to be dining in the restaurant of the son of the man who made an art historian of sorts of me.

Tim and Barbara were great company, as usual, as we poured over the menu and decided to start with glasses of dry sherry (well, when in Spain…). As we sipped our sherry, we awaited the arrival of our appetisers–we chose a Serrano ham served on a bed of well-seasoned rocket, a pasta dish with seafood (there were prawns, cray fish and langoustines in the earthen dish in which they were baked) and a paper thin dried tuna (mojama). All of this was very interesting with the seafood pasta being the best of the lot. Bread and olive oil had been passed around for nibbling on. We ordered a red Spanish Rioja to be enjoyed with our meal and it was served just a few minutes later.

Llew went for the grilled lamb (as did Barbara), Tim chose a roast pork which was finished by the time he made his order (leaving him to have the bream, instead while I chose the mixed vegetable mezze. Everything was superb and the mezzes took me right back to Greece where Llew and I had enjoyed some of the most memorable meals we have ever eater.

Despite the fact that we had done justice to our meal, we did opt to order desserts–Llew and I chose to split a chocolate and apricot tart which was very good, Barbara ate the Jerez cream with fresh raspberries while Tim went for the Malaga rum and raisin ice-cream. Overall, we had a very good meal but it was certainly not the best we have ever eaten.

Tim and Barbara came back to our place after dinner (we walked home taking a more complicated route so that I could show Llew the building in which Karen had stayed) and when we arrived at Denmark House, I put the kettle on to brew coffee which we sipped as we continued to chat. There is always so much to catch up on and it was after 12. 45 when they got up to leave after what had been a rather exciting first day for Llew.

I am so happy to have him back with me and to be able to share with him every hidden corner of this beloved city with me. We will be hard pressed for time in the next few days, but we intend to enjoy it as much as we can and to squeeze the maximum pleasure out of it. We are glad we began by sharing it with some of our closest friends in the city.

Sauntering in Salisbury! Seeing the Magna Carta and Constable’s Iconic View.

Jul17

Friday, July 17, 2009
Salisbury, Wiltshire

The ancient town of Salisbury is in Wiltshire, west of London, an area filled with renowned tourist attractions such as Stonehenge, Stourhead Gardens, the Georgian city of Bath and Avebury. But somehow, I had simply not managed to get there even though its cathedral is definitely worth a visit.

Awaking on Stephanie’s sofa bed in her living room at 7.00, I quickly got ready to leave with her at 7. 30. We grabbed yogurt and cereal to go and were in her Lexus and on our way in a half hour. It was an hour long drive which gave us a chance to gab a bit more. It pleased me to see that though she has a long commute to work daily, at least she has no traffic at all–in fact, the drive can be quite therapeutic past fields and pasture.

Since Stephanie works in an industrial belt at Andover, she dropped me off at Andover train station which is just 18 miles away from Salisbury. I could have taken a bus from the station which would have wound me around the tiniest villages in Wiltshire and reached Salisbury in an hour and a half–or I could take the train which took less than 20 minutes (return fare was 7 pounds but there was some malfunction with the ticket machine and I ended up going on the train without a ticket but having to explain to the guards that there had been a problem).

Roaming Around Salisbury:
Luckily, Salisbury station is not miles away from its city center–which is often the case, as I have discovered. It was only a quick ten minute walk to the Town Center which you reach after following signs. It was about 9. 30 am when I arrived which left me enough time to explore the tangle of streets that lead up to the famous Market Square where medieval life centered. En route, I popped into the Roman Catholic Church of St. Thomas Beckett which also dates from medieval times. It is filled with marvelous mementos of centuries past including a beautiful Doomsday Painting on a wall just above the nave. This was plastered over during the Reformation but was recently stripped and conserved. I realized as I gazed at it how similar is the style of medieval painting with the more contemporary work of the Surrealists such as Hieronymous Bosch as seen in his most famous work The Garden of Earthly Delights. The Tudor Chapel with its dark ebony wood carvings was also quite atmospheric and is supposedly the prettiest part of the church. I deliberately visited this church first as I felt that the famous Salisbury Cathedral ought to be the piece de resistance of my day and would best be saved for last.

I have to say that I quite cherished every single step I took for I was fully conscious of the fact that this is my last day alone in the UK and indeed the last place that I would be discovering on my own. Tomorrow morning, I will awake for the last time alone in my bed for Llew is scheduled to arrive at 8. 30 am and my year of solitude, self-exploration and self-discovery will come to an end. The enormous pleasure I have had in doing exactly as I pleased wherever I pleased will also end and I felt a bittersweet emotion as I sauntered through the streets of Salisbury–delighted to have actually arrived there and met my goal of not leaving the UK without seeing this lovely city but regretting that Llew had not already arrived here to share it with me. Still, I took consolation in the fact that we will be spending the next two weeks together in two of my favorite places in the whole world–London and Paris–and it was on that happy note that I crossed The Mill on the River Avon where a lovely pub seemed like a good place to enjoy lunch later in the day.

Then, I was in the streets that radiate from out of the Cathedral Close, each rather enticing as they offered shops galore in which to browse. I examined all the charity shops (still looking for antique treasures) and was so pleased to find a Victorian cheese container–the sort for which I have searched for a whole year. These ceramic containers are very rare and hard to find–being a two piece item, one or the other piece often broke over the years, so that sets are almost impossible to find and when available cost the earth. I have seen only a few of these items in the many antiques markets I have scoured and most often they were so exorbitantly priced that I had to walk away. Well, imagine my delight when I found this set in perfect condition and for just three pounds! Now you know why I rummage around in the charity shops! They are a better source than any flea market! With my treasure carefully wrapped in bubble wrap, I walked out and then there just across the road, I chanced to come upon the Salisbury Antiques Market–three floors of individual dealers each displaying their treasures in glass vitrines–my idea of heaven!

Lunch at the Tea Room at the Top:
By this time, the irritating drizzle which had been playing all day developed into a full-scale shower, so it was with relief that I escaped into the vast environs of the market and browsed around the show cases. Needless to say, by this time (12. 30), I was tired and hungry; so when I saw a sign that announced a tearoom at the top of the building, I headed straight for it. I spent the next hour in the most delightful situation near a window through which I felt the slight spray of raindrops that splattered the pane. What’s more, the charming room was scattered around with a multitude of mismatched chairs and tables–some garden furniture, some living room quality finds. The menu was small but everything was very reasonably priced. I debated whether to get a pot of tea and a toasted hot cross bun (just 1. 50 for the lot) but then I figured that I really ought to have a more substantial lunch and settled for that most old-fashioned of British meals (and it was the very first time I was eating it in this country)–sardines on toast with a pot of Darjeeling. Thank you England for making a tea drinker out of me. On weepy days like this when there is a horrid sudden chill in the air and you wish you had worn a thicker cardigan, there is nothing more soothing that a pot of tea with lemon and honey!

A very lovely young girl called Jessica (I asked her her name later) served me–the pot of tea and a salad came free with my meal (all for just a skinny fiver–a true find in super expensive England). To my delight, a copy of The English Home lay near my table and I grabbed it to browse through while my meal was being prepared. I have a subscription to this magazine back home in the States and have dearly missed reading it, so I was thrilled to be able to lay my hands on a copy. There is a section in it called ‘Favorite Places’ and I definitely intend to write to the editor with a note about this incredible find–The Tea Room at the Top on St. Catherine Street in Salisbury.

Well, I spent the lovliest hour sipping my tea, munching my light lunch, spooning dressing on my salad and reading the magazine as I rested my feet and took a breather. The intermittent rain showers finally stopped and when I stepped out, an hour later, to walk towards the Cathedral Close, there was a lightness to my step.

But just five mintues later, it came down again–a very heavy shower this time which gave me time to dip under the awning of a very pretty chocolate shop where the handmade concoctions called my name. The place also offered a variety of sundaes and ordinarily I would have indugled–but on a day so chilly, ice-cream was furthest from my mind!

To arrive at Salisbury’s Cathedral Close, you pass under a medieval stone gateway and enter a place that has forgotten the passage of Time. It is a vast square with a sprawling green lawns in its center, surrounded by elegant buildings that reveal a variety of architectural styles–I recognized Tudor, Georgian and Victorian very easily indeed. In fact, the most striking of the buildings had a grand facade and it turned out to be Mompesson House (and Gardens) which is run by the National Trust. Now, of course, with my membership still valid, there was no way I would pass it by without nipping in for a quick visit–only it happened to be closed on Thursdays and Friday–wouldn’t you just know it!!?? So I gazed at the entrance in growing furstration having made the discovery that the 1995 version of Sense and Sensibility (I’m guessing this was the version whose screenplay was by Emma Thompson for which she won an Oscar–the film was directed by Ang Lee of Brokeback Mountain fame) was shot in here. Anyway, there was nothing to be done about it and I turned towards the other buildings instead.

Exploring Salisbury Cathedral:
Salisbury Cathedral has the tallest spire in England–though I have to say I could not have discerned this myself. Much of the side of this splendid building is encased in ugly scaffolding (I simply hate when the facades of major tourist attractions are marred in this fashion) and there was a Festival of sorts going on for a huge white marquee took over the lawn. It was just as well I had found other pursuits to occupy my morning for the cathedral had been closed to visitors until 1 pm. And it was a good thing I had a whole day in the town–imagine my disappointment if I had made the trip all the way from London only to be told that the Cathedral would remain closed all day!!!

Well, once inside the Cathedral, there are many attractions that catch the eye–but interestingly and unexpectedly, the choral groups that were participants in the festival were practicing their routines at the back and filled the massive space with the echoing grandeur of their voices–it was truly superb. A printed layout guide of the cathedral is available for visitors and with it in hand, I was able to see the mechancial clock–it has no face, still works beautifully and is considered the oldest clock in the country. I saw also the very modern baptismal font in the center of the church before I walked past the area right below the spire. In fact, the spire is so heavy that the supporting beams in the church have begun to bend beneath its weight and when Christopher Wren arrived in Salisbury in the early 1700s, he estimated that they were leaning at least 75 cms away from the center!

The Cathedral’s choir stalls, all finely carved in oak and the ‘Cathedra’, the Bishop’s seat or ‘cathedra’ that gives its name to the building were in fine condition near the altar. Follwing the printed guide and a rather nice human guide who was somewhat amusingly named Roger Bacon (!), I arrived at the picturesque Cloisters (which were never actually used as cloisters as the cathedral never had monks living there). However, it was meant to be a place to read and relax in and indeed that it was! I stepped through into the Chapter House which was built at the same time as the Catehdral though it has more modern Victorian stained glass windows that were restored when the original medieval ones broke–by the way, the cathedral was built in the early-1200s!

Up Close and Personal with Magna Carta:
So I suppose I ought not to have been surprised to discover that Salisbury Cathedral has an original copy of one of Great Britain’s most precious treasures, the Magna Carta of 1215! Yes, one of the three original 1215 copies is here under glass (the other two being in the British Library at King’s Cross in London, one of which has suffered fire damage and is illegible). This one was in pristine condition and together with the Domesday Book which I saw at Kew the other day, it really was one of the highlights of my travels in the UK!

I mean, just imagine having the opportunity tot gaze upon the original Magna Carta! And I mean you can get really close to it for it is merely preserved under glass. While most people expect the Magna Carta to be a heavy tome, I knew it would be a single rather large sheet–and indeed that is exactly what it is! In lay men’s terms, the Magna Carta (Latin for ‘Great Charter’) is simply a statement of legal demands that were thrust upon King John in 1215 by the barons to ensure that their rights would be protected and that the king would not overstep his powers. It was presented to King John at Runnymede between Windsor and Staines, a fact that is declared at the bottom of the document. It came into the possesion of the Cathedral as John’s half-brother William was associated with the Catehdral. He received an original copy of the document which he then passed on to the church. Somehow–don’t ask me how–it was placed for about 90 years during the Victorian Age in a cabinet and forgotten about, so that when it was rediscovered, it was found to be in such a great state of preservation! Unbelievable!

Written in Latin upon vellum (calf skin parchment), it is very easily read if one knows Latin! Various copies of it were produced throughout the 1200s with the 1297 version having become the cornerstone of the British legal system and having influenced the greatest charters such as the Declaration of Independence of the USA and the constitutions of so many Commonwelath countries (including India’s). So, for all these reaons, I was deeply moved to be in the presence of so important a document–like I felt when I gazed upon the Declaration of Independence in the Capitol building in Washington DC so many years ago–only that document was dated 1776, this 1215!!!–a difference of only half a millennium!

Well, back in the Cathedral, I took in its colossal proportions that dwarfed me as I gazed upon it and wondered as I have done in every cathedral I have seen (such as Winchester and Chichester, York and Canterbury) how it was at all possible for the laborers to create the sort of buildings they did in that time given the almost primitive nature of construction! Certainly they did not lack craftsmanship for the fine quality of the stone carvings is just breathtaking.

In Search of Constable’s Masterpiece:
I spent the next few minutes buying post cards from the shop as there was one more thing I wanted to do before I set out for the station to get my train back to Andover.

I wanted to discover the exact spot from which Constable painted his famous view of Salisbury Cathedral. As I got out of the cathedral, luck favored me right away for I caught hold of what looked like a ‘Salisbury Local’ and asked him if he could direct me to the spot “across the river” which is seen in so many postcards. It turned out that this man was not only a local but a knowledgeable one at that (don’t you just love it when people know their local history and enjoy sharing it with visitors?) and went on to tell me that there were various views and he wondered which one I meant. Well, I said, somewhat hesitantly, knowing that not a lot of people share my obsession with Art–“I’m really interested in the spot from where Constable painted his famous view of Salisbury Cathedral that is in the National Gallery in London!”

“Ah”, he said, delighted at my inquiry. “Of course. For that you need to walk straight ahead past the Close, go under the gateway, make a left at the pizza place, then go over a bridge on the river, follow the road as it bends past the Meadows which will be on your left. You will see a road leading to the railway station and on its left a foot path leading to another wooden bridge. Cross that bridge and you will see the Cathedral on your left in the exact angle in which Constable painted it”. My God! I could have hugged him! I mean imagine asking someone for something as esoteric as this and finding a person who not only knew what I was talking about but happened to know how to get me to the exact spot!

So off I went. His directions were crystal clear. While I was crossing the first bridge, I spoke to Llew on his last day at work. We are simply so excited to see each other again and we simply can’t believe that the one year that stretched out at us seemingly endlessly has come to an end! I told him I had spent the night at Steph’s and was at Salisbury and couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow in London. Then, I resumed my goal, passing by some of the most charming parts of the city and neat roads lined with lovely terraced houses and blooming gardens. Truly, there is nothing more beautiful that a summer’s day in England–even a rather cloudy one on which the sun is reluctant to show its face!

And then I was there. Across the meadow filled with black and white cows and a scattering of sheep and the River Avon on whose banks grew tall bulrushes that almost obscured the sight, there it was!!! I was so moved, so thrilled, so delighted to be there! The rain had stopped, thankfully, and I could gaze upon the sight that Cosntable so immortalized in his work. Yes, the trees have grown more lushly since his time and much of the Cathedral’s front facade is obscured by the luxuriant foliage…but it is still timeless, this scene, still filling the passerby with a rare serenity that made me feel so happy to be alive.

Leaving Salisbury:
Then, I was hurrying off to Salisbury station along another pleasant walk and arrived well in time to take my 4. 24 train to Andover. I waited there for about 20 minutes while Stephanie finished up at work and when she arrived to pick me up, I told her all about my lovely day. She was surprized that I had made such a great and full day of it for when she had visited Salisbury she found nothing much to grip her attention but the Cathedral and she told me that she wondered what I would possibly find to do there for a whole day!!! Well, I have to say that I could easily have spent another two hours in the town for there was so much to see and do.

Back on the Tube from Richmond, I reached home at 7. 30 which left me time to eat my dinner, check my email, make a few more last-minute calls to Llew and get to bed–as I said, alone for the last time. When I awake tomorrow, my life of solitude and contemplation in England would have ended and I know it will not take long for this entire incredible year to seem like nothing more than a dream–which is why I am so glad I have maintained this blog, for it will remain a constant reminder to me of all that I made of this year that was gifted to me from above and how much I appreciated this opportunity of a lifetime!

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

Jul1

Wednesday, July 1, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Browsing in Bermondsey and Touring St. John’s Gate

Jun12

Friday, June 12, 2009
London

With only a few weeks left before I return Stateside, I am making, on the one hand, a rapid dent in my List of Things To-Do in London–but, on the other hand, I am adding new items daily! Wonder if I ever will be finished!

So, this morning, I set my alarm for 6. 15 and was out of the house by 6. 50 am to catch the 63 bus to Fleet Street from where I transferred to the 15 to get to Tower Hill from where I took the 42 to get to Bermondsey. If it sounds like a a hike, it really wasn’t. In fact, Bermondsey is far closer to the heart of the city than I had imagined. It is only because all guide books suggest that earnest shoppers get there at the crack of dawn that I waited until the summer to make this excursion. It seemed much too dark a place to wander into in the heart of winter or even in early spring and I am glad I waited–not only is it much brighter now (I am told that daylight arrives by 4 am, but, of course, in the past few weeks, I haven’t been waking till after 7am, so I wouldn’t know!) but the items to be considered for purchase can be so much better scrutinized when there is daylight to aid the search for flaws!

Browsing in Bermondsey:
So Bermondsey (which is now known as the Caledonian Market) is just beyond Tower Bridge on the South side of the Thames and was far smaller than I imagined it to be. There were about sixty dealers, if that, each occupying a tiny amount of space (like one horse cart). I arrived there at about 8 am when so few customers were in evidence. I guess the serious dealers finish their business by 5 am.

At any rate, I found the quality of the merchandise extremely disappointing. I have to say that I see far better stuff at American fairs and estate sales and tag (garage) sales. So much of the items on display were damaged or in poor condition and so much of it wasn’t antique at all. In fact, I saw loads of much more recent reproductions and so much junk that I wondered why I took the trouble to get there so early. Oh and the good stuff, if you were lucky enough to come upon any (and I saw some good 1920’s Bakelite jewelery) was priced so atrociously that I can’t imagine anyone buying anything. Despite the fact that the dollar is doing so much better now in relation to the pound, when I did the conversion, the prices were still far in excess of anything I would pay in the States for the same (maybe even better) stuff.

So, all I got was a tiny little Herend hand painted ring-dish (which was a steal at five pounds, since I know for a fact that a new item of the same kind would cost no less than fifty pounds and the design La Vielle Rose is no longer being produced by the Hungarian manufacturer). I also found a junky pair of ear-rings for a pound but then they were just tin that had been beautifully twisted to look like the handle of a spoon and I quite liked them.

Bermondsey must have been an antiques shopper’s paradise in its heyday but I have to say that it has been reduced to nothing today. So I was very disappointed but not sorry that I had make the trek and saw for myself the quality of the goods on sale. I know that I will never go there again.

I had quelled hunger pangs with a lovely bacon butty (the breakfast of the London working class, I am told–basically a crisp round roll–what the English call a bun–filled with fried bacon!) which was being sold from a wagon at the market and was pretty good. Then, I got back on the bus and tried to find my way home but at Tower Hill, I got hopelessly disoriented and caught a 15 going in the opposite direction. I was also daydreaming on the upper deck and it only when I saw that the population demographics had changed drastically and that everyone on the streets looked like they had just gotten off the boat from Bangladesh, that I realized that I was headed in the wrong direction!

So, I hoped off, caught a bus on the other side of the road and by the time I reached Fleet Street, I was literally drooping on my feet. For some odd reason, I was so drowsy that I felt as if I had taken some sleep-inducing medication. So I abandoned my more ambitious plans of going to the Freud Museum in Finchley which opened only after 12 noon and went straight back home instead.

When I got to my flat, I found that Minda, the house cleaning lady, had arrived and started her routine cleaning. She had, fortunately, already finished with my room and was in the process of cleaning my bathroom, when I checked my email. As soon as she finished with my bathroom, I curled up on my bed and in broad daylight, at 12 noon, I fell fast asleep, much to my own astonishment. I awoke about 45 minutes later, feeling deeply refreshed and decided to write my blog before stopping for lunch.

A Guided Tour of St. John’s Gate and Other Properties:
Lunch was a hurried affair–just some pasta and a salad and at 2. 25 pm, I left my flat to walk down St. John’s Street to get to St. John’s Gate. I have to say that my new route from Clerkenwell Road to my building takes me under this medieval gateway that I find simply thrilling. Naturally, I had to find out all about it, so when I made inquiries about how I could find out more about its history, I was told to join the guided tour that is offered thrice a week (on Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 11 am and 2. 30 pm). Well, today seemed as good a day as any other and since I simply lacked the enthusiasm to wander too far off, a historic archway just five minutes down my street would be a safe sight seeing bet, I thought. So off I went.

The tour was given by a staff member of what is currently called the Museum of St. John’s Gate. There was a total of five folks (including myself) taking the tour. I have to say that I have taken far better tours in my time. The quality of the commentary and the information contained in the tour was extremely disappointing. I guess I have become accustomed to the superb quality of the tours given at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and other world-famous museums which involve year-long training of the docent volunteers, etc. that anything short of perfection makes me feel rather cheated. There was no consciousness of time and the guide just rambled on with no attempt to offer information in a chronological manner (or indeed with any structure) at all. In fact, all the material was presented in a haphazard fashion and I often got the impression that she was seriously ill or drunk as she actually did seem alarmingly breathless on a couple of occasions.

The best part of the tour, however, and the only reason to take it is that it leads you to some incredibly hidden, tucked-away gems of the city of London that you would never gain access to unless accompanied by one of these staffers. These included the Church of the Priory of St. John (it dates from the 1500s and saw enemy bombing during World War II when its roof was destroyed and replaced). We actually entered this place of worship that is no longer used for regular Sunday services but only on special occasions and only by the privileged families of the Members of the Order of St. John. The Priory Church is on the opposite side of Clerkenwell Road (from the Gate side) and was once built in a circular fashion (like Temple Church in Middle Temple) off Fleet Street. It is very atmospheric indeed, hung with a number of colorful heraldic flags, each of which carries a white flag on a red background, which is symbolic of the Order of St. John.

The tour then took us into another hallowed area–the Crypt. This, being underground, was saved from the blitz and has remained intact from the 1100s when building first began under the Normans, though it continued into the 12th century. More modern-day stained glass windows (dating from the early 20th century) contrasted well with the effigies of knights that were brought back from the Cathedral of Valladolid in Spain (the choir screen of this Cathedral is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and is included on my Highlights Tours). The low barrel vaulted ceiling is an interesting feature of this subterranean church and I felt privileged to see it.

The tour then crossed the street again to take us back into the Museum attached to St. John’s Gate from where we were led upstairs to the secret rooms and chambers used by members of the Order of St. John today. I realize that a bit of explanation of this “Order” might be in order! So here goes:

The Knights of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem originated at the time of the first Crusade to offer comfort and rudimentary medical care to pilgrims en route to the Holy Land. The members were knights who actually took Holy Orders which included the vow of celibacy. Their primary responsibilities were the support and help of patients who were healed by the administration of herbal remedies (0ne of which, St. John’s Worth, is actually named for the order). So it was a religious order of ordained men who administered to the sick in the fashion of monks, in that they actually lived in a Priory.

In 1504, during the reign of the Tudor King, Henry VII, the current Gateway was built of Kentish stone on a red brick base–meaning that Kentish stone is only a facade as stone was not easily available and had to be carted from a long way. After the next monarch, Henry VIII, dissolved the Monastries and closed down the Priories (in 1588), the Order ceased to be a monastic one or indeed a religious one. It evolved into a medical order that provided succor for the sick and the injured and found a base in Malta where it became very influential. From this development came the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade with branches all around the world. The main function of this body is to provide emergency help and services to the sick and the suffering and their achievements are still recognized by the Order. Women are now accepted into the Order. I should add here that this Order has no connection whatsoever with the Knights Templar or with the Round Temple Church and that the Order of St. John is not and never has been a secret society in the Dan Brown vein!

The rooms that are the most fascinating are built into the Tower and Gateway that is known today as St. John’s Gate and this is the 0ne under which I pass on my way to and from my flat from Clerkenwell Road. It includes rooms built in the early 20th century by the son of George Gilbert Scott in imitation of the Tudor style. This means a huge vaulted ceiling with dark exposed beams, loads of stained glass windows bearing the heraldic crests of the various members, a richly carved throne-like seat that is still occupied by the Grand Prior at the monthly meetings of the Order, finely wrought oil portraits of the current Queen, her grand father, George V and in another room (the Chamber), portraits of Queen Victoria and her son Edward VII (under whose patronage these rooms were commissioned and created)–all of whom are members of the Order. Despite the fact that they are only a hundred years old, they are so finely furnished and maintained and with the sun streaming into them on this lovely brisk summer’s afternoon, they were truly a joy to peruse. The tour took over an hour and by the end of it, I felt tired again.

Transcribing Another Interview:
Though I had plans to do something else exciting for the rest of the evening, I decided to be good and go back home and get some work done.With five interviews waiting to be transcribed, I could not afford to waste any time–so there I sat at my PC transcribing the interview with Oscar that I did at Wembley yesterday. I also caught up with my blog and responded to email.

It was about 9 pm when I stopped for dinner (leftovers from our summery meal of last night) and decided to do a spot of laundry. Only I could not get the washing machine to work, so I ended up handwashing a number of garments and throwing them into the dryer, which, fortunately, I could get started!

With laundry done and another interview in the bag, I jumped into the shower and decided to call it an early night–which was 11. 30 pm!

Chriselle’s Last Day in London–Smithfield and the British Museum

May15

Friday, May 15, 2009
London

The day dawned all too quickly when Chriselle had to leave London and return Stateside. Cliches come to mind in such situations: All good things must come to an end; Every parting is such sweet sorrow, It’s not Good Bye but Au Revoir, etc.

For some reason, despite having gone to bed rather late, Chrissie awoke by 6. 30 and could not sleep any more. For another inexplicable reason, she feels horribly lethargic about 11. 3o am when she has this uncontrollable desire to curl up somewhere and go straight to sleep. Jetlag does funny things to people…

My next-door neighbors Tim and Barbara are leaving for Seattle this morning and we wanted to say Goodbye to them. Ringing their door bell produced Tim on his way out somewhere. A little later, Barbara rang our doorbell and we had a chance to wish her Bon Voyage and all the best on their Stateside rambles.

We ate our breakfast quickly–lovely Walnut Bread from Waitrose with Boursin cheese and Sainsbury Three Fruits Marmalade with English Breakfast Tea–I am so going to miss these British treats when I leave. And then we dressed to start our last bout of sightseeing. There was some parts of London I simply wanted Chrissie to see before she left.

The Smithfield Meat Market:
Top of the list were the new digs into which I will be moving on May 31–the penthouse is on Cowcross Street right outside the Farringdon Road Tube Station. We walked along there via Hatton Garden, the London equivalent of Manhattan’s Diamond District with its shop windows that winked and glinted at us as we passed by. Then, a quick right into Greville Street brought us to the building which, I noticed, was recently painted and refurbished. I had no real idea exactly where it was located the last time I saw it, but today, I noticed that it is right off a cute square called St. John’s Square which sits right across from the ornate and very beautiful Victorian Meat Market called Smithfield.

Chriselle who is a vegetarian did not fancy walking through it but she tolerated the short excursion on which we saw white-coated butchers and health inspectors in their white helmets still bustling around though most of the day’s activity had ended. Helmets? Why on earth would you need a helmet when working in a meat market??? At any rate, I have been promising myself an early morning visit to this place to see the butchers at work, the restaurateurs selecting their favored cuts of meat and the restaurants around (that specialize in big meaty breakfasts with large pints of ale–yes, at 8 am!). I must put that on my list of places to go and things to do…

The Church of St. Bartholomew the Great:
Across Smithfield Circle we went through the medieval gabled doorway that leads to the beautiful black and white checkered Church of St. Bartholomew the Great where we entered to find that we were meant to pay a fee for a visit or enter for free if we wished to pray. I have attended Sunday Communion Service at this Norman church and while its age (dating from the 12th century) is deeply impressive, and it does contain a sprinkling of memorials to a few famous Elizabethans, it is the black interior that is most interesting. Centuries of dirt and grime and dust seem to have seeped into the stone pillars that support the ceiling. This is how the interior of St. Paul’s Cathedral might have looked before its 11 million pound refurbishment. It was the best indication we could have had of what time can do to an architectural masterpiece and an ancient Gothic interior. After saying a few prayers, we left.

Checking out London’s Public Toilets:
OK, the next thing wasn’t really on my List of Things To Do, but I have to say that I have been curious and never really had the courage to check one of them out–the Public ‘lavatories’ of London! With Chrissie by my side, I finally plucked up enough courage to venture underground and check out the one in Smithfield Circle. We expected it to be stinky and water-logged and falling apart and Chriselle even turned up her nose at my suggestion that we explore it.

Imagine our shock when we found it spotless, odor-free, spanking new and clean and free to boot! How startled we were! Indeed both of us exclaimed that it was the kind of toilet we could use without hesitation and, next thing you know, we did! There was actually an attendant downstairs who sat in a small cabin watching TV. There were four stalls with brand new toilets, doors with latches and hooks all in order, small sinks (or ‘wash basins’ as the English call them) with running water and toilet paper and paper napkins were in abundant supply. How marvelous! The Victorian exterior with its turquoise painted iron grill work belied the modernity of what lay beneath and we were completely bowled over by something as simple as public toilets! What a great deal we can learn from the English!

A Bus Ride to King’s Cross for a Trip to Hogwarts:
Then, we were sitting in a bus that took us past the great old buildings of one of London’s oldest quarters to arrive at the red brick expanse of King’s Cross. One of my goals was to finish reading all seven Harry Potter novels before I left London and I have to say that this has prevented me from reading anything else since the end of January! I am now in the middle of the fifth one (The Order of the Phoenix) and Chrissie’s visit has halted my progress through its labyrinthine paths. It does not help that the books get more voluminous as the series marches on so that reading one of them is like reading three! Chrissie, on the other hand, read every one of the novels as they were published and saw each of the movies as they were released. Having such an ardent Potter fan on my hands, I simply had to take her to King’s Cross to see St. Pancras Station from where the Hogwart’s Express carries the students from Platform Number 9 3/4 to their School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Chriselle was excited but not overly enthusiastic. I could see that the non-stop sightseeing of the past 5 days had started to take their toll on her–that, I suppose, combined with the late nights and lack of sleep had served to take the wind out of her sails. But when we arrived at the station, she brightened up considerably. I discovered that due to construction activity, Platform Number 9 3/4 has been moved to another location to which Harry Potter fans are being redirected. Yes, we did find it, a few minutes later–the stone wall into which the luggage cart disappears and we did take our share of pictures as we attempted to evaporate into the wall! This is such a fun excursion for kids and we marveled at the sense of indulgence that allows the English to create a spot like this just to appease young readers.

Off to the British Museum:
Then, we were aboard another bus headed to Russell Square to see the Highlights of the British Museum. Though the approach with its Neo-Classical facade is really the best way by which to enter this hallowed institution, we took a side entrance along Montague Place which brought us directly into the Asian Galleries.

Now as anyone who has visited the British Museum knows, you can spend a month of Sundays in the place and not finish seeing everything. My list of Highlights was short and the items that I did want Chriselle to see are the most talked-about ones in the Museum as well as the most unusual. Oh and I made sure she saw the rather lovely Great Hall with its new Millennium structural additions.

Here is what I showed her during our visit:
1. The Easter Island Sculpture
2. The Rosetta Stone
3. The Parthenon Marbles
4. The Caryatid from the Erectheum on the Acropolis
5. The Temple of Nereid
6. The Sculpture Bust of Rameses II that inspired Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’
7. The Assyrian Temple Carvings and Bas-Reliefs from Nimrud
8. Ginger–the Mummified Woman in the Egyptian Section
9. A Number of Mummies
10. The Portland Vase.

By the time we finished seeing these, it was 11.30 and the drowsiness that Chrissie has been fighting washed over her and she was ready to collapse. It was time to head home, so she could get started on her work with Fusion and start packing for her evening departure.

Getting Ready to Leave London (And the Kindness of Strangers):
With all the things that Chriselle is taking back to the States for me, she had two large suitcases and a carry-on strolley that made our journey to Heathrow pretty excruciating. We hailed a cab to take us as far as Holborn Tube station from where we intended to board the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow.

Everywhere we have traveled in London in the past week, Chriselle and I have been deeply impressed by the general sense of politeness that prevails here (especially among service personnel of any kind) among the general public. Numerous times people have stopped on the street while we were consulting our maps, to find out if we needed help. So I was not surprised when so many of them came forward to give us a hand with our baggage as we struggled to get it on the escalators and into the trains during peak hour rush! Poor Chriselle was battling huge butterflies in her tummy as she tried to think about the ordeal of carrying such heavy baggage back to the States. I owe her big time for the great big favor she has done me in taking so many of my belongings back home for me. At any rate, once we did get our baggage into the train (with a lot of willing help from other passengers), the worst of it was over.

Once at Heathrow, we found carts that allowed us to load our bags on them and push them to the Terminal for her American Airlines flight to New York. No, she was not overweight as we had weighed each bag before we left the house to make sure we stayed within the limits. Once she checked her bags in, she was left with a very light and easily malleable strolley and off she went. I have to say that it was my turn to go all emotional and I was teary as I said my goodbyes to her as we had one of the best weeks of our lives together, enjoying and exploring and sharing London like nobody’s business. Chriselle left with a great love for the city and I was so pleased that I was able to communicate this great passion that I have for London to her as well as get her to share in some of it herself. As we hugged, I quite forgot that in less than three months,I will be back in the States myself. So those cliches came back to mind again–about parting being such sweet sorrow, etc. as I saw her off at the Security gates.

I turned to leave and pulled out my cell phone to call her fiancee Chris who will be picking her up from Kennedy airport. We had a chat and I left and all the way in the Tube getting back home to Holborn, I kept thinking about how much we had covered in such a short space of time and how joyful was Chrissie’s reception of everything I had recommended she see. I know that she learned her way about the city and as she put it, “received a crash course in British history, culture, art and society” in the short time she spent with me. Considering that there were so many glitches and so many things that had to be sorted out in the process of planning this trip, I felt that it had been completely successful and I was very glad about the outcome.

Back home, I felt suddenly and deeply fatigued. I called Llew for our daily late-evening chat, then downloaded my pictures and began to edit them. When sleep washed firmly over me and I could shake it off no longer, I switched off my bedside lamp but not before I made a list of all the things I have to do tomorrow.

As the days slide by and the date of my departure from this flat approaches, I want to make sure that I stay on track with all the things I have to do and not feel overwhelmed at the very last minute.

Orthotics at Last! And Dinner at the Rixhons.

Apr9

Maundy Thursday, April 9, 2009
London

After weeks…no months, of waiting, I finally had my Orthotics appointment today. It took no less than 120 attempts to call the central appointment agency to obtain a date for this meeting with the person who would fit me for Orthotics that are supposed to help patients afflicted with plantar fascittis. It was thanks to one of NYU’s staff members, Yvonne Hunkin, who suggested that I fax the place, that I finally was given an appointment. Not surprisingly, despite the fact that Llew and I went to bed at well past 11. 30 pm last night, I awoke at 5. 30 am so as not to be late for my 8. 30 appointment this morning at Belsize Road. Only I was mistaken–my appointment wasn’t at 8. 30 am, it was at 9. 30! This meant a good hour’s wait in the surgery, but we’d taken material to read and Llew got a chance to see how the NHS operates in the UK.

Rory Nottingdale was the man who fitted me with a pair of medically-designed insoles that fit into my walking shoes. They have the advantage of being interchangeable, i.e. I can insert them into any pair of shoes. Rory suggested I wear them for the next three months and if there is no improvement by mid-July, he suggests I make a follow-up appointment. I will, of course, fax him at that stage as I have no intention of trying to get him on the phone! But, hopefully, I will not need to call him at all and the Orthotics will make a difference to my posture and change the way my feet feel.

Since we were only a block away from Abbey Road, of course, Llew and I had to walk to the Abbey Studios and the crossing made famous by the Beatles’ album that featured the Fab Four striding across the street in single file. We found other Beatles’ fans taking pictures at the cross road and we, gigglingly, did likewise. There were walls outside the Abbey Road Studios that were filled with scribbles left by generations of fans which we read as we posed for pictures by the road sign that said ‘Abbey Road’. I remembered that I had also posed besides the Penny Lane sign post not too long ago while in Liverpool.

We took the Tube back from St. John’s Wood and I finally had the chance to unpack my backpack after our return from Rome and Istanbul, sort out laundry items, get our bedroom in order and then go out shopping to the Leather Lane street market to buy some fresh fruit and veg for salad as I felt as if I badly needed to eat some greens! Back home, Llew and I had our lunch and found our neighbors Tim and Barbara ringing our doorbell to say goodbye to us as they were leaving to spend the holiday weekend in Eastbourne and would not see Llew (who departs for the States on Easter Monday) again until July. After a short nap, I returned to my email (as I had loads of it to trawl through and several urgent messages to return–mainly from my former students in New York, most of whom want recommendations of one sort or the other).

Marilyn Rixhon had called me in the morning to confirm our dinner plans at her place for this evening, so Llew and I decided to get some rest before we left for the 5 pm service at St. Paul’s Cathedral where the Washing of the Feet and the Eucharist will be celebrated. I had called our friends Cynthia and Bishop Michael Colclough and told them that we hoped to see them at the service. About an hour later, Michael called to invite us to their place and to take on seats at the very front with their family. This gave Llew the chance to visit their place briefly at Amen Court and to meet Cynthia’s lovely boys, Edward and Aidan,again as also Michael’s step-mother Alma who had driven down from Stoke-on-Trent for the Easter weekend. We made our way together to the Cathedral where loads of visitors thronged the steps on what was a perfectly delightful spring evening. Inside, it occurred to me again, how similar St. Paul’s Cathedral is to St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, though, undoubtedly, the latter is far more ornate. It’s not easy to compete with Bernini, is it???

It also occurred to me how similar the Catholic and Protestant doctrine and services are–indeed, the Washing of the Feet of the Apostles is the central focus of this service and, in addition, we had the sublime acoustic sounds of the choir echoing mightily around the columns and domes of this grand structure. We had prime seats at the very front center and in an hour and a quarter, we were all done, having received Holy Communion and trooped out.

Because it was still too early to get on the Tube and head to Willesden Green for our dinner appointment with the Rixhons, we sat at Paul’s and whiled away some time over an almond croissant and their excellent hot chocolate. You know that a new location is starting to feel like home when you begin to have a favorite coffee shop, a favorite book store, a favorite library, etc. and I do know that Paul’s is my favorite coffee shop. Being that it is a chain in London, I do not have a particular favorite location. (In New York, Le Pain Quotidien is my favorite coffee shop chain and I wonder if there is a pattern to be discovered in the fact that both my favorites have French origins!)

We were ringing the doorbell at the Rixhons’ beautiful home at exactly 7.30 pm and then had a fabulous evening with them. Llew, who was meeting Marilyn and Phillipe for the very first time, got along famously with them and found that they had much in common, the least of which was the fact that they had all spent a considerable amount of time working and living in Dubai. Their garden was at its spring loveliest with the pear tree in bloom and as Phillipe opened a bottle of champagne and we strolled through it, the evening assumed a magical flavor. Inside, Marilyn busied herself in her magazine-quality kitchen with her matzoh ball soup as it also, coincidentally, happened to be Passover. There is a wonderfully warm and welcoming side to their personalities that instantly makes their guests feel at home and as we returned to the comfort of the dining table, I sat down to look forward to one of Marilyn’s simple but truly memorable meals. As it turned out, we had superbly baked cod with a zucchini puree served with matzoh, but the piece de resistance was the flourless cake with ground almonds and the tropical fruit salad with its hints of lime juice and zest made by their daughter that was so good I simply had to have the recipe. Indeed, it was a fine evening, characterized by friendship, fun and superb food. As we left, Marilyn actually presented us with a goodie bag–mangoes (“f0r your breakfast”, she said) that she obtained from the Indian store and a very unusual fruit called a grenadiller that I have never seen or heard of before and which I am very much looking forward to tasting.

Llew and I got home at a quarter to midnight and while Llew hit the bed after watching a spot of TV, I sat up writing this blog and fell asleep much later. Though I had felt at mid-day that we had done nothing really interesting, our evening out with the Rixhons definitely ‘saved’ our day and made it feel less wasted.

Viva IL Papa! Audience with the Pope.

Apr9

Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Rome

Our very first full day in Rome began with a carb-hearty breakfast and a cup of marvelous Italian caffe latte–make that two!–in Hotel Sant Angelo. We had a long lazy lie-in and only finished with breakfast at about 10 am which gave us a good half hour for our walk to the Vatican for our Papal Audience. When we reached St. Peter’s Piazza we were shocked at the vast crowds that had assembled and already taken their seats. I had expected our audience to be a private meeting with the Holy Father in a small private chamber–which, I am told, is how these audiences usually take place.

To our good or bad luck, however, our visit to Rome happened to coincide with the fourth death anniversary of former Pope John Paul II–and thousands of youth and pilgrims had descended upon the city to participate in the events associated with the milestone. The Piazza was filled to capacity with groups that carried flags, banners and placards to announce their origins and we were really very lucky to find seats for ourselves right by the pathways through which the Popemobile would be passing.

It was not long before the frenzy began as Pope Benedict XVI made his way into the congregation. From our seats, we received a clear view of his passing vehicle, his smiling face, his hands held out in blessings. I realized that it would be impossible to get good pictures and so I relinquished our camera into Llew’s charge deciding instead to get good views of him instead of bothering with pictures. When he passed just a few feet in front of us it was just too good to be true and though we followed the rest of the rather long multi-lingual service on the huge screens that are set up to offer gigantic views of the proceedings, we did cherish those few seconds when we had our own personal glimpse of him.

With this visit to Rome, I have now seen three of the Popes who have served during my lifetime–Pope Paul VI (whom I saw as a child during the Eucharistic Congress in Bombay in 1966), Pope John Paul II whom I saw during his visit to Bombay, India just before I emigrated to the States (I still remember the thousands of people that gathered at Shivaji Park to mark the occasion) and now my papal audience with Pope Benedict XVI in Rome. I was also delighted to discover, while the announcements were being made that somewhere in the mammoth audience was a delegation from St. John’s University in Queens, New York, my alma mater, and the institution in which I earned my doctorate. It felt as if I was singled out too when the roster was read and the name of St. John’s University’s delegation came up.

Exploring St. Peter’s Basilica:
Then, we were out on the streets of Rome in what remained a day-long drizzle. Unfortunately, we had not carried along our umbrellas. Instead of getting soaked, we decided to walk back to our hotels for a siesta after picking up take-away paninis from a bar right by our hotel. It was at 3 pm that we set out again along the picturesque banks of the River Tiber for our tour of St. Peter’s Basilica (which had remained closed to visitors during the morning’s Papal Audience and for a good two hours later).

Entry into the Basilica is now a high security affair with metal detectors and airport style frisking! However, once we were inside, we were free to roam as the fancy took us and we made a bee-line as did all visitors to the little chapel of the right on the main door where Michelangelo’s Pieta sits in all its gleaming marble glory. Though it is now so far away from the excited spectators who can’t seem to get enough of this, perhaps the world’s most famous sculpture, the impact is still so sublime that the statue seems to breathe. I made sure I spent time taking in the folds of fabric that made up Mary’s voluminous skirts and the pointed toe of her shoe—items that echo the Burgundy Madonna that I show visitors on the tours I give at the Met.

Then, Llew and I were looking at all the highlights of the Basilica—in particular Bernini’s magnificent sculptural works that celebrate the lives and works of so many illustrious Popes, each of whom built more and more ostentatious monuments to honor their own memory! Talk about megalomania! It is only when you get to Rome that you understand why there was a Protestant Reformation in the history of the church!

Of course, as practicing Catholics, there was no way that Llew and I could only look upon St. Peter’s as a work of art—it is, of course, a house of worship and Holy Mass is celebrated there every single day. So it was only natural that we made our way to the private chapel where the Blessed Sacrament is exposed for 24 hours of the day—an area that is reserved for private prayer. Here too, the splendor of the chapel is so ostentatious that there is no real focal point upon which the eye can rest. I tried hard to shut out my evaluation of the art for a while and get into a more prayerful spirit. About fifteen minutes later, we were out of the chapel and encircling the vastness of the basilica.

A visit to the basilica includes a descent into the basement to see the tombs of the Popes and it was here that we spent the next half hour taking in the grandeur of the various monuments that the popes constructed during their own lives with the hope of being remembered favorably. As we arrived in the midst of the 20th century, the monuments grew simpler and less ostentatious. Needless to say, the tomb of John Paul II was surrounded by visitors who prayed fervently for him. His tomb had single red roses strewn around it and, rather touchingly, several little folded petitions that were placed around its edges.

The Piazza de Navonna and the Pantheon:
Having seen St. Peter’s Basilica, we crossed the Pont Castel Sant Angelo (after which our hotel is named) towards the Piazza de Navonna to marvel at Bernini’s immense contributions to the city. This time we were armed with our umbrellas but the rain had turned the temperature down considerably and it was no longer pleasant to stroll through the streets.

We had the Piazza de Navonna almost entirely to ourselves as we entered the Church of St. Agnes in Agones, a particularly significant place for me, as I had graduated from St. Agnes’ High School in Bombay, India. This gorgeous church is special for the number of marble bas reliefs that encircle its interior, each more exquisite than the next. There is a lovely marble sculpture of St. Agnes shown at the stake where the flames miraculously divert themselves at her feet leaving her body untouched. In the crypt, there is another sculpture that depicts her with her long tresses covering her nakedness when she was paraded through the streets in Rome on refusing to give herself to the Roman official who desired her. That part of the church, however, was under construction and we were unable to see it. However, the church remained very special indeed and I took pictures to email to my batch mates who are connected now online.

Then, we were out in the piazza again, enjoying the four rivers personified by Bernini, in one of his many magnificent fountains, as aged giants. It was only a short walk from the Piazza de Navonna to the Pantheon and were arrived there in less than ten minutes. I do not remember seeing the interior of the Pantheon before and was surprised to discover that it is a church that houses the mortal remains of Raphael, one of the Renaissance’s most prolific artists. Of course, it was by this classical design–a cube topped by a dome–that Andrea Palladio was deeply inspired in his own creation of the Rotunda in Vicenza, a building design that has gone on to inspire some other well known international monuments, such as Thomas Jefferson’s home in Monticello, Virginia, the Jefferson Memorial in Washington DC and the British Museum in London. Llew and I paused not just to pray in each of these churches but to take in their multi-facetted delights and it was always that we were bowled over by what we saw.

Darkness had fallen over Rome by the time we made our way back to our hotel after a very nice dinner at Hostaria Costanza in the Piazza del Paradiso which is very close to the Campo dei Fioro. Over a bread basket with balsamic vinegar and olive oil and some red wine, we had ourselves a good starter and then on we went to the main courses–Llew ordered Veal in a Lemon Sauce which was very good while I had a Tagliatelle Carbonara. Italian meals never disappoint and we badly needed that walk back across the Ponte Cavour to our hotel at the end of our deeply stirring day.

Just Another Soggy Sunday!

Dec1

Sunday, November 30, 2008
London

Winter has arrived with a vengeance. It is cold and it is soggy. And that’s the thing about English rain…it’s never really a proper downpour. It’s always just a light spritz, a gentle drizzle, sometimes just the finest spray! Like Hawaii, in many ways, except that in Hawaii that spray lasts precisely five minutes and then the sun–and the rainbows!–come out again and the day goes on as if that shower had never happened at all.

Here, the spray continues all day–just enough to ensure that your umbrella is raised and the streets are wet and the populace stays indoors sipping hot chocolate, or, in this season that’s merry and bright, hot mulled wine. Yes, that’s a very English thing indeed and all weekend long I’ve been seeing hot mulled wine offered everywhere at 3 pounds a glass–from Borough Market to Covent Garden, jaded shoppers are sipping these potent potations in a Dickensian tradition that lives on in the 21 st century. Oh, and also hot roasted chestnuts have been appearing on carts everywhere in keeping with the carol,
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”

Thanks to my resolution to attend Mass each Sunday in a different historic church in London, I resisted the temptation to go to the 9 am service at my parish church,St. Etheldreda’s, and instead kept myself busy till about 11 am. I had Breakfast in Bed–uuummmm!–hot toasted buttered croissants (I have developed such a love for Lurpak) and steaming coffee. Now that’s Sunday comfort food for you! I hammered out my November newsletter, then did my exercises and showered and at 11 .30 am, I was out of the house and in a bus and headed to Church. I decided to go to Berkeley (pronounced Barkley in this country, in the same way that Derby is Darby, I suppose) Square to attend the 12. 30 mass at Immaculate Conception Church.This is usually referred to as ‘Farm Church’ as it is on Farm Street in Mayfair and sits at one end of Mount Street Gardens (the same one in which KGB spies left secret notes for each other in the slats on the many benches that pepper the pathways).

As I said before, it was cold and it was soggy, so I was surprised to see how packed the church was. It’s Gothic interior is quite breathtaking with its high ceiling and tons of decorative details including Byzantine mosaics, innumerable carvings around the altar and pulpit, paintings on the walls). It turned out that the congregation was composed largely of ‘pilgrims’, devotees of the Jesuit martyr St. Edmund Campion. They’d been on the road since September, having started out at Oxford where Campion was a student at St. John’s College, and making their way to London where he was condemned to death by hanging for converting to Catholicism, joining the Jesuits and preaching secretly when his ministry began. His Feast Day is celebrated on December 1 (Chriselle’s Birthday) which is why the pilgrimage ended today in London where he was martyred.

Of course, I obtained all this information from the web only after I got home and decided to read up on him. While his name sounded familiar to me, I could not quite place him. I remember now that he is revered in Oxford and that might have been where I first heard his name. I also realize how dangerous it might have been to continue to profess allegiance to the Vatican in the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. Campion lived and preached and ministered to Catholics while in hiding and while being continually hounded. He was finally exposed by a spy, taken to the Tower where at his Trial, he presented a stirring defence of his faith, but was condemned to Death. He was hung, drawn and quartered in 1581 and was canonized a saint in 1980.

I was surprised to see that the congregation comprised multiple ethnicities. Of course, the majority were white English but I saw South Asians, East Asians and Blacks among the pilgrims. Fr. Hugh Duffy, S.J. said Mass and preached a sermon that was inspiring and particularly designed for his faithful congregation of pilgrims. I realized that he was a Scotsman when he referred, at one point, to St. Andrew, who, he said, was “the patron saint of the greatest country in the world”. This drew a hearty laugh from the congregation and I became aware, once again, of the healthy Anglo-Scots rivalry that continues to exist all over the British Isles. I sat for a few minutes, in the aftermath of the terrible terrorist attacks on Bombay, thinking that perhaps a reunification of Pakistan and India might be the solution to the continued bitterness that shrouds relations between these two countries. Perhaps if they are united politically, once again, the rivalry can continue, but on a more humorous level and without the threat of war or terrorism marring such a union. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

Back on the bus, I spoke to Llew and our Canadian guests who were at breakfast in Southport preparing for their long drive back to Toronto. I had intended to stay on the bus to Old Spitalfields Antiques Market but the weather strongly deterred me. Instead, I got off at my home stop and treated myself to a huge Italian lunch as I was starving by the time mass ended. I had mushroom soup for starters, garlic bread with cannelloni and salad (all courtesy of Sainsburys) and lemon tart for dessert. Then, replete with my large meal, I caught up on email correspondence and felt drowsy enough to take a short nap.

At 5 pm, I left my flat again, got on the bus and joined the throng of holiday shoppers at Oxford Street. At Marks and Spencer, I found some presents to take back home to India–prices are rapidly coming down and with the dollar so strong again, it is a great time to buy. Up in the lingerie section, I sought underwear but as I was getting ready to pay, the store made the announcement that it was closing in five minutes. That’s when I realised that they close at 6 pm on Sundays–even during the holiday season! Now that would never happen in the Land of Mamon, aka the United States. So I quickly paid for my purchases and was out and on the bus again, weighed down with gifts.

I spent a rather quiet evening with the telly, watching Far from the Madding Crowd with Julie Christie and Alan Bates. I realised in the first five minutes that I had seen this version before in Bombay, aeons ago, in the private British Council auditorium. Some scenes remained burned in my memory–the ones, in the beginning, with the sheep tumbling down the cliffs, another of the house on fire and Gabriel’s attempts to quell the flames. I ate another lovely dinner as I watched until I grew too sleepy and almost fell asleep on the couch.

It was the soggiest weekend in my memory but apart from the fact that today was rather unproductive, I really did use my time effectively and did not allow the rain to deter my plans ovet the past three days.

Rochelle's Roost

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