Pounding Pavement and Viewing Faces

A proper good morning to you
Rain was in the forecast for today and following days, although the chance of rain has apparently evaporated, because of the uncertainty I stayed fairly close to home.
I walked west on High Holborn to Oxford Street and then turned left down Berwick Street. Now I love a market, and you might not think that London would be the place for one, but the Berwick Street Market abounds with flowers and vegetables. Even the fruit stand guy across the street from Citadines does a roaring business. He “cries” his wares, too, which is cool.
From the market I continued downhill I suppose towards the river more or less strolling through Soho and China Town mostly on Wardour Street. I eventually fetched up on the upper end of Trafalgar Square, which was my destination, but as it wasn’t raining I decided to wander. I walked through the Admiralty Arch and down by the Horse Guards and then crossed the street and strolled through St. James’s Park. It was not as nice as Osterley—something about the passed out drunks on the grass impaired the elegance—but it is a lovely place and I had a good walk.
I returned to Trafalgar Square and the National Portrait Gallery. I had to dodge school parties and had a hard time shaking the woman talking on the cell phone, but otherwise it was a satisfying visit. I have always loved portraits even of the fine art variety. Most of these were conventional, but the collection has been expanded and the displays improved since I was there last. Most of the exhibits are royalty or politicians, but artists of various kinds and writers also have found a place. Cassandra Austen’s pencil sketch of her sister is on display.
Now I know the history, so I knew who most of these people were. With some of them I already had an idea of what they looked like, with others I did not, and found myself thinking, “He’s kind of hot,” for some surprising people. The scientist Michael Faraday, example, did he really look like that? The portrait portrayed a handsome man with an intelligent and kindly face. I actually prefer portrait busts because I think the three-dimensional images give a better idea of what the person looked like.
It was fascinating to see the different fashions in poses and how the way the artist or the subject chose to portray or be portrayed. The paintings of the famous were worth seeing, of course, but as portraits they were disappointing. I tell my students that a great portrait shows you what the person is like. The most engaging images were of the more obscure figures whose personalities popped off the canvas. More than once I said, “I’d have liked to have know him or her.” Something about the light in the eyes or the humor or good nature in the expression strongly appealed.
Somewhere in there I went out to take a gelato break and then return. I did not go to my usual place. I came across an Italian café on Charing Cross Road that featured a flavor called Donatello. That sounded good to me, and it tasted good to me as well. It was vanilla with caramel bits.
After I left the gallery I poked around the bookstores on Charing Cross Road. London has a lot of bookstores, and they are excellent. This is my theory. Cities with good public transport encourage reading. Time after time I have seen people jump on the tube and immediately pull out a book—usually a paperback but not always. I don’t know how they can read while balancing against the pull of the train or concentrate with all the noise and people around them, but they do. I have not seen anyone with an electronic reader. I have no theories as to why this is.
Dinner tonight is Middle Eastern. There’s a small chain called Hummus Brothers, whose motto is “Give Peas a Chance.” I have a lovely fresh vegetable salad with tomatoes, red pepper, onion, and cucumber dressed with parsley and vinegar. The vegetables are sweet and crisp, and the dressing has a mild tang.
The main course is some humus topped with an ancient Egyptian bean dish called Ful—something I have wanted to try for quite a while. I have an egg with this and some pita and to wash it down some cold pear cider I got at the grocery store.
So World Cup. Paul the Octopus has been vindicated. I did not think it was a good game, and play was dirty. I fell asleep.
But the Tour de France sure is mesmerizing!
Lessons from the life of Lance Armstrong. After you triumph at one thing—then it’s time to move on to the next. Never go back. Always go forward. Just saying.
Cherrio!