Not So Local

A proper good morning to you
Samuel Johnson famously said, “When a man is tired of London he is tired of life, for in London there is all that life can afford.” Well I am tired of neither London nor life, but I have to confess—as much as I loved the art yesterday—that I am very tired of the crowds and concrete. Time to whip out the Oyster Card.
As I was getting groceries this morning I was trying to put my finger on the contrast between London and Paris and Vienna. I like what is in London. I do not enjoy the city for itself as I did with Paris and Vienna. Because? Well, I am not sure. London seems to go awfully fast. People are in a hurry.
Here are some rules of the road. What the light says does not matter. If no traffic is coming—cross even if the light is red. I laughed inwardly the other day at some tourists standing at a Zebra Crossing waiting for traffic to stop. It won’t—unless you step into the street. On tube escalators, stand on the right because there are people who actually run up and down these vertigo-inducing ramps.
So I don’t know. There was plenty of traffic in Paris and some ugly parts. too. I didn’t see any ugly parts of Vienna. I’ll keep thinking about it, but the punch line is that today I felt I needed to get out of town.
I hopped the Central Line from Holborn and transferred to the District line at Bank—that’s of England. Then there was a long ride out to the suburbs. I got out at Chiswick Park because I wanted to return to Chiswick House. But it is a fair step from the station to the House and although I was aware of the general direction, I was uncertain of the particulars. I got a nice walk through a fairly posh suburb though. I asked directions but people 1) were not familiar with the area 2) didn’t speak English. Finally—and I was nearly there at this point—I found someone to point me in the right direction.
I strolled through the gorgeous park. Birds chirped and the air freshened.
Some function was going on, but I still got to see the house—a Palladian gem designed by the Earl of Burlington and his sidekick William Kent—that I fiercely covet. The place was derided as too small for a nobleman’s house, but that makes it just right for me and my guests because I would invite you. Think pastel paint or richly colored velvet walls. Big Venetian windows are paired with large mirrors to create more light. Everywhere elegance vies with exquisite taste. The visit was accompanied by period music by guys like Handel and Vivaldi. Ahhhh.
And then there is the park, so lush and thickly planted. It looked and smelled green, but here and there were lovely flower beds. My favorite featured delicate blossoms that had trailing “swallow tails” underneath the flowers. They came in creamy yellow, a combo with white and puce, and periwinkle blue.
I took the rustic paths under the trees, and it felt like a woodland walk. There are obelisks and an “Italian” bridge, and plentiful ducks and even swans in the lake.
For those seeking refreshment, a café provides lunches and teas.
But we have to tear ourselves away from this idyllic spot. The plan is to walk back a fair way to London along the Thames. I knew the general direction to go in and then signs appeared, and one cannot miss the river.
So on one side, see the Thames or riverside gardens and on the other side swank villas or Victorian row houses. It’s a peaceful stroll so we don’t mind the distance. If you need refreshment there are some riverside pubs, but we see the target in the distance—Hammersmith Bridge.
Hammersmith, where we turn aside from the Thames is not the hellhole it used to be. There are some nice Victorian neighborhoods, and the nastiness and graffiti have been cleaned up by gentrification. But I do want to ask some architects: Did you really mean to put up such an ugly building? No don’t tell me form follows function. I get that. I don’t get the hideous excrescences that have no function. But here we are at the tube station, so let’s go home to Holborn. After the ride, I felt rested enough to walk up Southampton Row to a French style patisserie for some sugary naughtiness. Lemon tarte for desert!
But before that I am eating Indian. This time it's generic Indian which is very popular in the UK but it is good. I had vegetable samosas flaky and not too spicy and I'm looking forward to some chicken korma for my main course.
Cherrio!

Staying Local Once More

A proper good morning or good day to you!
Today was another tubeless day. I actually had something planned that would have involved a tube ride, but it will have to wait. I have an appetite for art that matches my appetite for cheese. I had some yesterday, but I wanted more!
Follow me to New Oxford Street. As we walk along we can lick some windows belonging to unopened shops. We turn right at the Tottenham Court Station left on Charing Cross Road. Charing translates into Chere Reine referring to Eleanor, wife to one of the Edwards—first or third. I know it wasn’t the second. Anyway we stroll down a gentle slope towards the river and Trafalgar Square passing some mighty (but closed) book stores on the way.
The target is the National Gallery, which over looks the fountains and Nelson Column in Trafalgar Square, but we have to wait for it to open, so it’s fun to stroll around and lick windows even in this major tourist area.
I am not sure when a good time is to visit the National Gallery. It is almost always sure to be crowded in summer. My visit coincided with several tourist groups plus about five school visits. Nevertheless, all this can be worked around.
So if any former AP Art History students are reading, this museum is almost like the second semester of the course. It’s all paintings—many of them glorious—some of them apparently exhibited merely because they survived. The Antiquities are all at the British Museum. The National Gallery starts with some wonderful late Gothic Italian and Northern European altarpieces. They MUST be seen in person to grasp the craft, detail, and brilliant colors. The X marks the spot for the Holbein Ambassadors is gone, so I had to ask an attendant where to stand to see the skull.
I could go on and one about what I saw, but here are some things that I liked especially. Some people sneer at my “pretty” taste, but I love the dreamy light of Claude Lorraine, and the clarity of Canaletto. For all its naturalism (Some of my students mistook his work for a photo.) it is not realistic, but a fantasy. His Venice is never overcast. There are no poor, no dirt, and the canals smell fresh. Everything is perfect, poised, and bathed in a clear light that lends serenity to every scene. I know these images of perfection are not real—but it’s nice to dream. I would like to mention that JMW Turner admired both of these artists, and their influence on him can be seen in the luminous works on display here. And I finally found the running hare in Rain, Steam Speed.

Some outstanding Titian, Caravaggio, and Rubens are on display. I got to see the whole of Hogarth’s Marriage a la Mode exhibited together as well as Wright of Derby’s Air Pump. Nevertheless, my heart belongs to Constable. The gems are the Haywain and Stratford Mill. I’ll be seeing more of Turner and Constable at the Tate Britain and V and A. Among the Impressionists and Post Impressionists I appreciated the lovely Pissarros most.
Somewhere in there I took a gelato break. You can follow me from Trafalgar Square up St. Martin’s Lane to Long Acre to Covent Garden and down Neal Street to Shorts Gardens. Flavors of the day were coconut and Mexican Chocolate, and, yes, they were divine.
So by the time I had finished saturating myself with art, I was tired with aching feet. The road home lies through Covent Garden. I walked up Endell Street to High Holborn and then home.
I have the Tour de France on. And by the way I am So Cool. VeloNews published one of my comments on their live internet coverage yesterday.
I have eaten lettuce salad with radicchio and tomatoes, and now I am enjoying CHEESE. Do you think that orange stuff at the supermarket is cheddar? Ha! Real Cheddar is mild but complex. The richness of flavor is wonderful. The blue cheese is likewise rich and creamy. The penicillin tang is subtle and simply adds more richness. Mmmm
So on that cheesy note—Cherrio!

Staying Local

A proper good morning to you.
Today I decided to stay local. Since I am in Holborn, my local includes a lot of Hot Stuff, but if art and history make you sick, skim until you find food.
I have gotten into my London routine. When I awake I refold the bed up into a sofa and turn on the BBC Breakfast News. The Brits are very careful to give weather reports, and I have learned to understand Celsius. I make my tea—Queen Anne blend from Fortnum and Mason this morning and prepare my simple breakfast. I have whole grain bread, which is very good and some Moroccan style, i.e. spicy hummous. After breakfast I do the dishes, dress and take out the trash. I tidy up and put stuff away. I live in an apartment after all, not a hotel room although staff do come in and clean once a week. My place is pretty spacious, larger than the one I had in Paris and even Vienna. I have proper tea pot, too.
This morning I went out to get cash and brought some groceries home and then off for much art and history and all within walking distance. The idea was not to take the tube at all today in part because I have not been licking enough windows. I walked toward the river on Kingsway, a boulevard that reminded me of Paris because of the wide sidewalks and leafy chestnut trees. I went around Aldwych stopping on the way to get some stamps and then walked down to the Embankment. The target was the Courtauld Gallery at Somerset House, so while I waited for it to open I marveled at the river view. To the south lies the London Eye, and yes I will go for a “flight.” Further to the east see the shining dome of St. Pauls and the glittering cone of the St. Mary Axe Building fondly known as the Gerkin. If you see it you’ll instantly realize why, but it is a beautiful building, thank goodness, because a lot of modern architecture in London would be more appropriate to Mordor. Looking to the west you can just see the top of the Parliament, Westminister Abbey and the bell tower with Big Ben.
On Mondays the Courtauld Galley is free most of the day. Now I would gladly pay to see the treasures within, but I took the free entry and spent my pounds on cheese. It is a fairly small collection, but if you like Impressionism or Post Impressionism, you must not miss it. The most famous work they hold is Manet’s Bar at the Folies Bergere. I see it as a masterfully painted still life in beautifully rendered light. The bar maid seems just another object. I also enjoyed the Fauves and some brilliant Late Medieval altarpieces.
Then up the hill to Covent Garden and the London Transport Museum. Sorry no intellectual content this time, but I find it amusing to wander around the old trains, trams, and buses. This one is great for kids as well as immature adults like--yeah.
Well, since I was in Covent Garden anyway, I licked windows at the shops and admired the wares at the craft and antiques markets. I had to visit Neal Yard’s Dairy again and came away with some rich cheddar from Somerset the home of cheddar. I also got some gooey, rich blue cheese. And then I went for gelato. The flavors for today were Amarena (cherry and vanilla) and Venezuelan Chocolate. Both were divine but how can I neglect the other chocolates on offer? I’ll have to go back. It would be rude not to.
After dumping off my purchases I strolled up Southampton Row to Bloomsbury Square and Great Russell Street for the British Museum.
What a place! It’s been remodeled since I was there last, and I like the new inner courtyard. Like the V and A it’s free although they ask for donations, and it's best done in stages. Today I did Egypt, Assyria, and Greece. Highlights for me included the bas relief of the Lion Hunt. I got to pay my respects to the “Dying Lioness,” which I teach, but I also marveled at the whole frieze featuring many leonine corpses and one fighting back by biting a chariot wheel. I admired some lovely Cycladic figurines and Orientalizing vases that I also teach. Of course I had to visit the Elgin Marbles. Really. They should be returned to Greece. The rationale for taking them and keeping them was to preserve them safely. Ok. Welcome to the European Union. Greece poured major euros into restoring the Parthenon. The sculptures should be replaced where they belong.
Home to the Tour de France and an appetizer of olives. I got a wrap from my favorite London fast food: Pret a manger, and to finish I’ll have some of my cheese.
Cherrio!

Thamesside Living

Happy Fourth of July! Sometimes the Brits magnanimously wish me happy returns of the day, USA.
Today it was time to get out of town. My street High Holborn is always abustle with traffic and folks, and after all London is a big city full of business and people living their lives not to mention us tourists scurrying about. The crowds, noise, and glare on the concrete get to me, and I crave green.
I took the tube out to Richmond about a forty minutes ride and walked through the town to the Thames Path. Richmond has an exceeding considerate scheme where by certain businesses post a notice that their toilets are open for public relief. As these businesses were shut tight Sunday morning, this did me no good.
So I proceeded more or less west or up stream beside the Thames, gradually leaving the traffic noise behind. The air grew fresher. Fisherfolks began to appear. Ducks, geese, and swans splashed or glided in the river. All swans belong to the Queen by the way. People strolled or biked along the river and dogs frolicked.
But I wasn’t just out for a stroll. I wanted to visit Ham House, a beautifully preserved Jacobean gem set back on its lawn overlooking the Thames. The docents boast that Ham House is the crown of the surviving early seventeenth century style. Many rooms are paneled in wood, and sometimes the panels and ceilings are elaborately carved with garlands and fruit. Some ceilings are painted. The floors display graceful parquetry patterns. The rooms are undoubtedly beautiful, but I find this period heavy and over grand rather than elegant.
One tapestry stood out for me. In outstanding condition with the colors still bright, it shows scenes from common life—the peasants down on the farm.
I was in luck, too, because some Stuart Era reenacters were on site. Period music played on authentic instruments accompanied me through the rooms. Outside the pungent odor of a wood fire wafted through the gardens as various crafts people demonstrated their skills.
One thing you can count on with the National Trust besides excellent caretaking of properties and that is a good shop. I came away with some naughtiness--two little bottles one of black current liquor and the other of elderberry liquor. I will, of course, report on any taste tests.
When I left Ham House I walked back towards Richmond a few hundred meters to the “ferry.” For a pound one can be taken across the river in an outboard. And I wanted to visit Marble Hill House.
For a royal mistress Henrietta Howard, Countess of Suffolk (serving George II) seems a decent sort. She was essentially sold to the Hanovers by her abusive husband and creepy father-in-law, and as soon as she could she retired having acquired prime river front property. There she built an elegant residence where she entertained her friends Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, and Horace Walpole among others. Marble Hill House in the English Palladian style is not as grand as Ham House but seemed much more livable to me. Indeed I proposed to one of the attendants that I move in. She agreed that it would be a wonderful place to live but selfishly insisted that if anyone got to move in it should be she.
I strolled back towards Richmond through a green tunnel of interlaced oak boughs and both green and copper beech, punctuated by willows. I could smell the river, and it was a wholesome, green planty scent.
And then across Richmond Bridge and back to reality—a bustling Sunday afternoon with noise and traffic.
So, Pil. All that walking. You must have worked up quite an appetite. 
Sure did! On High Holborn all sorts of foods are on offer. I could even have Krispy Kreme—oh but I didn’t. I stopped at the Lebanese joint a few doors down and came out with a box of mezze. Baba ganoush so smoky and delicious and dolmas filled with rice, currents, and mint. A freshly made falafel garnished a sort of tomato/pepper/chickpea spicy stew that was just luscious. And of course I have loads of pita and hummous to round it out.
And the sprint finish to the TDF was punctuated by three separate crashes. The roads were smooth and broad so I am not sure that the deal was or what the fall out will be.
Cherrio!

Summer Saturday

A proper good morning to you.
World Cup? What’s that? Oh yeah—the game with the ball. Today some Real Sport starts. Yes, mes amies, it's time for the Tour de France, so you won’t be getting any sense out of me for the next three weeks.
I no longer feel jet lagged. This is good.
Breakfast consisted of a croissant slathered with butter and black current jam obtained from the cheese shop and signed by the maker. Knowing who grew or raised the food is the rage in Britain right now. The tomatoes I bought at the grocery store on the way home had the farmer’s name. This can be taken too far. I do not want to see: “I called her Elsie” before I bite into a piece of beef. For those of you who may have missed previous blogs: a croissant that actually looks like a crescent is full of margarine and trans fats and should be left on the shelf. A real croissant is pretty straight.
So here it is a summer Saturday in London. Where can a tourist go that won’t be packed with noisy, clueless foreigners like me? Well, I have always wanted to see the Geffreye Museum, which is a record of middle class furniture and interior decoration since the sixteenth century. I tubed out to Old Street where the fun began. First of all there are three versions of Old Street running from the station and I picked the wrong two first. But finally I got on the right track. I mean getting lost in London isn’t bad, but what should have been a twenty minute walk turned into a forty minute walk.

The museum is free and worth seeing if you are interested in everyday life. They have exhibits you are invited to touch to feel the texture of floor coverings and furniture finishing, noting the difference between the crude work available to the lower middle class compared with the smooth or soft items offered to those with money. You can sit in a couple of period chairs. In addition I had the charming and fragrant herb and flower gardens all to myself.
What is more you don’t even have to take the twenty minute walk any more. The guidebooks are Out of Date. There’s a brand new “Overground Station” a two minutes walk away. I took that back.
I must now digress. I thought it was smart coming to London before the Olympic madness of 2012 failing to realize that the preparations could be just as annoying. Three of the central London tube lines were shut down completely. This did not affect me, but I heard much angry complaining from Brits and other foreign visitors.
I decided to go to the Victoria and Albert. Now if I had realized that I would not feel jet lagged, I would have hit the V and A in the morning before the crowds arrived and saved the Geffreye for later. The Victoria and Albert is like a five pound box of chocolate—best not taken all at once. It is free, but they ask for donations, which I find reasonable. I had ice cream in the central courtyard. The label said hazelnut, but it tasted like honey. I’m not complaining. It was good!
When I last visited the V and A, I had not yet begun to teach Art History. My former students will get a kick when I tell them that walking into the place I immediately suffered sensory and art historical overload and meandered here and there a bit dazed by it all. The place is stuffed with Imperial Loot but is more famous for its British Art and Craft collection, which is what I chose to visit today. I had not seen it before because the last two times I was at the V and A it was closed. What do you like? Jewelry? Paintings? Ceramics? Metal work? Tapestries? The objects on offer are superlative.
I also cruised through the “cast rooms” which I used to find impressive before I actually saw the sculptures in person. Not to be missed are Raphael’s Cartoons, a beautiful exhibit of huge colored drawings that were used as tapestry patterns.
By that time Central London was in full summer weekend mode. I tried some retail therapy at Fortnum and Mason. I needed some tea, but I made a point of snooping around the food halls and the perfumery. Don’t worry. I’ll go to Harrods, too, in a few days. I’m not sure the British can actually afford to shop in places like this. Most of the folks I saw were Asian tourists after tea and jam.
I am enjoying an appetizer of rich, meaty Greek olives that have been marinated in herbs while sipping rose and watching the TDF Prolog. I shall soon dig into lovely salad and have lamb meatballs with some red wine to drink.
Cherrio!

Wandering Around

And a proper good morning to you.
It’s not morning where I am, but I thought it an appropriately genteel greeting, and one more likely to be authentic.
I woke up this morning knowing that all London could be my playground and also knowing that I was too jet lagged to take full advantage of it. And yet something could be done. I needed a good leg stretch for one thing. Because it is very important to work up an appetite, and because it’s Friday what could be better for the appetite than wine and cheese?
I have been to London many times before on my way to other places. This is the first time I have gotten to stay, and as it has been about ten years since my last visit, it is essentially a new city for me.
For google Earth fans: I proceeded east on High Holborn and down the Holborn Viaduct. My target was the Museum of London. Along the way I found a Barclay's cash machine. Here is an important travel tip. Find out what foreign partners your bank has. You can save five bucks or more a transaction—money that can be spent more profitably on food and drink. The other big distraction—I use the word big advisedly—was St. Paul’s Cathedral. I turned aside to have a look at the exterior and naturally got completely turned around and ended up walking in a circle, but the Museum of London was reached in good time.
Unfortunately a lot of school trips arrived at the same time. Nevertheless, the place is worth seeing. Entrance is free, but even if they charged admission it would be worth seeing. Exhibitions range from the Paleolithic to the Twenty-first Century. Some real treasures lie in the display cases, but what I am a total sucker for are the reconstructed rooms and streets. Don’t miss the Lord Mayors Coach either.
I hopped the tube to the Marble Arch stop and then walked south along Park Lane. Despite the presence of highly swanky hotels, this is not necessarily a pleasant street. Think LA style traffic. But at Hyde Park Corner I found my other target: Apsley House purchased by Arthur Wellesley himself and still home to the Dukes of Wellington. The House is worth seeing simply as an example of early nineteenth century taste, but his grace was a noted art collector. The gem of the collection is Velasquez’s Water Seller of Seville, and, yes, it was even more incredible in person. You can see the water drops running down the glass the boy is taking. There’s also a Caravaggio, some studio of Rubens, and a lot of the Duke’s favorite Dutch genre painters, and all of it is very worth seeing. Porcelain fans will scream with joy at the various services—most of the gifts from crowned heads—on display Another cannot-be-missed piece is a gigantic--and hilarious--nude marble statue of Napoleon that some monarch or other compelled Wellington to accept. Even Napoleon didn’t want it. I could not help wondering if Canova, a noted sculptor to the stars especially when they wore crowns, was being naughty. The figure of Victory in Nap’s hand faces away from him.
Ok, Pil, you cry. Stop with the history all ready. We’re hungry!
Very well. Let us tube back, using our highly convenient Oyster Card, to Covent Garden. It’s time for some lemon sorbet.
Feeling refreshed we go in search of CHEESE. There’s a place called Neal’s Yard Dairy, which I have longed to visit. The charming young shop man refused to sell me any cheese until I had tasted it first. The cheese is all labeled, not merely with the variety, but with the actual region, farm, and cheese maker’s names. It’s totally organic, free range, grass fed, etc. and correspondingly expensive—and Worth It. I got two semi soft cheeses, one cows milk and one goats milk. Both are rich, buttery, mild and yet with a complex after taste. When I say that these cheeses are just as good as the French cheese I had from that shop in Paris you will understand. And, yes, I will be going back. Frequently. Duh.
I interrupt the food fest to note that the Netherlands actually scored against Brazil. The Brazil goalie having decided to take a nap or something. Now they are tied. Good on the Dutch!
Cheese is good. Wine is good. Together they are Really Good. I am having a Merlot I pulled off the shelf of the local grocery store. I have adopted a five-pound rule rather than a five-euro rule, wine being more expensive in Britain.
If you have questions or requests leave a comment or shoot me an email. In the meantime I’ll make my plans for tomorrow.
Cherrio!

Greetings from London!

I say, old chaps, pip pip from London! Of course, no one talks like that now or probably ever did outside of books and music halls. I have to find a more authentic greeting.
It was a generally uneventful trip here---which is how I like it. It mostly consisted of waiting. Waiting to be picked up. Waiting at the airport. The flight. It was not bad. My seat mate was a champion sleeper, and the guy in the seat behind me was some sort of religious fanatic, but the interesting thing was I couldn’t figure out which religion he was being a fanatic about or if the two wives were consecutive or concurrent.
The airline food was pretty bad, and unlike other trips on other carriers, we were asked to pay for booze. Nope. I will not shell out six bucks for a little airplane bottle of wine, and the food didn’t deserve it anyway. No butter for the roll?
But then we flew down the Thames on our approach. Wait, is that Greenwich? Yes, and Canary Wharf. There’s the Millennium Dome and the London Eye!
But it’s a mistake for a flight to arrive early. The gate is never ready, and we wait. And then there was a problem at baggage claim, and we waited some more. And then there was a problem on the Underground line to London and—ok I think you get it. But I am the proud possessor of something called the Oyster Card, so I can bus and tube around to my heart's content—for a price. And it was sold to me by a cheery young transport worker clearly used to dealing with jet-lagged foreigners.
The trip in to the city was a real London experience with a sweltering, stuffy, packed train car where for every one person getting off ten got on. And of course I turned the wrong way out of the tube and several wrong ways after that because I get totally turned around in London, but obviously I’ve made it safe and sound.
As is my custom for my first dinner in London I went out for something quintessentially English, and no I don’t mean Chicken Tikka Masala, which some claim to be the new national dish. I went to an old fashioned chippie for cod and chips. Manna from Heaven is what it should be called. Crisp crust encloses sweet, tender fish. The potatoes are thick cut and meaty not crisp. All is seasoned with salt and malt vinegar and washed down with the perfect (to my mind) accompaniment—-dry cider from Somerset a area in the west of England. It’s fresh tasting and applely but not sweet. The Normans brought cider making to England, which makes it even better.
Cheerio!