Dulwich

We awoke back in our Islington flat and spent the morning catching up with the blog and various other chores before heading out, in the middle of the day, for the journey from the Archway tube station, some fifteen minutes' walk to the north, down under central London to end up at the nearest tube to our friends in Dulwich, south of the city. Margaret and Bernard are the parents of the young couple with whom we traded ten days in the Laguna cottage for ten days in their London flat; they had kindly invited us down for the afternoon and were there at the station to drive us to their lovely home in this pleasant suburb.

A beautiful, sunny day--and unexpectedly warm. We spent some time admiring the back garden...

... a delightful mix of wild growth and cultivation...

... which includes such treasures as a fig tree, a vegetable garden at the bottom end, a lily pond and a productive raspberry patch. Not to mention the birds. Bernard tells us that they have seen thirty different species over the years, and that at least a dozen are regular visitors to their bird feeders. From the bottom of the garden, we heard a greater spotted woodpecker at work in the neighbor's graceful acacia tree. A genuine paradise, amazingly quiet and private for the suburb of a great, noisy city.

(Is this not a Constable?)

Margaret had prepared a delicious lunch for us--poached salmon and new potatoes with vegetables and salad, followed by fresh strawberries and raspberries and cream! After lunch, we left for our promised tour of the landmarks of this part of the city, the Dulwich Picture Gallery and and College. Too much fascinating history to recount here; suffice it to say that it was all originally a part of one great estate, and that much of it has been protected from the ravages of commercial development.

Our first stop was at the Picture Gallery--an amazing treasure house of great paintings from the Italian Renaissance to Constable and Reynolds, including some masterpiece work by the likes of Rembrandt and Rubens. Bernard--a person of some influence in these parts!--had arranged for a personal tour guide for the four of us, and our extraordinarily well informed docent regaled us with great stories about the history of the place, its founders and benefactors. as well as about the astounding collection. One of London's best kept secrets, it is only recently beginning to be widely known and is, of course, a magnet for historians and scholars who find it a mine of new topics for research and study.

Of particular interest to us was the surprising current exhibition, Twombley and Poussin: Arcadian Painters, exploring these painters' common interest in poetry, myth and nature, and the curious coincidence of their ages at various stages of development. The show includes some absolutely wonderful paintings by both artists--the most amazing of which, for me, were the Twombleys, especially his huge, magnificent "Four Seasons." They cast the painter in a whole new, richer and more incandescent light for me.

Here's a part of the original Dulwich College buildings, now alms houses:

And a recent bronze statue of the school's founder, Edward Alleyn, a celebrated actor on the Elizabethan stage of Shakespeare and Marlowe. Too much history to attempt to recall today, but here's a link to further information. On to the college itself, then...

... where Bernard attended school many years ago and where he is still very active in alumni work. Dulwich is one of the fine English "public" schools---and one which has made a consistent effort, over many years, to maintain access for students other than the wealthy few who could afford the hefty fees. Like many schools of its kind (including my own, Lancing College,) it has produced many outstanding figures including, in the case of Dulwich, the explorer Ernest Shackleton, whose storied survival lifeboat, the James Caird...

... is preserved to this day in one wing of the college. That's another inspiring story of great courage, sacrifice, leadership and perseverance--qualities which schools such as these are intended to foster.

A great afternoon. After a late tea and a bite of delicious "lemon drizzle" cake in the garden, we bade a grateful farewell to our generous hosts and returned to our flat to solve a water heater problem. It involved several transatlantic calls; but the less said about that, the better. We missed our mouse this evening...

In London (With the Family)

A slow start to the morning, catching up with the email, getting the blog written, eating a light breakfast—muesli and chopped fruit, a cup of instant coffee; and a walk down to the corner convenience store for a copy of the Herald Tribune. Late morning, we set out for the walk up to the Archway tube station, catching a southbound train for just a couple of stops to Camden Town, where we had arranged to meet the family at “Amy Winehouse’s” pub, perhaps—in view of the singer’s early demise--too appropriately named The World’s End. Instead, we caught up with Matthew and Diane and the three grandchildren, Alice, Joe and Georgia...

... at the top of the tube station steps, disgorging Londoners and tourists by the thousand.

Camden, it turns out, is quite the scene on a Saturday afternoon.

The streets were so crammed with mostly young people that the only means of progress was elbowing one’s way through the throng. Souvenir shops lined the streets on either side, along with vast numbers of parlors offering tattoos and body piercing. We were not tempted. Further on, we crossed the canal that runs through this part of London on its way from Birmingham to the Thames, and watched the barges being raised and lowered in the Camden Lock.

The area around the lock is a mass of food stands offering a vast range of ethnic choices, from Peruvian churros to Polish sausages, from Mexican tortillas to Japanese sushi and Chinese stir fry. Ellie and I shared tasty wraps—I think Middle Eastern, but would swear to it; Joe chose dim sum, Matthew empanadas. Finding nary a seat at any of the tables, we found a set of steps on which to perch—only to be moved on, politely enough, by one of the adjacent shopkeepers. We stood and munched as best we could.

A little unavoidable shopping after lunch. A bazaar-like atmosphere, with inexpensive goods being hawked by enterprising salespeople from throughout the world. Diane led us for respite to the Gilgamesh, a bar unlike any I have ever seen—a cross between an Asian temple and an over-the-top Middle Eastern bordello, with elaborately carved wood everywhere

... brass and bronze fixtures, and richly textured, colorful draperies. I wished I had brought the camera along on my visit to the men’s room—a vast palace in itself, with long, circularly curving urinals decorated with Asian imagery in high relief. Failing that, I had Ellie take it to the ladies...

The drinks, of course, matched the décor—cocktails and mocktails concocted from exotic mixes of ingredients. I chose the Kettl One vodka with sour apple and fig. Matthew had something else...

By this time, the rain had begun to set in. As we headed back to the tube station, Matthew stopped at a colorful toy store to buy a yo-yo; he's pretty good.

... and the grandchildren managed to find some weird stuff at the rows of stalls...

... and we passed up on the chance to dip our feet into a tank of water filled with small fish that like to feed off the dead skin on the human extremities...

An underground train ride, then, down to Leicester Square, where we emerged into a similar crowd from the one we had just left—though perhaps, here, a little more touristy than Londoner. Diane had wanted to check out the lobby of the new luxury hotel, W, which also offered the family to make use of the loos—such halls of mirrors, it seems, that it was almost impossible to find one’s way our. Poor little Georgia was truly lost for a moment in the funhouse ladies room, and was rescued only by the intervention of her dad. She emerged in tears, much scared by the disorientation.

A visit, next, to the spanking new M&M store, adjacent to the hotel on Leicester Square. Four brilliant floors...

... designed exclusively in M&M colors, a monument to the genius of marketing, a veritable Disneyland created to celebrate the little chocolate pills—and to turn the concept into a cash machine. Loud rock music everywhere, to addle the brain and numb its critical capabilities. The “products” must have been the result of a thousand brilliantly creative minds put to the service of this mindless emporium.

We were relieved to emerge into the still wet but now rainless streets...

Diane had one last treat in mind for us, leading us down Charing Cross Road to Monmouth Street to a tiny shop where, she had heard, the best coffee in the world was brewed. It was, indeed, good coffee, and much needed by this point. But hard to find a seat. Ellie and I were accorded the privilege of taking the only two available, while Diane and Matthew and the children were reduced to take-out cups outside on the street.

Somewhat—no, utterly—exhausted by this time, we were happy to follow Diane’s suggestion of a cab back to the flat...

... to pick up our pre-packed bags for the drive out to Harpenden, where we were to spend the night. An easy drive out of town—the family took the train from St. Pancras—to meet up once more at their house for a quick drink before dinner.

You would think, would you not, that the day had been sufficiently filled with excitement? But no, Diane had booked us all in for dinner at a local Indian restaurant where we over-indulged our remaining appetite—I happen to love Indian food, and found it irresistible—and mulled over everything from family history to the problems of the world. We were ready for bed, believe me, when we got back home. But first there was the ritual of an after dinner drink, imbibed outside, under a now clear sky, all of us gazing upward in search of shooting stars.

Oh, and from the upstairs windows when we finally made it to the bedrooms, a fireworks display from a neighbor’s yard! Ellie and I went to bed and lulled ourselves to off sleep with a rerun of “The Other Boleyn Girl” on the television set.

Tring

We spent the night in Harpenden, at Diane and Matthew's. Early visitors to our room were Joe and Georgia, bearing the results of a small purchase we had made for them at Camden Lock the day before. The tiny colored seeds in plastic packages had expanded into a mass of small balls, shiny and gelid as frog's spawn...

The kids were delighted with their resplendent jars, and even transferred a few from each into little jars for us to take back to Los Angeles. A lovely morning visit.

True to form, Diane had prepared a vast feast for our brunch...

... not only scrambled eggs and toast, but also lox and bagels, a green salad, a stir-fry of chorizo sausage and onions, and an irresistible cheese plate. This accompanied by a choice sparkling white wine or coffee, or both, or tea... We have not been allowed to go hungry.

Georgia, who had missed the feast in favor of a kayaking birthday party, returned after lunch with excited tales of her adventures--including two unintended dips in the cold water. With her safely back in the fold, we all piled into the family's Toyota minivan and headed out for Tring. As noted yesterday, Diane has an unfailing genius for find interesting spots to visit. In this instance, she had mentioned a "museum of stuffed animals," and we thought, okay, Teddy bears for the kids, sounds a bit boring but we'll go along. Instead, we found a vast, astounding, totally compelling collection of "real" "stuffed animals."

It's a branch of the national Natural History Museum in this tiny, out-of-the-way town, housed where is was originally assembled by one Walter Rothschild, a fanatical collector of wildlife species of the 19th century who traveled the world to find literally millions of species--from butterflies...

... and bugs...

... and other slithery creepy-crawlies, to water creatures and feathered fowl of all kinds...

... to great cats...

... and apes and marsupials, to antlered animals...

... great African giants...

... and even those we have domesticated...

(Georgie, beware! Though the above are English spaniels, snub-nosed, and less attractive to our eye than the Cavalier!)

(Three other beauties, taking a rest!)

There are four floors of display cases, an unending testament to the variety of life on our planet Earth--and a reminder, less happily, of their vulnerability. Memento mori!

It is a sobering experience to walk past all these once living, now dead beings, and to reflect on the human capacity to dispose of them all at will. Rothschild's intense curiosity and passion reveal not only the abounding beauty of all natural things, but also the dark side of our human power.

(Afterwards.)

We took the long way home, for a last ride (for this visit!) through the lovely English countryside...

... past Whipsnade Zoo and the Dunstable Downs--all quite close to the villages where I lived as a child. It all resonates in the soul... Back in Harpenden by early evening, we ended the family day as we had begun,: with the twins engrossed in a project--this time unearthing luminous "dinosaurs" from little eggs of solidified "earth."

Such a pleasure to watch them!

Then back along the now familiar route, taking the M1 south and through the streets of north London, stopping only for a last fill of gas (Americans, take note: you'll pay a bit more than $70 to fill the very small tank of a Toyota Yaris!) I was grateful to park the car for the last time outside our flat. It's been a great boon, but it's still stressful driving on the wrong side of the road in a country filled with oddly worded street signs and seemingly ambiguous directions. I also discovered from Matthew, only yesterday, that ubiquitous CCTV cameras watch your speed and send out tickets! A bit late to find that out. I have been driving like a Californian, mostly inattentive to speed limits. I now have nightmares of having collected a dozen of them along the way.

A pub supper at the Landseer, just around the corner. Delightful. Good food. We enjoyed a qiet meal there, and wished we had discovered it before. Our mouse--have I mentioned this small furry friend before?--has now found his way into closed cabinets, and has been feasting on our cereal. We took appropriate action--but this morning found that, presumably in desperation--he had chewed a dishwashing sponge into small pieces. Not much nutrition, as I pointed out to our friends whose flat this is; but perhaps at least some oral gratification...

London

We keep promising ourselves a hike on nearby Hampstead Heath one morning, but it keeps not happening because we wake up sore from all the activity the day before. It didn't happen again this morning. Instead, we hung out at the flat again until nearly noon, then headed out for the Archway tube station and took the Northern Line down to Charing Cross. Our arrangement was to meet Jean Morris of Tasting Rhubarb at the National Gallery Cafe for lunch, and we were about to use the crosswalk from St. Martin-in-the-Fields into Trafalgar Square when I happened to glance at my neighbor waiting for the light... one of those delightful moments that divide themselves into split seconds when you just begin to think, is it? could it be? haven't I seen the face in a photograph? and, yes, surely, it must be! turning into yes, it is! It was actually Jean. We had never actually met, but the recognition dawned--at least for me, in exactly that way. She was the one to first acknowledge it, said: Peter? and gave me a big hug. And one for Ellie.

Such a nice moment, then. We crossed the street together and found our way to the National Gallery Cafe, where Jean had booked a lunch table. A lovely lunch. I have always admired Jean's eye and her skill as a photographer, her spot-on writing, and her literary tastes. We are, too, both Cambridge graduates--though she a few years later than myself--and both in the field of language and literature. We also have blogging friends and interests in common, a love of meditation and a leaning toward Buddhism. So we had much to talk about over lunch. It's heart-warming to get to know the person behind the blog--so many others I would love to meet in the flesh, but have not yet. (We took a couple of pictures, but they did not turn out as I would have liked, so I'm choosing, regretfully, not to use them.)

After lunch, Jean walked with us as far as the tube station and set us right for our next trek--over to Sloane Square on the Circle Line for a visit to the Saatchi Gallery. Emerging from the underground into Sloane Square, right next to the Royal Court Theater, I remembered those days in the late 195os when I attended a year at teacher's training college, down the Kings Road a bit--at time when the Royal Court was hosting the new playwrights and adventurous theater, from John Osborne to Harold Pinter and Edward Albee, Ionesco and Pirandello... A fine time to be in Chelsea!

We found the Saatchi a few blocks off Sloane Square...

... and walked through the current exhibition there, The Shape of Things to Come: New Sculpture. Some pictures, with the request that you check out the site for attribution and further information:

I personally found the show mostly "interesting" rather than truly engaging of the heart and mind--but that may just have been my mood and that kind of distracted, "passing through" attention that I brought to it. I did enjoy some of the more spectacular work, especially the erotic sculptures of David Altmejd...

... and the wonderfully clumsy clay female nudes by Rebecca Warren--R. Crumb in 3D:

But this is not the moment for art criticism... and besides, I am too lazy for it this morning.

Leaving the Saatchi, we started out on foot towards Hyde Park, thinking to go to the Serpentine Gallery--one of our favorite stops when we're in London. From the Peter Jones department store on Sloane Square, we headed north on back streets--mews, really--parallel to Sloane Street, joining the latter only as we approached Knightsbridge. Gave Harrods a miss, though I did think of heading down into the Food Court there to at least take a picture of a Stilton for MandT! We were amused to see a line of what must have been ten Muslim women in a single party, dressed top to toe in black, including the veil, emerging from a very trendy, extremely expensive upscale women's wear boutique...

By the time we had turned on to Knightsbridge and reached Hyde Park Corner, we were beginning to flag and it was close to five in the afternoon. The Serpentine, if still open, would soon be closed; so we continued, instead, across Park Lane and down Piccadilly in search of a coffee shop where we could rest up a while and refresh. Did so at a handy Cafe Nero, where the coffee was good and the atmosphere unhurried, catching up on the morning newspapers--the Herald Tribune and the London Times. Trudged on through the Burlington Arcade to the back streets zig-zagging toward Regent Street, where we turned north again to Oxford Circus and along Oxford Street a ways toward out final destination for the day, the Latium restaurant, which Diane had picked out for the birthday dinner we had promised her.

The Latium proved to have been an excellent choice. Good food and wine...

... And a chance we relished for some time alone with Diane and Matthew. We love being with the kids, too, of course. But sometimes being adults is fun, too! Apologies for the less than excellent birthday picture of very beautiful lovely daughter-in-law.