Bath - The Romance Continues

..continued from Bath and My Regency Fascination

Having taken the waters at the pump room, it was time to go in search of other landmarks, to be found between the pages of a novel or in Bath.

We walked up Milsom street, where once stood the circulating library, and the best milliner's shops. Now, it has the same circulating library, high end stores, which, at a stretch of imagination are still milliner's shops among other things, and a paintball stall. Really, can't they forbid modernity!

Turning left at the top, we found ourselves in Gay Street, named no doubt when 'Gay' still meant 'Happy'. A little way into Gay street, we came to the house which used to be where Jane Austen lived, now the Jane Austen Centre. I paid my respects by having a photo clicked in front of it, then turned around and walked in the opposite direction, until we came upon the "Circus".  Can't think why it's called that, other than a case of misplaced consonants, for it sure looks like a circle with a green in the middle and Georgian/Victorian/Regency houses all around. Also, standing on the green, one can see roads all sloping downwards, which explains why Bath never was much of a city for carriages. It would appear the Bath denizens loved their horses too much to allow them to pull heavy carriages up steep streets, hence they employed "sedan chairs" more. These were much like carriages, except carried by men (much like the Indian palki) and if the lady at No. 1 Royal Crescent is to be believed, they would drop you not only to the door step, but right inside the drawing room - on the 1st floor. (I personally don't believe that last bit)

Royal Crescent was where we walked to next - a set of houses built in the shape of a crescent, with a stretch of garden in the centre, which seems to be so common in UK. The houses themselves are still extremely inhabited and my guess would be that still as prime a real estate location. I went into No.1 Royal Crescent, which is maintained as a sort of museum to showcase the life and times of Regency days. Well, Sushi and I both went in, but Sushi, I suspect bolted soon after the dining room. Meanwhile, I continued on to the gentleman of the house's morning room, and upstairs to the bedroom and the drawing room. All was extremely fascinating, including the lovely old lady in the drawing room, who was evidently really enjoying bringing it all alive and fellow regency -enthusiasts who were according her as much interest as I was, by the way, no men among the visitors at all. There was the dressing table with the powder and patch in the bedroom, a work table with a screen, for sewing or embroidery presumably, a love letter in a frame on the table by the bed. There was in the drawing room, a piano, on which the daughters of the house and other visiting young ladies showed off their accomplishments. It was all so alive, as if this was still that time - when the gentlemen stayed to port after dinner and then joined the ladies in the drawing room upstairs, for a rubber of whist or perhaps cribbage. The tea things must have been brought in so..and a young and handsome viscount someone must have sighed over the fair lady sitting so demurely by her mama.

Reality did kick in after a bit, and I made my way down, by the servants stairs I think they were, to a very strategically located souvenir shop, where I equipped myself with a fan. Having found Sushi, I resumed my explorations and reached the Assembly rooms - the scene of so many balls! Like all things in Bath, where the modern and history seem to co-exist, the Assembly rooms are still used among other things, for the modern equivalent of balls - parties.

Next on the itinerary was Pulteney Bridge, which flows over the river Avon, where..well...needless to say there's history here too..and a somewhat decorative river bed, with semi-oval steps cut to give a bit of water-scaping.

Our day ended on a somewhat anti-climatic note - in a Thai restaurant, and here I was complaining against the modernity of paintball stalls(!), but my thoughts were for a long time with the Prince Regent, who ruled in the king's stead and was glad that authors with gifted pens, were inspired enough to write of the life and times.

Bath and My Regency Fascination.

When girls usually graduate from Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys to their first romamce novels (preferably without momma finding out), at the age of 14 or thereabouts, I chanced across an author called 'Georgette Heyer'. The novel was called 'These Old Shades' - all about the Duke of Avon and his somewhat unconventional romance with a french heiress, masquearding as a page boy - though how should I have known it was unconventional romace I can't really explain, as it was my very first. The setting historic, 1700's, the language quaint, the costumes described all fantastic and quite the antithesis of a classroom history lesson.

I was hooked on to Georgette Heyer - the period, the sparkling dialogues, descriptions of flirtations in Hyde Park and the cotillions and balls. The dearest ambition of my teen years was to procure a voucher for Almack's ( an exquisite and elite club in Regency London, unfortunately no longer exists) and to dance the waltz with the most handsome marquis there was.

And then, about 2 decades later (i.e. now) I am here in London, working as a mainframe programmer, which as technology goes, is regency too. Having visited Hyde park and been to the balls and assemblies (not really, I have been to a few pubs though), the fancy took me to visit Bath.

Bath, by all accounts that I have heard, held a special place in the regency times. A fashionable resort next only to London, people (the royalty - or the "Quality" as they were called) brought their marriagable daughters here at the beginning of the "season" to attend balls and concerts, promenade in the pump room and hopefully to catch a husband. Jane Austen, who is now heralded as one of the most famous residents of Bath was brought down on just such a mission, which was never to be successful ofcourse.

The journey from London to Bath is now an hour and a half by train from Paddington station. In the days of long ago, this same journey was accomplished in several stages by a chaise drawn by a team of four horses. Back to the present though, it was a day of unalloyed pleasure for me. The journey was spent engrossed in the troubles of Bridget Jones, only looking up from time to time to admire the countryside going past. There is something extremely idyllic in the sight of sheep and horse grazing in picture postcard fields and the novelty still hasn't worn off.

Sushi, very gallantly decided to escort me ( he doesn't believe an unchaperoned female should be jauntering around the countryside on her own) despite my telling him that he was bound to get excessively bored, not being a reader of Regency romances or any romances for that matter. He reads Bruce Lee's philosophy from time to time, but that's quite besides the point. He assured me that he'd utter not a complaint and take as many pictures as I should have a fancy for - what more could a girl ask for!

We got down at the station and made our way up Manvers street, on to York street, and reached Bath Abbey. Sushi was moved enough to take a picture of his own volition -

Right next to the abbey, was the enterance to the Roman Baths. The waters are supposed to have healing powers for all sorts of diseases like gout and rheumatism. My use of 'are' and 'were' now gets confused as I have some trouble separating the past from the present. Right next to the Roman Baths, is the famous 'Pump Room' - a restaurant from 300 years ago, originally built for the princely sum of a 100 pounds. The pump room is where we breakfasted and although unverified, I do believe it is exactly as it was all those years ago. The actual curtains have naturally been changed but not the style in which they are festooned. The string quartet entertained us through our breakfast just as it might have done so many years ago. They even serve what they call 'champagne breakfast', a little strange but after all why not. It's never a bad time to have a good thing. They have computers now to record orders, just like all restaurants, which bothered me a little, because this was not how it was supposed to be. Next to the actual pump too, there stood a computer, which I preferred to ignore. The lady who was serving the waters asked me if I had a bar voucher, in which case the waters would be complimentary or else cost me 50p a glass. This slight aberration apart, I thoroughly enjoyed "taking the waters", slightly warm, and pumped up from a hot spring beneath, in the tradition of all those who had taken these very same waters as prescribed by their fashionable doctors. Happy Happy Day!

A Walk in The Wilderness and The Elusive Ceilidh

..Continued from A Visit to The Highlands...

Cabbies in Inverness are incredibly chatty, tourist friendly or maybe fishing for tips. But we must not be cynical if we are to believe in the Loch Ness Monster, hence I'll leave the last bit unsaid. Take our cabbie for instance -  he volunteered the names of all possible cruises we could take, all the castles we could see and all the places we could find Scotch at (pretty much everywhere). When questioned about the existence of the Loch Ness monster, he became all pleasantly intriguing, neither confirming nor denying. According to him, Tiger Woods would consider himself truly fortunate to have played in Inverness (?) .

We then asked him where we might catch some Ceilidh (believe it or not - that's pronounced "Kaylee"). After some thought, he advised us to gate crash a wedding.

Sometime during the course of this conversation, we found we were in the middle of the city, with a bright red castle sitting on top of a very green hill overlooking and guarding with all the might of its red stones. The Ness river flowed on placidly past between 2 narrow streets, which were apparently the 2 main streets of the city. It was all very idyllic and un-city like. In fact Inverness became a city only in 2001, but could easily have passed for a sleepy little hamlet. Or maybe not - we discovered that the place was in a right bustle because 'Boyzone' was playing in the park that night! I didn't know Boyzone played anymore and had been quite used to classing them with all the fashions of my teen years - as ancient history.

As we checked into our B&B, the land lady pointed out the finishing line to us - a sort of rope stretched across the river. As it turns out, there was to be a race that very afternoon - boats and canoes and all sorts of colourful thematic boats - themes like pink colour and parrots.  - Can't say we really GOT the themes but nevertheless it was nice to watch the hard rowing as we nibbled at some home baked shortbread cookies in the blissfully relaxed - "we are on a holiday" vein.

We then stepped out to explore the immediate vicinity of the place and pick up some sandwiches, chocolate and water as provisions for the hike we were to take later that afternoon. I couldn't help but think of all the Famous Five adventures read between the ages of  8 & 11 and which I would happily re-read even now. We were packing sandwiches and going on a hike. All we were missing was Timmy the dog.

For some reason, possibly because our non-vegetarian(ness) doesn't extend to eating haggis, we stepped into what passed for an Indian restaurant. It was all bright and gold and red, extremely gaudy, food way too spicy, the naan sweet, very wannabe, but not quite getting there. Later, we were to learn that the restaurant was probably Bangladeshi, but 'Indian' being more easily recognizable, they just don't bother to be Bangladeshi. That would explain the over-Indian everything!

Soon after, we were picked up by our hike-guide, Gordon and his wife and transported in their car to what Gordon called "his special hill for brilliant views of the Loch Ness". The ride was quite an introduction to Scotland, the scenery, the wilderness, the history and the Scots love for nature and their country, if the two Scots we met with can be said to be fairly representative. 

Gordon pointed out heather growing on the hill side and was rather amused when I got all excited because of  the Enid Blyton associations it invoked. Much to our mystification, he promised us some "heather-bashing" later that day. He then very kindly pointed out some green leafy plants - but thank heavens, even I find "ferns" commonplace enough to merely smile.  We learnt a bit of history too in the burnt down cottages dotted along the countryside as old as two hundred years ago. Turns out the English, burnt the cottages, forcing the dwellers to flee to America and then summarily decided to ban the Gaelic tongue as well as the kilts (spoil sports!). He then told us the story of some chap who gallantly came to do battle with the might of the English army with only seven men. I can tell you I thought and thought about the fella, who must have really believed he could win!! It's a pity I can't remember his name now. (Notes to myself : google diligently)

At the starting point of our hike, we were fitted up like true hikers - rucksacks, jackets, hiking boots, and duly warned about leaches. I was beginning to enjoy myself already, a few pictures in the attire and I would have been well satisfied even without all the the cardio stress test style exertion that was to follow....
                                                                                ..to be continued.

Little Ben

This is Little Ben -

And this is what he says -

"My hands you may retard
or advance
My heart beats true..."

London Nights

On Saturday, we went to Southall, to stock up on things that all Indian kitchens need - whole wheat flour, and gram flour, aachar (or pickles) and the like. Things, which only Southall can sell. From the moment we stepped off the bus, it was as if we had travelled back in time - to India in the 80's. Or perhaps small town India in the 2000's. We saw 'Punjab National Bank', no less, a Gurudwara, shops with colourful buntings selling jalebis and paan. Women in the traditional Punjabi attire - salwaar kamez far outnumbered those in jeans. And the number of shops showing off sari draped mannequins had me thinking that maybe it was time for me to update my wardrobe in that direction too. This was more 'India' than commonly found in India!

Our kitchen well stocked for about a month, it was necessary to get our sense of geography balanced. What could be more 'London' than 'London Bridge' or as Sushi says 'Tower Bridge'. He likes to be accurate in these things. Hence, it was thither that we were headed to on Sunday night. For a while it looked like TFL was going to beat us in this ambition with all its part closures and complete closures, but with sheer determination and cunning, we beat it right back -

It looks awesome by the moon light, doesn't it, if you ignore the big white bulb trying to outshine the moon. Kind of makes me think of some lines from some poem..something..something.."The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas" and then..something something..The Highway man came riding.

Thankfully none did, and we were able to enjoy a peaceful and shivery drink by the Thames.

A Visit to the Highlands.

My Scottish 'dash' was as spontaneous as Paris was meticulously planned. Surprisingly, this way is fun too.
In order to catch the 9 o' clock morning flight from Luton airport we had to beat the early bird to its worm by a very fair margin. Up by 4 a.m., out of the house by 5, on the tube by 5:15 (still a.m.) and finally on a national railway train from St Pancras to Luton. 

I have a little bit of a complain against the trains - we'll call it 'X' railways. Now, why must they align their trains one behind the other as if it was one train. We are standing infront of what we think is our bogey number clicking the button that opens the doors. But the door won't budge. Never mind, we think, it will, in good time, there's still 15 minutes to departure. In this manner, us and other passengers ( so you know we were not the only goofy ones) stand there clicking and waiting as the clock continues to count down minutes until departure. Finally with 3.5 minutes to go, we decide to look about us a bit - lo and behold! there's another train behind this one, that had in the beginning looked like one big train. This one looks very ready to chug off anytime now. This one's standing with doors agape at the correct bogey number, and we have to break into a mini-trot to get onto it just as it merrily starts to scream and sing away from the platform! Whew!

We make it to the airport in good time for a breakfast. I'm delighted to find that the food court is blaring songs from what I like to call 'back in the days' - Christina Aguilera at her dumb lyrics best. What an auspicious start to a holiday. We then get quickly aquainted with 'easy jet' and its mores. I believe no other airline allows you to grab the best seats possible (if you can) and reserve some for your friends, just like in a bus - but then I haven't flown them all by any stretch.

After a fairly normal flight, we touched down at Inverness, which was slightly colder than London(this is end of August we are talking about). As if to live up to the cliche - the moment we were out the airport doors, a man in a skirt ( or more accurately - a 'kilt' ) steps up and starts playing the bagpipes. (Sorry, but no puns intended). 
                   --- to be continued.

In Quest of 10 Downing Street

It was a fine bright sunny afternoon after a long time.
On a whim, I decide to go look up no. 10 Downing Street.
Accordingly set out mid-afternoon with GPS in hand.
Resist temptation to have a 'quick' look in at Cl*r*s. I should know better than that after 2 highly expensive, highly uncomfortable shoes.
Modification - that's 1 moderately priced, moderately uncomfortable shoe - one that I'm wearing while walking, so I do not want to hurt its feelings and 1 too dear, too uncomfortable shoe (resting peacefully in cupboard at home).
Do not look-in at Cl*r*s but walk on.
Notice a sign that says 'your dentist. walk in'. Definitely not my dentist and I most definitely won't be walking in - thanks for asking.
GPS says 10 minutes to walk, take a wrong turn, have to re-trace steps. GPS  now says 13 more minutes.
Walk on - right track again.

Learn me some history on the way -

Have reached Westminster Abbey. Building especially beautiful in the afternoon sun. Take a photo.

Hear the deep throaty gong of Big Ben and stop to admire very intricately made building  indeed - parliament house.

Getting very cultured taste in beautiful buildings I think.

Realise I'm on wrong track again. GPS still says 13 minutes.

Disheartened but persevering. Retrace steps again. GPS brightly declares 3 minutes! Spirits start to soar. And soon - there it is!

I suppose I had expected a neat house with the number '10' on it with a convenient bus stop or tube station opposite. But such as it is - I click snaps with rest of tourists.
Make way back, very pleased and smirking and feeling very superior to all the tourist groups with their guides.
Realised that in my head, I'm sounding very much like the 'Provincial Lady'. Oopsie, but fun trying to attempt the style.