Paul Auster is an author whose books I have recently discovered, courtesy a chat with David Israel. The chat was about synchronicity, following a post from a network member who claimed to be a collector of random incidences that took on varying degrees of significance. In this context David mentioned the author and a movie he had seen several years ago called –The Music of Chance– which was based on Auster’s book of the same name.
I looked for the book the next time I was in a bookstore and found it after a rather determined search. The back cover summary was intriguing enough to spark my interest and buying it was a decision I haven’t regretted. The author weaves meaning and significance into seemingly random events with such finesse that one is deeply interested and engaged from beginning to end.
Perhaps tastes aren’t that universal and one needs to be sufficiently intrigued or obsessed with finding a way to make sense of ostensibly random events or with forming associations and connections, to be thoroughly taken with the ways in which Auster ties a tale together. For those of us who are so inclined he can certainly weave a magic spell.
The Music of Chance is the story of Jim Nashe, the down and out protagonist, deserted by his fickle wife, who unexpectedly receives a large inheritance from his long estranged father. Leaving his three year old daughter in the care of his sister he invests in a new Saab and spends the next several months driving from the east coast to the west coast and back listening to his music as he drives, never absorbing the essence of any place, any destination, just driving on with passionate mindlessness, investing in hotels, books, music and gasoline, running down his inheritance until he is down to his last few thousands. He starts feeling a little alarmed then and just when he is wondering what to do next he comes across a kid who is badly battered and bruised and but continues to place one resolute step in front of the other as he stumbles along the road in the middle of nowhere. He picks him up, feeds, him, clothes him, offers him shelter and slowly as his new friend, a kid in his early twenties, Jack Pozzi, recovers and recuperates Nashe learns that the kid is an unbeatable whiz at poker. After convincing himself that the kid is really as good as he says, Nashe comes up with a plan to recover his lost fortune through poker. Pozzi suggests they play a couple of newly minted millionaires, Flower and Stone, who won their fortune on a shared lottery ticket and now lived together in a large home in Pennsylvania. Pozzi had beaten the duo before and is convinced that his luck will hold once again.
They set off to Pennsylvania to meet the odd couple, confident that they will emerge victorious and several thousand dollars richer after their adventure. This is when life as either one of them knew it, ceases to exist.
I wouldn’t want to give away the story and tell you exactly how The Music of Chance plays itself out, but I must mention what to me was a chilling metaphor embedded snugly within the story in the form of Stone’s impassioned art. Stone, a quiet, unassuming millionaire, a former optometrist, unveils his artistic creation while giving their new poker mates a tour of the house. A model city that takes up almost an entire room. It is his ideal city, a vision of the future that he is diligently modeling. It is populated with figurines of smiling and contented people going about their daily business. Not a single frown creases the brows of inhabitants in Stone’s make believe world. A world which isn’t necessarily crime free, as demonstrated by the city prison, but even the prisoners are content as they work at various chores while paying off their debt to society.
Utopian? Not necessarily. For the pleasant prison in this idyllic world still displays an anguished prisoner with his back to a wall. There is also a curiously empty spot within the city. When Stone is asked what would go up there he answers it would be a model of the house in which they currently reside, within which he plans to build a model of the model on which he is working and within the model of the model would be another room with an even smaller version of the model!
If Stone is obsessed with his own vision of the future, the other half of the millionaire duo, Flower, an ex-accountant, an arrogant man full of bluster is equally obsessed with the past. He has dedicated a large section of the house for relics from the past. He wants to possess the past with an ever-growing collection of objects – a pencil from Enrico Fermi’s pocket, Sir Walter Raleigh’s pearl earring, Woodrow Wilson’s desk phone and various others objects that have been brought together without context and without meaning. His crowning achievement is the import of 10,000 crumbling stones from a fifteenth century castle from western Ireland. When asked if he plans to rebuild the castle in his backyard he suggests he would rather build a magnificent wall, a monument. A wall that Nashe and Pozzi would never forget.
Our protagonist Jim Nashe and his young poker playing friend Jack Pozzi are the audience of two with whom Flower and Stone first share their vision of total control, in an amiable setting, and eventually expand their tentacles to envelop them and incorporate them completely within their visions. Visions where they possess the past, control the future and can manipulate the present as they deem fit. They are lethal predators who annihilate completely while displaying unquestionable amiability and magnamity. They are the parvenu masters of all they survey, their power is undeniable and complete.
The matryoshka doll like idea of a model within a model within a model actually plays out in a larger sense and in the reverse direction as Stone’s model takes on real life connotations for Nashe and Pozzi after they lose everything they own, and more, in a poker game and willingly sign their lives over to their master puppeteers. The unfolding tale is analogous to a pleasant faced matryoshka that upon closer inspection reveals an unmistakably sinister smile.
It’s a surreal account of Nashe’s failed life and Pozzi’s wasted life, lives that have reached an “irreducible separateness” and “isolation”, not much different from the meaningless relics from the past that Flower collects with a passion, forced to imitate Stone’s sinister art through an unforeseen ill-luck of the draw.
I would have preferred a different ending than the one at which the book arrives but the fine music of chance, so clearly audible here, makes for an immensely satisfying reading experience.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
Last Day in London
We started the day at the British Museum on Russell Street. Once again, we used the Bakerloo Line from Paddington to Oxford Circus where we hopped into the Central Line train to Holborn Station. We saw signs here that said, “British Museum 6 min”. We walked in the direction the sign indicated while keeping an eye out for more signs that might tell us to turn this way or that, but none were forthcoming. Pretty soon we realized we had been walking for over 6 minutes and had probably overshot our target. We then started asking people who looked like locals, for directions, but locals I often find, are always surprisingly unaware of the points of interest in their cities. We received many an embarrassed shrugs and shakes of heads from people telling us they hadn’t a clue. So then we asked a parking attendant who told us to walk back toward Holborn Station and then turn left. We were finally there.
It was quite an amazing museum. It is ranked amongst the top 10 in the world. And surprisingly, it was free. It had been free to the public since 1753. The museum building is phenomenal, the wide-open ground floor with light streaming in from the glass ceiling above and a plan that was intuitive and easily navigable. We walked straight up to the European prehistory and a money exhibit (sponsored by HSBC). The exhibit was fascinating, the things people tried to use for currency! King Gustav (?) of Denmark had tried using a copper tablet, its dimensions similar to present day legal size paper, causing a famous visitor to remark on how a cart was needed to transport Danish money when the rest of the world preferred carrying their money on a rope worn around the neck! I am sketchy on the details of which king, which visitor etc. because my attention was divided in scanning the crowded museum floor for Anoushka and Anil, who tend to disappear on me, and reading what was written about each exhibit. There was the jewelry room, the gold and silver ornaments, cooking utensils, prehistoric tools, all quite fascinating. But Alas! Museums are not ideal places for four-year-old kids or even husband. I have made a note to myself that I must indulge this interest in solitude whenever the opportunity presents itself again. The more memorable aspects of this particular visit can be summarized in the following lines:
“Can I pleaaaaaaaase get a drink, Mommy? I want juice, mommy!”
“Can we please go back to the hotel?”
“Can we please go to the kids’ section?”
“I’ll be over there, how long you gonna be?”
Needless to say, this fine museum could not be viewed in its entirety.
Museum visit concluded it was time now for us to head over to the London Bridge Station where we had planned to meet our friends Anjali and Kishore. We had decided to meet outside the station, so we walked back to Holborn and took the Central Line train to Bank Street where we changed for the southbound Northern Line train that took us to our destination. Anjali and Kishore were waiting for us right outside and we had no trouble recognizing them even though we had never met each other in person.
Anjali looked gorgeous in her lavender dress and a lovely crinkled silk shirt of the same color that she stylishly wore over it. This was my last day in London and at the end of my tether in wardrobe choices out of the suitcase I felt the usual female green-eyed monster of not quite matching up in attire. Kishore also looked as dapper in person as he did in his pictures. We had been looking forward to this meeting. My previous acquaintance with Anjali had only been through Shakespeare & Company and our frequent online chats. One is often surprised when meeting a virtual acquaintance in person; they often appear quite different from their online persona. Not so with Anjali, she was as wonderful, gregarious, intelligent and as sparkling a conversationalist as she was online. Kishore was also very easy to like and converse with. We sat down for a cup of coffee at the Starbucks and chatted awhile as it was still too early for dinner. Our pleasant conversation was soon interrupted by Anoushka’s desperate need for a restroom break.
I suppose it would be unfair to state that public restrooms are hard to come by in London, but the fact remains that when we so desperately needed it, we couldn’t find one. We did see a coin operated one that kept returning our 20 p back to us and refused to open up. Anil finally walked inside a Thai restaurant and pleaded with the owner who relented and said he would allow just the kid to use the facilities.
After that we tried to figure out where we wanted to eat. I suggested Thai, only because when the option is left to me I always suggest Thai. But it was still too early to eat, so we walked toward the Tower Bridge. A beautiful sight! We saw more of the cobble-stoned streets and alleys, quaint looking old apartments connected to each other by bridges, flower beds on window sills; a very pleasant English sight. I commented on how visually appealing everything was and Anjali told me how architecturally conscious the British really were. We emerged on the side of the City Hall – the mayoral offices – in a modernistic tilted helmet like glass structure, supposedly a metaphoric representation of the ushering in of an era of openness.
We had just finished talking about the architectural beauty of the city and in that context the glass structure and the building known as the Gherkin – also made of glass – were quite an aberration, to my eyes. I am usually all for modern structures but only when all they blend in well with existing structures, in London they don’t.
We kept walking until we came to what looked like restaurant row by the riverside. Anjali and Kishore pointed to one they said they frequented. I gave up on Thai and suggested we eat somewhere around there. Kishore went in to check if we could be seated outside at this place but they were already full and it was too nice an evening to spend inside. We walked on and noticed that several other restaurants were off limits to us because children weren’t allowed. We finally saw one that looked fine, allowed children and was going to find us seating outside – Brown’s. We got a pleasant enough table after a short wait.
Once the ordering was out of the way, we settled down for an evening of flowing conversation in a pleasant setting, watching dusk settle in over the Thames. We talked about several things – among them certain propensities that scientists attributed to the youngest male child in a family, a certain genetic predisposition. It was good for some laughs, since Kishore mentioned he was the youngest of all his siblings. We finally decided scientists were full of it and moved on to talk about our homes, our lives in the UK and the US, our future plans, Shakespeare and Company, monstrous egos, opinionated and arrogant behavior of certain ethnic groups, hypocrisy when it came to all matters related to sex etc.
The food arrived and was consumed, more drinks were ordered and the evening went on in an easy, unrushed fashion. Anoushka was quite enchanted by both Anjali and Kishore. She kept hugging Anjali for the longest time, ultimately deciding that they were her new parents. She told us we were still her parents but insisted that now she had two sets of parents, two mommies and two daddies, much to our hosts’ amusement.
We were sad to see the evening end as we parted company. We thanked Anjali and Kishore for a delightful evening and ever since then have been trying to address Anoushka’s repeated inquiries about when she’ll see her new mommy and daddy again!!
Saturday, July 8, 2006
Day 6 - London
The weather was nicer in London today. It even rained a bit. Our plan today was to see London in a very random fashion. We picked the brown Bakerloo line again, it appeared to be the line that hit many of the famous points of interest. Anil agreed I should lead the way today.
So I decided to start at Trafalgar Square. We alighted at the Charing Cross station. Anil, who unlike most men who get cursed for never asking for directions, can’t resist asking. He stopped at a newsstand and asked the lady where Trafalgar Square was. She pointed and said, “Right there!” In a way it was like Anil trying to find his wallet or watch or socks which are usually right in front of his nose but lost to him.
It was raining now and we didn’t sport a raincoat or fancy galoshes like most Londoners around us, we didn’t have umbrellas either, so it was a good thing that The National Gallery of Art was right there. We headed straight in. It was free, or rather, asked only for donations. It was quite an impressive museum displaying the art of Rubens, Rembrandt, Seurat, Van Dyck. I could have spent several hours admiring the works, the colors, the different effects that ‘Oil on Oak’ achieved from ‘Oil on Canvas’, I wanted to read each description and write things down, but a museum is quite a passive place for a child, perhaps even for husbands. The only thing that held Anoushka rapt for several minutes was an artist who was trying to reproduce one of the Rembrandts. She watched with great interest as he looked at the original from various perspectives, placing a small ruler in front of his eyes as a visual aid, as he replicated the exact angles and placements of objects. There were many artists with their easels parked in front of various paintings, trying their hand at some famous original work.
After ‘shopping and exiting’ we headed next to Regent’s Street. Anoushka had heard the tour guide on the first day talk about the largest toy store here – Hamley’s. So she had been asking us when she would be taken to the biggest toy store. So we were looking for Hamley’s on Regent’s Street and finally found it after a pleasant walk admiring all the ritzy stores and businesses that pay rent to the queen. Finally found Hamley’s and Anoushka went crazy right away, even though it wasn’t much different from our very own Toys ‘R’ Us.
It was large enough that I experienced several panic stricken moments there after Anil and Anoushka got separated from me. I couldn’t find them for several minutes. And I am not silly enough to panic about being lost but my fears stemmed from not knowing whether Anil and Anoushka were together and thinking what if she was wandering around in the store lost, would she hear and understand what she was being asked to do if she was paged, what if she walked out of the store looking for us, I was breaking out in a cold sweat when I heard myself being paged and asked to report to the customer service desk. Amazingly they didn’t even mangle my name. I was on the same floor as the customer service desk when I heard the page and was greeted by cheers not just from Anil and Anoushka and the staff at the desk but the other customers who had been told, “My wife is lost!”
After that little bit of excitement we decided to stop for lunch somewhere. There was a guy holding a sign for a Thai Buffet £4.40 only. So we headed in that direction. It was a small place that offered rice + four toppings for the very low price. The plate was heaped up, the food was good. This was better food, in a larger quantity than the meager offerings at the Indian restaurant on the first day that cost us £80.
Our feet were quite sore by now and after lunch we decided to head back to the hotel to rest for a couple of hours. We decided to do the rest of our rambling in the evening. I pored over the maps to plan our next move as we rested. I wanted to see Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre so that was where we were going to start the night.
We took the Circle Line train to Cannon Street; on the map I had it looked like all we’d have to do is cross the Southwark Bridge and we’d be right there. However, that wasn’t necessarily the case. Cannon Street station was also closing even though it was only 9:00 PM. This alarmed Anil and he started getting very anxious as the guy closing the gates kept trying to tell him that it wasn’t the end of the world and that there were several other stations nearby, “Not to worry, sir.” We walked on Cannon Street toward Upper Thames Street. It seemed to dead end at a famous looking restaurant – The Banker. There was a side alley that got us out of the dead end and we saw the London Bridge ahead. However, we didn’t see any steps that would take us up to the bridge. We asked someone again and they helpfully pointed to stairs that were once again, “Right there!” We were then on our way, headed toward City of London.
It was a beautiful evening, a very slight but welcome chill in the air after the unbearable heat of the last few days. The sun was setting and the occasion was quite memorable. The silver dragon at the end of the bridge marked the city limits. We were now in the City of London. I guess this would be like Old London if they called it that, but they don’t. There were some gruesome things to see this side of the bridge – the Dungeons of London, the Clink Prison but this is where we started feeling the real flavor of London. We walked to the right of the London Bridge Underground, following the signs for Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. The path took us to impressive Southwark Cathedral, Clink Prison (1151-1780 – the most notorious medieval prison) and an infinite number of pubs and drinkers lined up outside waiting for tables, several beers already consumed. There was an interesting place called the Vinopolis Wine Wharf, a large wine mall, I suppose, and we kept asking about the Globe Theatre and walking. We finally saw it – Shakespeare’s Globe, built where the first Globe theatre once stood. The shows these days are booked well in advance and the Thakurs being such spur of the moment travelers are never able to enjoy anything that requires advance booking and elaborate planning. But it was interesting to see the inside of the theatre. There was a miniature model of the original displayed inside and the new theatre was an exact modern replica of the first one. I picked up as many pamphlets and brochures as I could and shopped for some Shakespearean merchandise.
This part of London was exciting. We felt we could have spent several hours here if we had found a babysitter for Anoushka. There was a ritzy looking Pizza restaurant there – Pizza Express. I would have preferred another restaurant but Anoushka loves pizza, so does Anil, so we were Pizza Express bound. The name does sound like a fast food place but it was a rather nice restaurant, people were more dressed up than they would be at a pizza joint in the US. Anoushka closed her eyes as she relished her pizza, declaring it the best pizza she had ever had. Then she rubbed her tummy and said, “Ummmmmmmmm, that was yummy in my tummy!” Anil enjoyed his Pizza Diavolo as well. I had ordered Tortellini which was also quite delicious. Our drinks were the most interesting – Sicilian Blood Orange Juice and Sicilian Lemonade for Anoushka.
By the time the check got paid it was 11:15 PM. Anil was convinced that the last train to Paddington was at 11:53 PM. So we rushed out and walked to the London Bridge Station. We took the Jubilee Line to Waterloo, changed to the Bakerloo Line there and were at Paddington by midnight, before our coach turned into a pumpkin again.
I feel like a local here now and it’s a shame that pumpkin hour will hit for sure day after tomorrow when we head back to New Jersey. But we still have tomorrow, let’s see what tomorrow brings!
So I decided to start at Trafalgar Square. We alighted at the Charing Cross station. Anil, who unlike most men who get cursed for never asking for directions, can’t resist asking. He stopped at a newsstand and asked the lady where Trafalgar Square was. She pointed and said, “Right there!” In a way it was like Anil trying to find his wallet or watch or socks which are usually right in front of his nose but lost to him.
It was raining now and we didn’t sport a raincoat or fancy galoshes like most Londoners around us, we didn’t have umbrellas either, so it was a good thing that The National Gallery of Art was right there. We headed straight in. It was free, or rather, asked only for donations. It was quite an impressive museum displaying the art of Rubens, Rembrandt, Seurat, Van Dyck. I could have spent several hours admiring the works, the colors, the different effects that ‘Oil on Oak’ achieved from ‘Oil on Canvas’, I wanted to read each description and write things down, but a museum is quite a passive place for a child, perhaps even for husbands. The only thing that held Anoushka rapt for several minutes was an artist who was trying to reproduce one of the Rembrandts. She watched with great interest as he looked at the original from various perspectives, placing a small ruler in front of his eyes as a visual aid, as he replicated the exact angles and placements of objects. There were many artists with their easels parked in front of various paintings, trying their hand at some famous original work.
After ‘shopping and exiting’ we headed next to Regent’s Street. Anoushka had heard the tour guide on the first day talk about the largest toy store here – Hamley’s. So she had been asking us when she would be taken to the biggest toy store. So we were looking for Hamley’s on Regent’s Street and finally found it after a pleasant walk admiring all the ritzy stores and businesses that pay rent to the queen. Finally found Hamley’s and Anoushka went crazy right away, even though it wasn’t much different from our very own Toys ‘R’ Us.
It was large enough that I experienced several panic stricken moments there after Anil and Anoushka got separated from me. I couldn’t find them for several minutes. And I am not silly enough to panic about being lost but my fears stemmed from not knowing whether Anil and Anoushka were together and thinking what if she was wandering around in the store lost, would she hear and understand what she was being asked to do if she was paged, what if she walked out of the store looking for us, I was breaking out in a cold sweat when I heard myself being paged and asked to report to the customer service desk. Amazingly they didn’t even mangle my name. I was on the same floor as the customer service desk when I heard the page and was greeted by cheers not just from Anil and Anoushka and the staff at the desk but the other customers who had been told, “My wife is lost!”
After that little bit of excitement we decided to stop for lunch somewhere. There was a guy holding a sign for a Thai Buffet £4.40 only. So we headed in that direction. It was a small place that offered rice + four toppings for the very low price. The plate was heaped up, the food was good. This was better food, in a larger quantity than the meager offerings at the Indian restaurant on the first day that cost us £80.
Our feet were quite sore by now and after lunch we decided to head back to the hotel to rest for a couple of hours. We decided to do the rest of our rambling in the evening. I pored over the maps to plan our next move as we rested. I wanted to see Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre so that was where we were going to start the night.
We took the Circle Line train to Cannon Street; on the map I had it looked like all we’d have to do is cross the Southwark Bridge and we’d be right there. However, that wasn’t necessarily the case. Cannon Street station was also closing even though it was only 9:00 PM. This alarmed Anil and he started getting very anxious as the guy closing the gates kept trying to tell him that it wasn’t the end of the world and that there were several other stations nearby, “Not to worry, sir.” We walked on Cannon Street toward Upper Thames Street. It seemed to dead end at a famous looking restaurant – The Banker. There was a side alley that got us out of the dead end and we saw the London Bridge ahead. However, we didn’t see any steps that would take us up to the bridge. We asked someone again and they helpfully pointed to stairs that were once again, “Right there!” We were then on our way, headed toward City of London.
It was a beautiful evening, a very slight but welcome chill in the air after the unbearable heat of the last few days. The sun was setting and the occasion was quite memorable. The silver dragon at the end of the bridge marked the city limits. We were now in the City of London. I guess this would be like Old London if they called it that, but they don’t. There were some gruesome things to see this side of the bridge – the Dungeons of London, the Clink Prison but this is where we started feeling the real flavor of London. We walked to the right of the London Bridge Underground, following the signs for Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. The path took us to impressive Southwark Cathedral, Clink Prison (1151-1780 – the most notorious medieval prison) and an infinite number of pubs and drinkers lined up outside waiting for tables, several beers already consumed. There was an interesting place called the Vinopolis Wine Wharf, a large wine mall, I suppose, and we kept asking about the Globe Theatre and walking. We finally saw it – Shakespeare’s Globe, built where the first Globe theatre once stood. The shows these days are booked well in advance and the Thakurs being such spur of the moment travelers are never able to enjoy anything that requires advance booking and elaborate planning. But it was interesting to see the inside of the theatre. There was a miniature model of the original displayed inside and the new theatre was an exact modern replica of the first one. I picked up as many pamphlets and brochures as I could and shopped for some Shakespearean merchandise.
This part of London was exciting. We felt we could have spent several hours here if we had found a babysitter for Anoushka. There was a ritzy looking Pizza restaurant there – Pizza Express. I would have preferred another restaurant but Anoushka loves pizza, so does Anil, so we were Pizza Express bound. The name does sound like a fast food place but it was a rather nice restaurant, people were more dressed up than they would be at a pizza joint in the US. Anoushka closed her eyes as she relished her pizza, declaring it the best pizza she had ever had. Then she rubbed her tummy and said, “Ummmmmmmmm, that was yummy in my tummy!” Anil enjoyed his Pizza Diavolo as well. I had ordered Tortellini which was also quite delicious. Our drinks were the most interesting – Sicilian Blood Orange Juice and Sicilian Lemonade for Anoushka.
By the time the check got paid it was 11:15 PM. Anil was convinced that the last train to Paddington was at 11:53 PM. So we rushed out and walked to the London Bridge Station. We took the Jubilee Line to Waterloo, changed to the Bakerloo Line there and were at Paddington by midnight, before our coach turned into a pumpkin again.
I feel like a local here now and it’s a shame that pumpkin hour will hit for sure day after tomorrow when we head back to New Jersey. But we still have tomorrow, let’s see what tomorrow brings!
Friday, July 7, 2006
Day 5 - Back in London
There isn’t much to write about on Day 5. We spent the day traveling back to London aboard the Eurostar and touring Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. We didn’t have the energy to do much more than that.
Madame Tussaud’s was quite an intriguing place. The latest exhibit – Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow from the movie The Pirates of the Caribbean – was amazingly life like.
I enjoyed the older sections as well. But first I had to tell myself to stop feeling silly and start doing what the other tourists were doing, that is, standing in line to get their pictures taken with wax images of popular persons.
I chose Alfred Hitchcock, Shakespeare and Charlie Chaplin as the dead people with whom I wanted to be seen. I also took a long, good look at Alfred Hitchcock and Queen Victoria, these two wax images could have very well been fashioned from the very same mold! The facial features, the height, the physical proportions were exactly identical! That was my discovery of the day.
We also got a brief glimpse of the Chamber of Horrors. I would have liked to see it, its gruesome promise was compelling but Anoushka’s screams were as daunting as the Chamber itself, so we rushed out of there after managing a cursory look. The last part of the experience was fun as well – a ride within the museum in miniature London taxicabs that takes you on a tour of London over the centuries. It was a delightful experience.
Then we left the museum, walked around Baker Street, saw the famous Sherlock Holmes statue, got ourselves photographed next to it and settled down for dinner at Bizzarro – Ristorante Italiano. And thus ended Day 5.
Tomorrow we plan to take the Bakerloo line to various points of interest – The National Gallery of Art, Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus and Regent’s Park. Then stroll through Hyde Park and see Kensington Palace. We’ll leave the British Museum for Saturday. That’s the plan, let’s see how it goes.
Madame Tussaud’s was quite an intriguing place. The latest exhibit – Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow from the movie The Pirates of the Caribbean – was amazingly life like.
I enjoyed the older sections as well. But first I had to tell myself to stop feeling silly and start doing what the other tourists were doing, that is, standing in line to get their pictures taken with wax images of popular persons.
I chose Alfred Hitchcock, Shakespeare and Charlie Chaplin as the dead people with whom I wanted to be seen. I also took a long, good look at Alfred Hitchcock and Queen Victoria, these two wax images could have very well been fashioned from the very same mold! The facial features, the height, the physical proportions were exactly identical! That was my discovery of the day.
We also got a brief glimpse of the Chamber of Horrors. I would have liked to see it, its gruesome promise was compelling but Anoushka’s screams were as daunting as the Chamber itself, so we rushed out of there after managing a cursory look. The last part of the experience was fun as well – a ride within the museum in miniature London taxicabs that takes you on a tour of London over the centuries. It was a delightful experience.
Then we left the museum, walked around Baker Street, saw the famous Sherlock Holmes statue, got ourselves photographed next to it and settled down for dinner at Bizzarro – Ristorante Italiano. And thus ended Day 5.
Tomorrow we plan to take the Bakerloo line to various points of interest – The National Gallery of Art, Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus and Regent’s Park. Then stroll through Hyde Park and see Kensington Palace. We’ll leave the British Museum for Saturday. That’s the plan, let’s see how it goes.
Thursday, July 6, 2006
Paris - Day 4 - Let's Start with How We Ended the Day
We ended the day at Café de Capucine on Avenue de L’Opera. Our feet were blistered from ten to twelve hours of walking. Anil’s shoulders were probably blistered from serving as Anoushka’s palanquin du jour.
It had been an eventful day, one that ended with resounding loud cheers going up at our restaurant and on the streets as France emerged victorious against worthy opponent Portugal in a 1-0 nail-biting finish that sent France to the World Cup finals. I had never before observed a football mad nation in the event of a favorable outcome. The car horns were being sounded non-stop as the sidewalks started crowding with people dancing in the streets or hugging and kissing total strangers. They were all draped in the French red, blue and white and cheers were going up non-stop. It was hard not to get caught up in the jubilation and the celebrations. It was fun to watch one of the waiters at our restaurant take off his tie with a flourish and walk off duty to join the crowds on the sidewalk as we savored our delicious lamb and rice and watched. Anil was watching the French celebrate. He had seen the Italians in France take to the streets the night before. He was placing bets with our waitress on how long it would be before the Italians joined the French on the streets, once again, to taunt each other about the upcoming finals. The waitress said, “Oh no m’sieu, zey not come out, zey know zis ees France!” But sure enough, pretty soon we were seeing young Italian people hanging out of their car windows and matching the French honk for honk, breaking beer bottles along the way.
The city had been dead all evening as people sat hunched together in sports bars and pubs, glued to the television. Then France had scored and we’d heard loud whoops of joy that lasted a couple of seconds before they settled back to watch; tense once again. We were near our hotel but not near enough when France scored and were sort of confused about the general direction in which we needed to proceed. So we started looking for cabs. The streets looked quite deserted and shops dark, the only sound was the muted, crackling of TVs coming from restaurants and bars. We finally found a taxi driver about to end his shift and settle himself in front of a screen. Hotel Scribe must have been on his way back so he agreed to take us there.
This is the scene and this is the sense of sporty excitement that Anil was afraid of missing as we were traversing the Seine in a Bateau Parisiens.
Throughout the ride he was giving me a hard time about what a big day this was for our host nation. Everytime he said this I disdainfully replied, “So?” He was quite annoyed with me for having subject him to a boat ride when he could have been watching the game. So I spent the ride pointing out various points of interest to Anoushka, until he couldn’t resist the fun and joined in.
The left and the right banks by the Seine are always rife with romance, with people holding each other close, women sitting in the laps of their significant others while roving hands explored various points of interest on their bodies and kisses that never seemed to end. They would straighten up and fix themselves to wave at the passing boats and then resume where they left off. The areas right underneath the various bridges showed some signs of improvement in that the vagrants and the homeless looked better off this time. They had tents. The last time we took this ride they were quite exposed to the elements. There were 5 to 6 colorful tents on either bank underneath each bridge.
Before getting on the boat we had spent some time at the Eiffel Tower. We had approached it from the Rive Gauche for the first time in four visits, realizing that the left bank side offers the best vantage points for getting a photograph that shows the entire tower.
I had tried from the opposite side on previous occasions but just couldn’t step far enough back to fit the entire tower in the frame. Which is probably why the post-wedding photographs of a Japanese couple were being shot exactly at that point. The photographer was running around with the mile long trail of the bride’s dress, rearranging it in the most appealing ways, the groom was trying to lift the bride up in a photograph, nearly dropping her once. This indeed was the most amusing Eiffel Tower experience ever.
There isn’t a better way to see a city than on foot, walking through the narrow alleys, observing the locals and this makes even more sense in a city like Paris that never fails to enchant. Most pleasures are short-lived, lasting only as long as the mystery does, but Paris guards her mysteries well. It was my fifth visit to the city and this was the first time that I had a chance to walk through one of these famous outdoor markets, reading signs that said floriste, boulangerie, patisserie, fromagerie etc. Fresh fruits and vegetables were displayed most appealingly and people were lined up for their yard long French breads. This was all on Rue Cler.
We had found Rue Cler quite by accident as we tried to find the Eiffel Tower by line of sight since we weren’t in a hurry, didn’t mind getting lost and were too lazy to consult a map de Paris again. The tower however always was further away than it appeared and we ended up taking several smaller cobble-stoned roads crowded with people, their poodles and their poodles dirty deeds (always amazed at the side-stepping required on Paris streets, especially on the left bank).
That brings us to the start of the day which was spent determining our coordinates, making a decision to walk toward the Jardin de Tuileries and the Louvre.
We reached the edge of the Louvre, several melted ice creams, bottled water and Diet Coke bottles later, only to find that the area of the Jardin immediately preceding the premises of the Louvre, adjacent to the Rue de Rivoli, has been converted to a mini-amusement park. There was a large ferris wheel – Le Roue de Paris – that neither Anoushka nor I could resist (I simply love ferris wheels). It was 3:00 PM by the time we reached this amusement park. But Anoushka was in love with the place. She needed to get on the carousel, jump on the trampolines, win contests and buy candy. She refused to leave! I kept saying, “Anoushka, Mommy wants to see a museum!” But my pleas fell on unhearing ears. By the time we managed to separate her from the trampolines it was 4:30 PM.
I have been coming to Paris since 1997 and have yet to finish seeing all the museums and other points of interest here. There is never enough time to do everything there is to be done. I have visited different sections of the Louvre during other visits to Paris. This time I wasn’t keen on repeating the experience, especially in a post Da Vinci Code world, which can effectively be called the rediscovery of this famous point of interest. Everyone wants to pay a visit. There are guided walking tours on the bestseller’s theme. I was in favor of skipping it this time and since I always miss out on the Musee D’Orsay, was quite determined to get there this time. Impressionist art was calling out to me. I studied the map and figured out that we needed to cross the Seine at Pont Royale and turn right. So we headed that way. Once again, we underestimated how long it would take to cross the bridge with a four year old and how much of a walk it really was. By the time we reached the museum, the security guard delivered the crushing blow that the museum was about to close in fifteen minutes and that they weren’t allowing any more visitors.
I was saddened beyond belief. I sulked and pretended not to talk to Anoushka for a few minutes telling her that her rides had made me miss my museum visits. She took me very seriously and cried for hours, telling her father that this mommy was mean and that she wanted a new mommy ASAP. We made up after enjoying this prelude to the kinds of fights that might be more real and may happen for sure when little Miss Anoushka is in her teens!
It had been an eventful day, one that ended with resounding loud cheers going up at our restaurant and on the streets as France emerged victorious against worthy opponent Portugal in a 1-0 nail-biting finish that sent France to the World Cup finals. I had never before observed a football mad nation in the event of a favorable outcome. The car horns were being sounded non-stop as the sidewalks started crowding with people dancing in the streets or hugging and kissing total strangers. They were all draped in the French red, blue and white and cheers were going up non-stop. It was hard not to get caught up in the jubilation and the celebrations. It was fun to watch one of the waiters at our restaurant take off his tie with a flourish and walk off duty to join the crowds on the sidewalk as we savored our delicious lamb and rice and watched. Anil was watching the French celebrate. He had seen the Italians in France take to the streets the night before. He was placing bets with our waitress on how long it would be before the Italians joined the French on the streets, once again, to taunt each other about the upcoming finals. The waitress said, “Oh no m’sieu, zey not come out, zey know zis ees France!” But sure enough, pretty soon we were seeing young Italian people hanging out of their car windows and matching the French honk for honk, breaking beer bottles along the way.
The city had been dead all evening as people sat hunched together in sports bars and pubs, glued to the television. Then France had scored and we’d heard loud whoops of joy that lasted a couple of seconds before they settled back to watch; tense once again. We were near our hotel but not near enough when France scored and were sort of confused about the general direction in which we needed to proceed. So we started looking for cabs. The streets looked quite deserted and shops dark, the only sound was the muted, crackling of TVs coming from restaurants and bars. We finally found a taxi driver about to end his shift and settle himself in front of a screen. Hotel Scribe must have been on his way back so he agreed to take us there.
This is the scene and this is the sense of sporty excitement that Anil was afraid of missing as we were traversing the Seine in a Bateau Parisiens.
Throughout the ride he was giving me a hard time about what a big day this was for our host nation. Everytime he said this I disdainfully replied, “So?” He was quite annoyed with me for having subject him to a boat ride when he could have been watching the game. So I spent the ride pointing out various points of interest to Anoushka, until he couldn’t resist the fun and joined in.
The left and the right banks by the Seine are always rife with romance, with people holding each other close, women sitting in the laps of their significant others while roving hands explored various points of interest on their bodies and kisses that never seemed to end. They would straighten up and fix themselves to wave at the passing boats and then resume where they left off. The areas right underneath the various bridges showed some signs of improvement in that the vagrants and the homeless looked better off this time. They had tents. The last time we took this ride they were quite exposed to the elements. There were 5 to 6 colorful tents on either bank underneath each bridge.
Before getting on the boat we had spent some time at the Eiffel Tower. We had approached it from the Rive Gauche for the first time in four visits, realizing that the left bank side offers the best vantage points for getting a photograph that shows the entire tower.
I had tried from the opposite side on previous occasions but just couldn’t step far enough back to fit the entire tower in the frame. Which is probably why the post-wedding photographs of a Japanese couple were being shot exactly at that point. The photographer was running around with the mile long trail of the bride’s dress, rearranging it in the most appealing ways, the groom was trying to lift the bride up in a photograph, nearly dropping her once. This indeed was the most amusing Eiffel Tower experience ever.
There isn’t a better way to see a city than on foot, walking through the narrow alleys, observing the locals and this makes even more sense in a city like Paris that never fails to enchant. Most pleasures are short-lived, lasting only as long as the mystery does, but Paris guards her mysteries well. It was my fifth visit to the city and this was the first time that I had a chance to walk through one of these famous outdoor markets, reading signs that said floriste, boulangerie, patisserie, fromagerie etc. Fresh fruits and vegetables were displayed most appealingly and people were lined up for their yard long French breads. This was all on Rue Cler.
We had found Rue Cler quite by accident as we tried to find the Eiffel Tower by line of sight since we weren’t in a hurry, didn’t mind getting lost and were too lazy to consult a map de Paris again. The tower however always was further away than it appeared and we ended up taking several smaller cobble-stoned roads crowded with people, their poodles and their poodles dirty deeds (always amazed at the side-stepping required on Paris streets, especially on the left bank).
That brings us to the start of the day which was spent determining our coordinates, making a decision to walk toward the Jardin de Tuileries and the Louvre.
We reached the edge of the Louvre, several melted ice creams, bottled water and Diet Coke bottles later, only to find that the area of the Jardin immediately preceding the premises of the Louvre, adjacent to the Rue de Rivoli, has been converted to a mini-amusement park. There was a large ferris wheel – Le Roue de Paris – that neither Anoushka nor I could resist (I simply love ferris wheels). It was 3:00 PM by the time we reached this amusement park. But Anoushka was in love with the place. She needed to get on the carousel, jump on the trampolines, win contests and buy candy. She refused to leave! I kept saying, “Anoushka, Mommy wants to see a museum!” But my pleas fell on unhearing ears. By the time we managed to separate her from the trampolines it was 4:30 PM.
I have been coming to Paris since 1997 and have yet to finish seeing all the museums and other points of interest here. There is never enough time to do everything there is to be done. I have visited different sections of the Louvre during other visits to Paris. This time I wasn’t keen on repeating the experience, especially in a post Da Vinci Code world, which can effectively be called the rediscovery of this famous point of interest. Everyone wants to pay a visit. There are guided walking tours on the bestseller’s theme. I was in favor of skipping it this time and since I always miss out on the Musee D’Orsay, was quite determined to get there this time. Impressionist art was calling out to me. I studied the map and figured out that we needed to cross the Seine at Pont Royale and turn right. So we headed that way. Once again, we underestimated how long it would take to cross the bridge with a four year old and how much of a walk it really was. By the time we reached the museum, the security guard delivered the crushing blow that the museum was about to close in fifteen minutes and that they weren’t allowing any more visitors.
I was saddened beyond belief. I sulked and pretended not to talk to Anoushka for a few minutes telling her that her rides had made me miss my museum visits. She took me very seriously and cried for hours, telling her father that this mommy was mean and that she wanted a new mommy ASAP. We made up after enjoying this prelude to the kinds of fights that might be more real and may happen for sure when little Miss Anoushka is in her teens!
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
Troisième Jour de Vacances
The third day in London was the 15th anniversary of our wedding. Where have all the years gone? We were headed for Paris today. We had heard how convenient it now was to cross the English Channel by simply hopping into a train in London and emerging in Paris. We had talked about it for days. We had booked a hotel in Paris. Anil’s luck at priceline.com had held steady and we were looking forward to Hotel Scribe, a famous five star hotel on Rue Scribe in the deuxieme arrondissement on the Rive Droite (right bank).
So we took the Circle Line train to the Waterloo Station and followed the signs right up to Waterloo International and Eurostar. There was a long line for “Immediate Ticket Sales”. Someone had looked at us in amazement the night before as if we were the dumbest travelers ever when we said we hadn’t booked our tickets yet. In several minutes we were going to find out we were. We had been told exactly what the ticket sales agent said when we reached the front of the line, “You want to buy teecket now?”. We said yes. He looked at his screen and said that the round trip ticket to Paris was going to be £298 per adult and £149 for the child. After doing our mental math for conversion to dollars we felt the earth slipping from under our feet. I am sure we looked as though we needed resuscitation. This was a $1,400 shock that we hadn’t anticipated.
We had no one to blame for our lack of information in this information age. The ticket agent told us that Eurostar tickets needed to be booked three months in advance if one wanted to pay no more than £60 for an adult round trip Eurostar ticket. In our defense, we didn’t even know this trip was going to happen three months ago. When we recovered from our initial shock we started talking about canceling our hotel reservation in Paris. That didn’t seem to be an option however, since it was quite expensive and non-refundable. We were trying to work out the least expensive way out of the mess, and just beginning the blame game, “Why didn’t you find out? Why didn’t you!!?? Why do I have to do everything? Mommy, Daddy, don’t fight…for the last time, if you fight one more time I’ll look for new parents! That’s it!” It certainly wasn’t ideal anniversary dialogue!
The ticket agent took pity on us. He sensed our genuine plight and just as Anil was handing him the credit card to go ahead and hit us with the full charge, he told us to hang on. He played with his computer for what seemed like an eternity and finally turned to us and said that he had an option for us to consider. He told us that the best he could do was sell us two sets of tickets, one set to be used now and the next set sometime in the future, three months from now but within the year. Buying the two sets of round trip tickets, one of which can only be used in October and November of 2006 helped us knock $700 from what we would have had to pay otherwise. Still not ideal but certainly something the mind could rationalize more easily. I doubt there are any impetuous or rather, dumb, travelers like us out there, but if there are they will know what not to do when contemplating a trip from London to Paris aboard the Eurostar.
The train ride itself is quite pleasant.
It is underneath the channel for only about twenty minutes, otherwise we get to see quite a bit of the English and French countryside in passing. The trip lasted two hours and forty minutes and we alighted at Gare du Nord in Paris.
I am always impressed with the majestic train stations in Europe and the number of train users. One hardly mentions trains in the US unless one lives in New York or Washington DC. Grand Central in NYC and Union Square Station in DC are also extremely impressive but trains and train stations are so much more a part of life everywhere else.
I have been to Paris before and have had the wonderful experience of lining up for taxis outside the airport or train stations. The line at Gare du Nord was at least a mile long. Anil was getting quite impatient wondering why he just couldn’t break out of the line and hail a cab like we could in Manhattan. I just asked him to chill out and enjoy the experience.
The line didn’t seem to bother anyone else there. We stood there for about an hour and a half as the taxis kept coming and picking up passengers from the front of the line. As we got closer to the end we were able to witness the source of the delay. It was a 300 lbs woman and her friend with several pieces of luggage who the taxi dispatcher was trying to bundle up into the taxi. If the people got in all the luggage couldn’t and if the luggage was packed into the tiny Peugeot taxis then there was no room for our rather weighty passengers. They tried on several taxis for size until they were forced to give up and the friends and their luggage was split up into two cabs before the line finally moved again. It was 8:00 PM by the time we checked in at Hotel Scribe.
Hotel Scribe is quite impressive. It appears to be a landmark hotel frequented by writers. Pictures of Marcel Proust grace the hallways and the walls are papered with blown up lines of handwritten text.
I am determined to learn more about it tomorrow, our first full day in Paris. We got settled into our beautiful room which has a balcony overlooking a courtyard and windows with flowerbeds, very French, trés elegante. We left again for a nighttime walk around the Galeries Lafayette and L’Opera, followed by dinner. More tomorrow!
So we took the Circle Line train to the Waterloo Station and followed the signs right up to Waterloo International and Eurostar. There was a long line for “Immediate Ticket Sales”. Someone had looked at us in amazement the night before as if we were the dumbest travelers ever when we said we hadn’t booked our tickets yet. In several minutes we were going to find out we were. We had been told exactly what the ticket sales agent said when we reached the front of the line, “You want to buy teecket now?”. We said yes. He looked at his screen and said that the round trip ticket to Paris was going to be £298 per adult and £149 for the child. After doing our mental math for conversion to dollars we felt the earth slipping from under our feet. I am sure we looked as though we needed resuscitation. This was a $1,400 shock that we hadn’t anticipated.
We had no one to blame for our lack of information in this information age. The ticket agent told us that Eurostar tickets needed to be booked three months in advance if one wanted to pay no more than £60 for an adult round trip Eurostar ticket. In our defense, we didn’t even know this trip was going to happen three months ago. When we recovered from our initial shock we started talking about canceling our hotel reservation in Paris. That didn’t seem to be an option however, since it was quite expensive and non-refundable. We were trying to work out the least expensive way out of the mess, and just beginning the blame game, “Why didn’t you find out? Why didn’t you!!?? Why do I have to do everything? Mommy, Daddy, don’t fight…for the last time, if you fight one more time I’ll look for new parents! That’s it!” It certainly wasn’t ideal anniversary dialogue!
The ticket agent took pity on us. He sensed our genuine plight and just as Anil was handing him the credit card to go ahead and hit us with the full charge, he told us to hang on. He played with his computer for what seemed like an eternity and finally turned to us and said that he had an option for us to consider. He told us that the best he could do was sell us two sets of tickets, one set to be used now and the next set sometime in the future, three months from now but within the year. Buying the two sets of round trip tickets, one of which can only be used in October and November of 2006 helped us knock $700 from what we would have had to pay otherwise. Still not ideal but certainly something the mind could rationalize more easily. I doubt there are any impetuous or rather, dumb, travelers like us out there, but if there are they will know what not to do when contemplating a trip from London to Paris aboard the Eurostar.
The train ride itself is quite pleasant.
It is underneath the channel for only about twenty minutes, otherwise we get to see quite a bit of the English and French countryside in passing. The trip lasted two hours and forty minutes and we alighted at Gare du Nord in Paris.
I am always impressed with the majestic train stations in Europe and the number of train users. One hardly mentions trains in the US unless one lives in New York or Washington DC. Grand Central in NYC and Union Square Station in DC are also extremely impressive but trains and train stations are so much more a part of life everywhere else.
I have been to Paris before and have had the wonderful experience of lining up for taxis outside the airport or train stations. The line at Gare du Nord was at least a mile long. Anil was getting quite impatient wondering why he just couldn’t break out of the line and hail a cab like we could in Manhattan. I just asked him to chill out and enjoy the experience.
The line didn’t seem to bother anyone else there. We stood there for about an hour and a half as the taxis kept coming and picking up passengers from the front of the line. As we got closer to the end we were able to witness the source of the delay. It was a 300 lbs woman and her friend with several pieces of luggage who the taxi dispatcher was trying to bundle up into the taxi. If the people got in all the luggage couldn’t and if the luggage was packed into the tiny Peugeot taxis then there was no room for our rather weighty passengers. They tried on several taxis for size until they were forced to give up and the friends and their luggage was split up into two cabs before the line finally moved again. It was 8:00 PM by the time we checked in at Hotel Scribe.
Hotel Scribe is quite impressive. It appears to be a landmark hotel frequented by writers. Pictures of Marcel Proust grace the hallways and the walls are papered with blown up lines of handwritten text.
I am determined to learn more about it tomorrow, our first full day in Paris. We got settled into our beautiful room which has a balcony overlooking a courtyard and windows with flowerbeds, very French, trés elegante. We left again for a nighttime walk around the Galeries Lafayette and L’Opera, followed by dinner. More tomorrow!
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