Category: Travels With Victoria

LOOSE IN LONDON: KRISTINE MUSES ABOUT HIGHGATE CEMETERY

Highgate Cemetery is another of those places that have been on my bucket list for years. I’ve always wanted to visit, but somehow never had the luxury of time in order to add it to past itineraries. So, after Kenwood House in the morning, Victoria and I headed over to Highgate via the bus. The bus itself was another thing I’d never done before – whilst navigating my way across London and England via the tube and railway seems easy peasey, the bus system mystified me before Victoria took me in hand and explained all the vagaries of the process. I admit I’m still a bit puzzled, as often during the coming weeks Victoriawould say that the approaching bus wasn’t the one we were waiting for, but let’s get on anyways. Huh? Why are we getting on a bus that isn’t ours? It doesn’t matter, she’d say, climbing aboard. I, of course, followed. Blindly and like a trusting sheep. Granted, we always reached our destination, but I still don’t have the whole bus thing down in my head, so I doubt I’ll be using it again if I’m in London without Victoria (quelle horror!).
The weather was glorious – warm and mild, with bouts of watery sunshine. And I was still wearing my fur lined boots. That morning, Victoria had found me sitting on the side of my bed, applying cushioned bandages to my feet.
“What are you doing?” she’d asked.
“Covering my blisters. Then I’m going to put on socks and then my boots.”
“Not those fur lined boots again!”
“Have to. They’re the only shoes I’ve got with me that don’t cause me to scream in pain with every step.”
“Do you really need all those band aids?” I raised my as yet unbandaged foot so that she could get a better look. “Holy Crow! I had no idea your feet were that bad!”
“Thus the fur-lined boots. And the fact that I’ve got no shame in wearing them in the middle of a balmy English summer. We have so much to do, none of which I want to miss out on, so band-aids it is. As Wellington said, `A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.’”
“He did not. Wellingtondid not say that.”
“You don’t think so?” I said, ripping open another plaster. “I’ll bet he did. Many times. Think about it.”
“Okay, he might have said something along those lines, but who really said it?”
“John Wayne. And maybe Winston Churchill.”
So now here we were, on the bus traveling from Kenwood House in Hampstead towards Highgate Cemetery. As we rode, I thought about what Victoriahad said at Kenwood – that I always expect there to be people at these sites who are dressed in period costume. Sometimes, no kidding, I do find myself a tad disappointed in the reality of a place. I do expect period people to be present. Georgiana should be strolling the grounds at Chatsworth, complete with straw bonnet and a saucy tilt to her chin. Brummell should be sauntering up St. James’s Street with a walking stick in hand and clever insults at the ready. A carriage or two, along with a fresh pile of horse manure, would not go amiss. It would add to the period ambiance. As would a regiment of foot practicing squares in Hyde Park. Or milkmaids standing round Green Park with their cows nearby. I want to eat ices at Gunter’s and present my card at Apsley House, preferably to FitzRoy Somerset himself. I’d like to be able to visit Almack’s in order to see, first hand, just how lousy the refreshments were. I want to look up in the sky and witness balloon ascents. And go to the Exeter Change. I want a waterman to row me across the Thames to Vauxhall Gardens. If I met Caro Lamb and Princess Lieven, would they be as awful as I imagine they were? Would the original Earl Grey tea really taste like the 21st Century blend? How long would I last without Bacardi rum? Did Queen Victoria really bray like a donkey when she laughed? Was Prince Leopold really drop dead gorgeous at the time of his wedding to Princess Charlotte? 
“Our stop is next,” Victoriasaid, bringing me out of my reverie. We were almost at Highgate Cemetery– I’d finally be able to strike it off my bucket list. And it would most certainly not disappoint as the place would be filled with period people. Granted, they’d be dead and buried and not on view as they strolled the paths, but technically they’d still be there. 

 Highgate Cemetery Coming Soon!

LOOSE IN LONDON: KRISTINE'S FIRST DAY – PART THREE

Victoria arrives!

In front of the hotel
Victoria here.  You wouldn’t believe the scene I encountered upon entering our room at the Sloane Square Hotel.  Kristine, usually smiling and eager — Kristine, usually dressed attractively and appropriately — Kristine, usually eager to impart all her latest adventures — yes, this Kristine was a faint shadow of herself.  I won’t describe her appearance or her demeanor any further.  You wouldn’t believe it!
Of course I had been in France for two weeks before kissing Hubby goodbye at DeGaulle and flying to Londonwhile he returned home to the US. I was thoroughly accustomed to the time zone. I was ready for our big London fiesta: over three weeks in heaven — exploring, learning, photographing, leading The Duke of Wellington tour, more touring — a perfect storm of delight.
Kristine and I had been looking forward to this first meeting of ours in London, which would signal the beginning of our long anticipated English Idyll. So who was this disheveled half-conscious wraith that faced me now upon my arrival in our cluttered room, already looking like the typhoon had just passed on? Well, never one to coddle — or condescend — I shed my own two, compact travel bags and began to chatter.  “We had a great time in Paris, blah, blah, blah…”
Two eyes made a valiant effort to open wide…and failed.  Slight acknowledgement of my arrival with a nod.
“We went to Malmaison, loved the Rodin Museum, blah, blah, yadda…..why are you sitting there in the window like that? Were you watching for me?”
At last, the wraith sat up and came alive.  “No. I didn’t want to lay on the bed because I’d have fallen asleep and then I’d screw up my sleep pattern. I have to stay awake until bedtime tonight. So, here I am, looking out of the bay window just like Brummell at Whites.”
Well, not exactly, but close enough.  We managed a big hug and, ever so gingerly, Kristine began telling me of her ordeal.  And there was Big Red, all right.  Immense enough to carry supplies for the Siege of Badjos, as well as several boxes of materials for the Wellington Tour. 
Aha!  No wonder Kristine felt like a beast of burden — she had way too much to carry. 
Kristine picks up the tale –
“I need a drink,” I told Victoria.
“I shouldn’t wonder,” she replied. “The state of you!”
“Duke of Wellington pub?”
“Absolutely! As planned. Egad, but we’ve been looking forward to this moment for months now. Our first drink together in London! Almost a month of Wellingtonmerriment ahead of us! Downton Abbey! Copenhagen! The WellingtonTour! Open Houses Weekend! Mudlarking! . . . . . . . why on earth are you wearing those things?”
I’d pulled on my fur topped boots while Victoria was rhapsodizing about the weeks ahead of us. “You’re going to have to trust me on this – they’re the only shoes I can wear right now. Everything else is too painful.”
Victoriablinked. “It’s in the 70’s outside. Those are boots.”
“I know. But they’re all I have at the moment.”
“Yeah, but it’s summer and . . . . . . . “
I grabbed Victoriaby the arm and practically frog marched her to the door, “Let’s go. I’ll tell you all about it once we’re at the pub.”
“Are you really going to wear those in public? They’ve got fur, for God’s sake.”
“I can leave a few minutes after you and meet you at the pub. That way no one will know that you’re with me. And my feet will be under the table once we get there. No one will notice my boots.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Sorry. I thought you were ashamed to be seen with me.”
“I am ashamed to be seen with you. I said don’t be silly because I can’t go without you. I don’t know where the pub is.”
Thankfully, it was but a short stroll to the Duke ofWellington pub on Ebury Street. It was early enough that the place was nearly deserted. An adorable barman who looked to be about thirteen years old asked us what we’d be having. 

Now a strange thing happened. As you may recall, I had been dreaming of a stiff rum and Coke all day long, but now that we stood before the beer taps, I suddenly wanted nothing more than a cold pint. Unfortunately, the pub had many micro brews and specialty ales. Not a recognizable brand in sight. The infant barman was kind enough to allow Victoria and I to taste a few before we ordered.

In the end, Victoria and both opted for the Oranjeboom which was fabulous. Here’s how it’s described:

‘Quirkily Continental’, Oranjeboom is a Dutch classic and was judged the ‘best draught lager in the world’ at the Brewing Industry International Awards. A delicious, easy-drinking Dutch drop with a hay-like hue and a herbaceous, grassy and fruity fragrance. Citrus notes on the palate speak softly of orange, kiwi and lemongrass buttressed with a hint of caramel sweetness and a gentle, drifting finish.

After our first sips, we took up our glasses and spent a good few minutes examining and photographing all of the Wellington memorabilia ranged around the walls. They even had a copy of one of my favourite Wellington portraits, which I fondly refer to as the Grandpa Artie image.



Finally, we found an empty table and took a load off. Victoria told me about her two weeks in France, whilst I regaled her with tales of my poor feet. And the Royal Hospital.

“I still can’t believe that no on there knows where the painting is hung,” I said, relating the story of my search for the painting entitled The Chelsea Pensioners Reading the Waterloo Despatch.

“Or what the painting is,” Victoria added.

“Yeah. I mean where else would it be but at the Royal Hospital?”

“Come to think of it, I could swear I’ve seen it somewhere before,” Victoria mused.

“At the Royal Hospital?”

“I can’t recall, but somewhere. You know, there were probably a few copies made when it was commissioned by the Duke of Wellington. It was a fairly common practice. There are at least three copies of the Lawrence portrait of Artie.”

“I know. I think I’ve seen the Chelsea Pensioners before, too, come to think of it.”

“Where? You haven’t been to the Royal Hospital before today.”

“Damned if I know.”

“Do you think we saw it when we went to the National Army Museum?” Victoria asked.

I took a sip of beer. “Could be. It seems to me that I saw it someplace in London. Someplace connected to Artie.”

“Where else in London could it be?” Victoria asked. “Horse Guards?”

“Haven’t the foggiest, but I’m going to go back to the Royal Hospital when we get back to London in a few weeks time to see if they find out where it is. This mystery is driving me crazy.”

Eventually, we moved on to discussing other things and ordering dinner, after which I was truly ready for bed. As I fell asleep, I thought about our agenda for the next day – the newly renovated Kenwood House and Highgate Cemetery. Life was good. Even when your feet hurt.

Next installment coming soon!

RELIVING THE DREAM: TRAVELS WITH VICTORIA

Place de la République, Paris
 
My travels this summer were indeed the dream of a lifetime, over a month spent in France and England.  And with two of my favorite people in the world, France with my husband Ed — and England with blog partner Kristine. No one could ask for more, unless that both of them were along for the whole time.
 
As I write this, I am still rather jet-lagged, days and nights mixed up. Kristine reports she had a relapse of her cold and is bed-bound for a while.  Of course, one might never mention the condition of our feet — or leg muscles, backs, and overflowing brains, so I won’t.
 
 
Courtyard of Crown Plaza République
 
So while I try to re-enter the real world after this fabulous interlude of travel (sore feet notwithstanding), I will share a few pictures and thoughts from France.  Kristine and I intend to do quite a few posts on our Duke of Wellington Tour and our many other adventures in England, but for the moment, please join me near Paris.
 
Malmaison
 
Ed and I had several visits in mind to some of the lesser known museums and sites.  Paris in August is full of visitors, so we wanted to see what we could find just off the beaten track.  One of my personal goals was to visit the home of Josephine, who married then divorced Napoleon so that he could wed a younger woman and sire an heir.  Malmaison was her escape form the rigors of the Court, where she could relax and fill her garden with the roses for which she is so famous.
 
Malmaison
 
The house is lovely, and truly worth a visit.  The gardens overflow with flowers, though I suspect Josephine would have kept them a bit better.  It is said that after her death, and just before he was sent away to St. Helena in 1815, Napoleon returned to Malmaison to mourn his lost love, not to mention his empire.
 
La Defénse
 

On the way back from suburban Malmaison, we stopped to take a look at La Defénse, la Grand Arche, which is the western-most point of the axis of the Champs Élysées through the Arc de Triomphe.  Guidebooks report that the Arche is so large that the entire Notre Dame Cathedral could fit inside it.  It is certainly impressive, set in an esplanade among a huge number of sleek modern hi-rise buildings, but to me, it doesn’t say anything except concrete.  It has none of the beauty of the rest of Paris.

Église du Dôme, Hôtel des Invalides
 
On our stroll to the Musée Rodin, we passed nearby Invalides, where Napoleon is buried.  We decided to let him rest in peace, rather than whisper to his tomb about the victory of the Duke of Wellington almost 200 years ago at Waterloo.
 
The Thinker, Musée Rodin
 
The Musée Rodin in the Hôtel Biron is lovely, and as the weather cooperated, we spend a great deal of time in the beautiful garden where a convenient café beckoned.
 
the Garden from above
 
 

As you can see, we had sunny weather with clouds from time to time, warm temperatures — and so it was to be for our entire stay in France as well as almost to the first day of autumn in England.

I will continue meandering through Paris and Normandy intermixed with our posts on England, so stay tuned for more.  Adieu.

ACROSS THE CHANNEL

Victoria here, doing a few web searches on what I want to see on my upcoming trip to Paris and cruise on the Seine.

Arc de Triomphe
Hubby and I have been to Paris several times, so we really don’t need to re-visit The  Louvre, the Musée Carnavalet, Place des Vosges, Montmartre, or the Eiffel Tower.  We’ve seen Napoleon’s tomb in Les Invalides, the Pompidou Center, Musée’Orsay, and the spectacular Notre Dame Cathedral and the nearby Sainte-Chapelle.  Not that we would be disappointed in seeing any of those wonderful places again, but with so much more available, we need to wander a bit farther afield, find things out of the ordinary.  Anybody have any suggestions??

le Tour Eiffel
I’m thinking about some of the small museums such as the Musée Cluny with its Medieval treasures.

15th C. tapestry, Lady and the Unicorn
Eugene Delacroix, Liberty Leading the People
 The Musée Delacroix is housed in the building in which he lived and died in 1863. 
 Musée Rodin.
The Rodin Museum looks like fun, if just for the building alone, much less the opportunity to get up close and personal with The Thinker! 
Musée Gustave Moreau 

I saw an article in the NY Times a while ago about a fascinating small museum called Musée Gustave Moreau  (to read it click here).  We will try to find that one too.

I am hoping to take a day to go to Josephine’s Malmaison, just on the edge of the city.  She is such an interesting character, and I am fascinated by her life.  I have read — and believe — she was able, in the midst of all the French-British wars, to receive her beautiful English roses for her garden.  Both sides of the Channel apparently would do anything for her!

Chateau de Malmaison
Josephine’s bedroom at Malmaison

There is a very amusing irony in the love of the British for all things French.  And in the fascination of the French with all things British.  Even after decades of war and managing to defeat Napoleon, the Prince Regent (later George IV) accumulated all sorts of furniture, decorative arts, paintings and sculpture from France.  Tours of Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace clearly indicate the royal preferences for the styles of Louis XIV, XV, and even XVI.

Buckingham Palace White Drawing Room

Which makes me think of Versailles. It’s on our schedule — I was there once, but spent almost all my time inside.  This visit I intend to emphasize the gardens. 

Versailles

Attendez!  Wait! We’ll be in Paris.  Why go anyplace other than a café?  A bit of people watching and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc?  Parfait!!  Merci beaucoup. Plenty of cafes for a different one every day.