The Plantin-Moretus Museum (Dutch: Plantin-Moretusmuseum) is a printing museum in Antwerp, Belgium which focuses on the work of the 16th-century printers Christophe Plantin and Jan Moretus. It is located in their former residence and printing establishment, the Plantin Press, at the Vrijdagmarkt (Friday Market) in Antwerp, and has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2005.

 

The printing company was founded in the 16th century by Christophe Plantin, who obtained type from the leading typefounders of the day in Paris. Plantin was a major figure in contemporary printing with interests in humanism; his eight-volume, multi-language Plantin Polyglot Bible with Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Syriac texts was one of the most complex productions of the period. Plantin's is now suspected of being at least connected to members of heretical groups known as the Familists, and this may have led him to spend time in exile in his native France.

  

View of the courtyard of the museum

After Plantin's death it was owned by his son-in-law Jan Moretus. While most printing concerns disposed of their collections of older type in the eighteenth and nineteenth century in response to changing tastes, the Plantin-Moretus company "piously preserved the collection of its founder."

 

Four women ran the family-owned Plantin-Moretus printing house (Plantin Press) over the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries: Martina Plantin, Anna Goos, Anna Maria de Neuf and Maria Theresia Borrekens.

 

In 1876 Edward Moretus sold the company to the city of Antwerp. One year later the public could visit the living areas and the printing presses. The collection has been used extensively for research, by historians H. D. L. Vervliet, Mike Parker and Harry Carter. Carter's son Matthew would later describe this research as helping to demonstrate "that the finest collection of printing types made in typography's golden age was in perfect condition (some muddle aside) [along with] Plantin's accounts and inventories which names the cutters of his types."

 

In 2002 the museum was nominated as UNESCO World Heritage Site and in 2005 was inscribed onto the World Heritage list.

 

The Plantin-Moretus Museum possesses an exceptional collection of typographical material. Not only does it house the two oldest surviving printing presses in the world and complete sets of dies and matrices, it also has an extensive library, a richly decorated interior and the entire archives of the Plantin business, which were inscribed on UNESCO's Memory of the World Programme Register in 2001 in recognition of their historical significance.

Praça do Império, Lisboa

Melodious Warbler; Zarcero Políglota; Hypolaïs polyglotte; Canapino comune; Spottesanger; Polyglottsångare

Visited a good friend of ours today, a Harvard professor of Arabic and a polyglot. A part of my "Important People of My Life" series in Type-55.

Hippolais polyglotta

 

© 2010 | Larry dela Cruz | All Rights Reserved

 

This work may NOT be used, reproduced, copied, edited, duplicated, printed, or uploaded in any way without my written permission.

 

Location: Fort Santiago, Intramuros, Philippines

 

Click Here My most interesting photos on Flickriver

   

Dr. José Protasio Rizal Mercado y Alonso Realonda[1] (June 19, 1861 – December 30, 1896, Bagumbayan), was a Filipino polymath, nationalist and the most prominent advocate for reforms in the Philippines during the Spanish colonial era. He is considered a national hero of the Philippines,[2] and the anniversary of Rizal's death is commemorated as a Philippine holiday called Rizal Day. Rizal's 1896 military trial and execution made him a martyr of the Philippine Revolution.

 

The seventh of eleven children born to a wealthy family in the town of Calamba, Laguna, Rizal attended the Ateneo Municipal de Manila, earning a Bachelor of Arts. He enrolled in Medicine and Philosophy and Letters at the University of Santo Tomas and then traveled alone to Madrid, Spain, where he continued his studies at the Universidad Central de Madrid, earning the degree of Licentiate in Medicine. He attended the University of Paris and earned a second doctorate at the University of Heidelberg. Rizal was a polyglot conversant in at least ten languages.[3][4][5][6] He was a prolific poet, essayist, diarist, correspondent, and novelist whose most famous works were his two novels, Noli me Tangere and El filibusterismo.[7] These are social commentaries on the Philippines that formed the nucleus of literature that inspired dissent among peaceful reformists and spurred the militancy of armed revolutionaries against the Spanish colonial authorities.

 

As a political figure, Jose Rizal was the founder of La Liga Filipina, a civic organization that subsequently gave birth to the Katipunan[8] led by Andrés Bonifacio and Emilio Aguinaldo. He was a proponent of institutional reforms by peaceful means rather than by violent revolution. The general consensus among Rizal scholars, however, attributed his martyred death as the catalyst that precipitated the Philippine Revolution.

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

Ruiseñor, Northern Mockingbird. Mimus polyglottos. Residente reproductor. Sierra de Bahoruco.

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

The dawn crowd on the South Rim this past Saturday morning...(iPhone5s) When I found myself on the rim of the Grand Canyon last weekend, waiting in the sub-freezing dawn for the sunrise, I had no idea that the sea of fog I was seeing was such a rare event. It turns out that the inversion that produced the fog is a once-in-a-decade or so phenomenon in the canyon. As the sun rose over the horizon, the sea of fog began to churn and the crowds that gathered on the canyon rim were at turns enveloped in mist and then bathing in golden light. The polyglot crowd, myself included, stood transfixed by the colors and movement that the play of fog and sun produced. After getting lots of landscape shots, the crowd itself caught my eye–scores of people, all facing the same direction, all seemingly immobilized by the rising orb. My wife tells me that she finds this particular shot beautiful, but creepy, as if the people are staring at an apocalyptic spectacle… I used my iPhone5s to get this shot, and the only app I used to edit it was Snapseed. www.wearejuxt.com/2013/12/08/1000-words-showcase-week-64/

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad 1973

CAST:

John Philip Law (Sinbad), Tom Baker (Koura), Douglas Wilmer (The Grand Vizier), Caroline Munro (Marigiana), Martin Shaw (Rachid), Kurt Christian (Haroun), Takis Emmanuel (Achmed)

PRODUCTION:

Director – Gordon Hessler, Screenplay – Brian Clemens, Story – Brian Clemens & Ray Harryhausen, Producers – Ray Harryhausen & Charles H. Schneer, Photography – Ted Moore, Music – Miklos Rosza, Visual Effects – Ray Harryhausen, Production Design – John Stoll. Production Company – Morningside. USA 1973

SYNOPSIS:

Sinbad fires an arrow at a strange creature that flies over his ship, causing it to drop the amulet it is carrying. Ashore, the sorcerer Koura attempts to forcibly take the amulet from Sinbad. Sinbad is granted refuge by the benevolent ruler of the city, the Grand Vizier, who has been forced to hide his face behind a beaten gold mask after Koura burnt it with a fireball. The Vizier shows Sinbad a companion amulet and the drawing of a third one. All three form a map that leads to a fountain of youth on the island of Lemuria. With the complete amulet, The Grand Vizier will be able to stop Koura’s ravages on the kingdom. And so Sinbad and the Vizier set sail on an expedition to Lemuria. However, Koura desires the amulet too, wanting to regain the youth that each spell he casts steals from him, and sets sail determined to stop them.

COMMENTARY:

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958) was a landmark in fantasy cinema. It was often imitated over the next decade. Most importantly, it brought to prominence the name of special effects man Ray Harryhausen and his fantastical creatures. Ray Harryhausen was a specialist in the process of stop-motion animation where models are meticulously moved and photographed one frame at a time. Harryhausen went onto a substantial career over the next two decades, creating similar flights of fantasy. (See below for Ray Harryhausen’s other films). He would revisit the Sinbad mythos twice, here and later with the disappointing Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977). The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is one of Ray Harryhausen’s most acclaimed works and one that shows him at the height of his art.

With The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, Ray Harryhausen employed director Gordon Hessler, who emerged out of the English horror cycle in the late 1960s (see below for Gordon Hessler’s other titles) and Brian Clemens on script. Brian Clemens had worked as script editor on tv’s The Avengers (1962-9), wrote a number of films during the English horror cycle and went on to create series such as The New Avengers (1976-8), The Professionals (1977-83) and Bugs (1995-8). (See below also for Brian Clemens’s other titles). Most Ray Harryhausen films tend to be set around Harryhausen’s provision of creature effects, with the intervening action being stolid and his leading men tending to a uniform woodenness. Although the dialogue here has a tendency to fall in clunky pseudo-profound aphorisms at times, Brian Clemens creates probably one of the more nuanced scripts for any Ray Harryhausen film. Particularly original is the character of the sorcerer Koura who ages every time he casts a spell.

Brian Clemens and Ray Harryhausen also plunder world mythology somewhat indiscriminately, ending up with what often seems a peculiar multi-cultural polyglot – there is Kali from Hindu religion, a griffin and combination centaur/cyclops from the Greek myths, the homunculus from mediaeval alchemy, Lemuria (an idea that was posited by biologist Ernst Haeckel in the 1870s, preceding the notion of continental drift, of a sunken land in order to explain how lemurs managed to get between Africa and India and one that was quickly appropriated by the 19th Century Theosophist movement), and of course the backdrop from the Arabian Nights cycle. This is the less important than the spectacular beauty of Ray Harryhausen’s various set-pieces which, by this time, were at the absolute peak of their form. Harryhausen offers us a six-armed statue of Kali brought to life in a sword-duel; a to-the-death battle between a griffin and a cyclopean centaur; a magically animated ship’s figurehead; and, best of all, the homunculus that Tom Baker brings to life, teasing and prodding it, as it lies pinned to a table.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is also notable for many of the up-and-coming stars. There is Tom Baker who, the following year, would become the fourth incarnation of tv’s Doctor Who (1963-89); cult queen Caroline Munro; and Martin Shaw, later hunk hero of Clemens’ superior action man tv show The Professionals.

Ray Harryhausen’s other films are:– The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), the granddaddy of all atomic monster films; the giant atomic octopus film It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955); the alien invader film Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers (1956); the alien monster film 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957); The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); The 3 Worlds of Gulliver (1960); the Jules Verne adaptation Mysterious Island (1961); the Greek myth adventure Jason and the Argonauts (1963); the H.G. Wells adaptation The First Men in the Moon (1964); the caveman vs dinosaurs epic One Million Years B.C. (1966); the dinosaur film The Valley of Gwangi (1969); Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977); and the Greek myth adventure Clash of the Titans (1981).

Brian Clemens’s other scripts are:– The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), Curse of the Voodoo/Curse of Simba (1965), And Soon the Darkness (1970), See No Evil/Blind Terror (1971), Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), the Disney ghost story The Watcher in the Woods (1980) and Highlander II: The Quickening (1991). Clemens also wrote and directed Hammer’s Captain Kronos – Vampire Hunter (1972). He has acted as script editor and producer on the tv series’ The Avengers, The New Avengers, The Professionals and Bugs.

Gordon Hessler’s other films are:– Scream and Scream Again (1969), The Oblong Box (1969), Cry of the Banshee (1970), Murders in the Rue Morgue (1971), Kiss Meets the Phantom/Kiss in the Attack of the Phantom (1978) and The Girl in a Swing (1988)

REVIEW: Richard Scheib

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad 1973

CAST:

John Philip Law (Sinbad), Tom Baker (Koura), Douglas Wilmer (The Grand Vizier), Caroline Munro (Marigiana), Martin Shaw (Rachid), Kurt Christian (Haroun), Takis Emmanuel (Achmed)

PRODUCTION:

Director – Gordon Hessler, Screenplay – Brian Clemens, Story – Brian Clemens & Ray Harryhausen, Producers – Ray Harryhausen & Charles H. Schneer, Photography – Ted Moore, Music – Miklos Rosza, Visual Effects – Ray Harryhausen, Production Design – John Stoll. Production Company – Morningside. USA 1973

SYNOPSIS:

Sinbad fires an arrow at a strange creature that flies over his ship, causing it to drop the amulet it is carrying. Ashore, the sorcerer Koura attempts to forcibly take the amulet from Sinbad. Sinbad is granted refuge by the benevolent ruler of the city, the Grand Vizier, who has been forced to hide his face behind a beaten gold mask after Koura burnt it with a fireball. The Vizier shows Sinbad a companion amulet and the drawing of a third one. All three form a map that leads to a fountain of youth on the island of Lemuria. With the complete amulet, The Grand Vizier will be able to stop Koura’s ravages on the kingdom. And so Sinbad and the Vizier set sail on an expedition to Lemuria. However, Koura desires the amulet too, wanting to regain the youth that each spell he casts steals from him, and sets sail determined to stop them.

COMMENTARY:

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958) was a landmark in fantasy cinema. It was often imitated over the next decade. Most importantly, it brought to prominence the name of special effects man Ray Harryhausen and his fantastical creatures. Ray Harryhausen was a specialist in the process of stop-motion animation where models are meticulously moved and photographed one frame at a time. Harryhausen went onto a substantial career over the next two decades, creating similar flights of fantasy. (See below for Ray Harryhausen’s other films). He would revisit the Sinbad mythos twice, here and later with the disappointing Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977). The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is one of Ray Harryhausen’s most acclaimed works and one that shows him at the height of his art.

With The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, Ray Harryhausen employed director Gordon Hessler, who emerged out of the English horror cycle in the late 1960s (see below for Gordon Hessler’s other titles) and Brian Clemens on script. Brian Clemens had worked as script editor on tv’s The Avengers (1962-9), wrote a number of films during the English horror cycle and went on to create series such as The New Avengers (1976-8), The Professionals (1977-83) and Bugs (1995-8). (See below also for Brian Clemens’s other titles). Most Ray Harryhausen films tend to be set around Harryhausen’s provision of creature effects, with the intervening action being stolid and his leading men tending to a uniform woodenness. Although the dialogue here has a tendency to fall in clunky pseudo-profound aphorisms at times, Brian Clemens creates probably one of the more nuanced scripts for any Ray Harryhausen film. Particularly original is the character of the sorcerer Koura who ages every time he casts a spell.

Brian Clemens and Ray Harryhausen also plunder world mythology somewhat indiscriminately, ending up with what often seems a peculiar multi-cultural polyglot – there is Kali from Hindu religion, a griffin and combination centaur/cyclops from the Greek myths, the homunculus from mediaeval alchemy, Lemuria (an idea that was posited by biologist Ernst Haeckel in the 1870s, preceding the notion of continental drift, of a sunken land in order to explain how lemurs managed to get between Africa and India and one that was quickly appropriated by the 19th Century Theosophist movement), and of course the backdrop from the Arabian Nights cycle. This is the less important than the spectacular beauty of Ray Harryhausen’s various set-pieces which, by this time, were at the absolute peak of their form. Harryhausen offers us a six-armed statue of Kali brought to life in a sword-duel; a to-the-death battle between a griffin and a cyclopean centaur; a magically animated ship’s figurehead; and, best of all, the homunculus that Tom Baker brings to life, teasing and prodding it, as it lies pinned to a table.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is also notable for many of the up-and-coming stars. There is Tom Baker who, the following year, would become the fourth incarnation of tv’s Doctor Who (1963-89); cult queen Caroline Munro; and Martin Shaw, later hunk hero of Clemens’ superior action man tv show The Professionals.

Ray Harryhausen’s other films are:– The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), the granddaddy of all atomic monster films; the giant atomic octopus film It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955); the alien invader film Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers (1956); the alien monster film 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957); The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); The 3 Worlds of Gulliver (1960); the Jules Verne adaptation Mysterious Island (1961); the Greek myth adventure Jason and the Argonauts (1963); the H.G. Wells adaptation The First Men in the Moon (1964); the caveman vs dinosaurs epic One Million Years B.C. (1966); the dinosaur film The Valley of Gwangi (1969); Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977); and the Greek myth adventure Clash of the Titans (1981).

Brian Clemens’s other scripts are:– The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), Curse of the Voodoo/Curse of Simba (1965), And Soon the Darkness (1970), See No Evil/Blind Terror (1971), Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), the Disney ghost story The Watcher in the Woods (1980) and Highlander II: The Quickening (1991). Clemens also wrote and directed Hammer’s Captain Kronos – Vampire Hunter (1972). He has acted as script editor and producer on the tv series’ The Avengers, The New Avengers, The Professionals and Bugs.

Gordon Hessler’s other films are:– Scream and Scream Again (1969), The Oblong Box (1969), Cry of the Banshee (1970), Murders in the Rue Morgue (1971), Kiss Meets the Phantom/Kiss in the Attack of the Phantom (1978) and The Girl in a Swing (1988)

REVIEW: Richard Scheib

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

Mumbai (/mʊmˈbaɪ/; also known as Bombay, the official name until 1995) is the capital city of the Indian state of Maharashtra. It is the most populous city in India and the ninth most populous agglomeration in the world, with an estimated city population of 18.4 million. Along with the neighbouring regions of the Mumbai Metropolitan Region, it is one of the most populous urban regions in the world and the seсond most populous metropolitan area in India, with a population of 20.7 million as of 2011. Mumbai lies on the west coast of India and has a deep natural harbour. In 2009, Mumbai was named an alpha world city. It is also the wealthiest city in India, and has the highest GDP of any city in South, West, or Central Asia. Mumbai has the highest number of billionaires and millionaires among all cities in India.The seven islands that came to constitute Mumbai were home to communities of fishing colonies. For centuries, the islands were under the control of successive indigenous empires before being ceded to the Portuguese and subsequently to the British East India Company when in 1661 King Charles II married the Portuguese Catherine of Braganza, and as part of her dowry Charles received the ports of Tangier and seven islands of Bombay. During the mid-18th century, Bombay was reshaped by the Hornby Vellard project, which undertook reclamation of the area between the seven islands from the sea. Along with construction of major roads and railways, the reclamation project, completed in 1845, transformed Bombay into a major seaport on the Arabian Sea. Bombay in the 19th century was characterized by economic and educational development. During the early 20th century it became a strong base for the Indian independence movement. Upon India's independence in 1947 the city was incorporated into Bombay State. In 1960, following the Samyukta Maharashtra movement, a new state of Maharashtra was created with Bombay as the capital.Mumbai is the financial, commercial and entertainment capital of India. It is also one of the world's top ten centres of commerce in terms of global financial flow, generating 6.16% of India's GDP and accounting for 25% of industrial output, 70% of maritime trade in India (Mumbai Port Trust and JNPT), and 70% of capital transactions to India's economy. The city houses important financial institutions such as the Reserve Bank of India, the Bombay Stock Exchange, the National Stock Exchange of India, the SEBI and the corporate headquarters of numerous Indian companies and multinational corporations. It is also home to some of India's premier scientific and nuclear institutes like BARC, NPCL, IREL, TIFR, AERB, AECI, and the Department of Atomic Energy. The city also houses India's Hindi (Bollywood) and Marathi film and television industry. Mumbai's business opportunities, as well as its potential to offer a higher standard of living, attract migrants from all over India, making the city a melting pot of many communities and cultures.

 

ETYMOLOGY

The name Mumbai is derived from Mumbā or Mahā-Ambā—the name of the patron goddess (Kuladevi) Mumbadevi of the native Agri, Koli and Somvanshi Kshatriya communities - and ā'ī meaning "mother" in the Marathi language, which is the mother tongue of the kolis and the official language of Maharashtra.

 

The oldest known names for the city are Kakamuchee and Galajunkja; these are sometimes still used. Ali Muhammad Khan, in the Mirat-i-Ahmedi (1507) referred to the city as Manbai. In 1508, Portuguese writer Gaspar Correia used the name Bombaim, in his Lendas da Índia ("Legends of India"). This name possibly originated as the Old Portuguese phrase bom baim, meaning "good little bay", and Bombaim is still commonly used in Portuguese. In 1516, Portuguese explorer Duarte Barbosa used the name Tana-Maiambu: Tana appears to refer to the adjoining town of Thane and Maiambu to Mumbadevi.

 

Other variations recorded in the 16th and the 17th centuries include: Mombayn (1525), Bombay (1538), Bombain (1552), Bombaym (1552), Monbaym (1554), Mombaim (1563), Mombaym (1644), Bambaye (1666), Bombaiim (1666), Bombeye (1676), Boon Bay (1690), and Bon Bahia. After the British gained possession of the city in the 17th century, the Portuguese name was officially anglicised as Bombay.

 

By the late 20th century, the city was referred to as Mumbai or Mambai in the Indian statewise official languages of Marathi, Konkani, Gujarati, Kannada and Sindhi, and as Bambai in Hindi. The English name was officially changed to Mumbai in November 1995. This came at the insistence of the Marathi nationalist Shiv Sena party that had just won the Maharashtra state elections and mirrored similar name changes across the country and particularly in Maharashtra. According to Slate, "they argued that 'Bombay' was a corrupted English version of 'Mumbai' and an unwanted legacy of British colonial rule." Slate also said "The push to rename Bombay was part of a larger movement to strengthen Marathi identity in the Maharashtra region." While the city is still referred to as Bombay by some of its residents and Indians from other regions, mention of the city by a name other than Mumbai has been controversial, resulting in emotional outbursts sometimes of a violently political nature.

 

A resident of Mumbai is called mumbaikar; in Marathi language the suffix kar has a meaning resident of. The term has been in use for quite some time but it gained popularity after the official name change to Mumbai.

 

EARLY HISTORY

Mumbai is built on what was once an archipelago of seven islands: Bombay Island, Parel, Mazagaon, Mahim, Colaba, Worli, and Old Woman's Island (also known as Little Colaba). It is not exactly known when these islands were first inhabited. Pleistocene sediments found along the coastal areas around Kandivali in northern Mumbai suggest that the islands were inhabited since the Stone Age. Perhaps at the beginning of the Common era (2,000 years ago), or possibly earlier, they came to be occupied by the Koli fishing community.

 

In the third century BCE, the islands formed part of the Maurya Empire, during its expansion in the south, ruled by the Buddhist emperor, Ashoka of Magadha. The Kanheri Caves in Borivali were excavated in the mid-third century BCE, and served as an important centre of Buddhism in Western India during ancient Times. The city then was known as Heptanesia (Ancient Greek: A Cluster of Seven Islands) to the Greek geographer Ptolemy in 150 CE. The Mahakali Caves in Andheri were built between the 1st century BCE and the 6th century CE.

 

Between the second century BCE and ninth century CE, the islands came under the control of successive indigenous dynasties: Satavahanas, Western Kshatrapas, Abhiras, Vakatakas, Kalachuris, Konkan Mauryas, Chalukyas and Rashtrakutas, before being ruled by the Silhara dynasty from 810 to 1260. Some of the oldest edifices in the city built during this period are, Jogeshwari Caves (between 520 and 525), Elephanta Caves (between the sixth to seventh century), Walkeshwar Temple (10th century), and Banganga Tank (12th century).

 

King Bhimdev founded his kingdom in the region in the late 13th century and established his capital in Mahikawati (present day Mahim). The Pathare Prabhus, among the earliest known settlers of the city, were brought to Mahikawati from Saurashtra in Gujarat around 1298 by Bhimdev. The Delhi Sultanate annexed the islands in 1347–48 and controlled it until 1407. During this time, the islands were administered by the Muslim Governors of Gujarat, who were appointed by the Delhi Sultanate.

 

The islands were later governed by the independent Gujarat Sultanate, which was established in 1407. The Sultanate's patronage led to the construction of many mosques, prominent being the Haji Ali Dargah in Worli, built in honour of the Muslim saint Haji Ali in 1431. From 1429 to 1431, the islands were a source of contention between the Gujarat Sultanate and the Bahamani Sultanate of Deccan. In 1493, Bahadur Khan Gilani of the Bahamani Sultanate attempted to conquer the islands but was defeated.

 

PORTUGUESE AND BRITISH RULE

The Mughal Empire, founded in 1526, was the dominant power in the Indian subcontinent during the mid-16th century. Growing apprehensive of the power of the Mughal emperor Humayun, Sultan Bahadur Shah of the Gujarat Sultanate was obliged to sign the Treaty of Bassein with the Portuguese Empire on 23 December 1534. According to the treaty, the seven islands of Bombay, the nearby strategic town of Bassein and its dependencies were offered to the Portuguese. The territories were later surrendered on 25 October 1535.

 

The Portuguese were actively involved in the foundation and growth of their Roman Catholic religious orders in Bombay. They called the islands by various names, which finally took the written form Bombaim. The islands were leased to several Portuguese officers during their regime. The Portuguese Franciscans and Jesuits built several churches in the city, prominent being the St. Michael's Church at Mahim (1534), St. John the Baptist Church at Andheri (1579), St. Andrew's Church at Bandra (1580), and Gloria Church at Byculla (1632). The Portuguese also built several fortifications around the city like the Bombay Castle, Castella de Aguada (Castelo da Aguada or Bandra Fort), and Madh Fort. The English were in constant struggle with the Portuguese vying for hegemony over Bombay, as they recognized its strategic natural harbour and its natural isolation from land-attacks. By the middle of the 17th century the growing power of the Dutch Empire forced the English to acquire a station in western India. On 11 May 1661, the marriage treaty of Charles II of England and Catherine of Braganza, daughter of King John IV of Portugal, placed the islands in possession of the English Empire, as part of Catherine's dowry to Charles. However, Salsette, Bassein, Mazagaon, Parel, Worli, Sion, Dharavi, and Wadala still remained under Portuguese possession. From 1665 to 1666, the English managed to acquire Mahim, Sion, Dharavi, and Wadala.

In accordance with the Royal Charter of 27 March 1668, England leased these islands to the English East India Company in 1668 for a sum of £10 per annum. The population quickly rose from 10,000 in 1661, to 60,000 in 1675. The islands were subsequently attacked by Yakut Khan, the Siddi admiral of the Mughal Empire, in October 1672, Rickloffe van Goen, the Governor-General of Dutch India on 20 February 1673, and Siddi admiral Sambal on 10 October 1673.In 1687, the English East India Company transferred its headquarters from Surat to Bombay. The city eventually became the headquarters of the Bombay Presidency. Following the transfer, Bombay was placed at the head of all the Company's establishments in India. Towards the end of the 17th century, the islands again suffered incursions from Yakut Khan in 1689–90. The Portuguese presence ended in Bombay when the Marathas under Peshwa Baji Rao I captured Salsette in 1737, and Bassein in 1739. By the middle of the 18th century, Bombay began to grow into a major trading town, and received a huge influx of migrants from across India. Later, the British occupied Salsette on 28 December 1774. With the Treaty of Surat (1775), the British formally gained control of Salsette and Bassein, resulting in the First Anglo-Maratha War. The British were able to secure Salsette from the Marathas without violence through the Treaty of Purandar (1776), and later through the Treaty of Salbai (1782), signed to settle the outcome of the First Anglo-Maratha War.

 

From 1782 onwards, the city was reshaped with large-scale civil engineering projects aimed at merging all the seven islands into a single amalgamated mass. This project, known as Hornby Vellard, was completed by 1784. In 1817, the British East India Company under Mountstuart Elphinstone defeated Baji Rao II, the last of the Maratha Peshwa in the Battle of Khadki. Following his defeat, almost the whole of the Deccan came under British suzerainty, and was incorporated into the Bombay Presidency. The success of the British campaign in the Deccan marked the liberation of Bombay from all attacks by native powers.

 

By 1845, the seven islands coalesced into a single landmass by the Hornby Vellard project via large scale land reclamation. On 16 April 1853, India's first passenger railway line was established, connecting Bombay to the neighbouring town of Thana (now Thane). During the American Civil War (1861–1865), the city became the world's chief cotton-trading market, resulting in a boom in the economy that subsequently enhanced the city's stature.

The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 transformed Bombay into one of the largest seaports on the Arabian Sea. In September 1896, Bombay was hit by a bubonic plague epidemic where the death toll was estimated at 1,900 people per week. About 850,000 people fled Bombay and the textile industry was adversely affected. As the capital of the Bombay Presidency, the city witnessed the Indian independence movement, with the Quit India Movement in 1942 and The Royal Indian Navy Mutiny in 1946 being its most notable events.

  

INDEPENDENT INDIA

After India's independence in 1947, the territory of the Bombay Presidency retained by India was restructured into Bombay State. The area of Bombay State increased, after several erstwhile princely states that joined the Indian union were integrated into the state. Subsequently, the city became the capital of Bombay State. On April 1950, Municipal limits of Bombay were expanded by merging the Bombay Suburban District and Bombay City to form the Greater Bombay Municipal Corporation.

 

The Samyukta Maharashtra movement to create a separate Maharashtra state including Bombay was at its height in the 1950s. In the Lok Sabha discussions in 1955, the Congress party demanded that the city be constituted as an autonomous city-state. The States Reorganisation Committee recommended a bilingual state for Maharashtra–Gujarat with Bombay as its capital in its 1955 report. Bombay Citizens' Committee, an advocacy group of leading Gujarati industrialists lobbied for Bombay's independent status.

 

Following protests during the movement in which 105 people lost their lives in clashes with the police, Bombay State was reorganised on linguistic lines on 1 May 1960. Gujarati-speaking areas of Bombay State were partitioned into the state of Gujarat. Maharashtra State with Bombay as its capital was formed with the merger of Marathi-speaking areas of Bombay State, eight districts from Central Provinces and Berar, five districts from Hyderabad State, and numerous princely states enclosed between them. As a memorial to the martyrs of the Samyukta Maharashtra movement, Flora Fountain was renamed as Hutatma Chowk (Martyr's Square), and a memorial was erected.

 

The following decades saw massive expansion of the city and its suburbs. In the late 1960s, Nariman Point and Cuffe Parade were reclaimed and developed. The Bombay Metropolitan Region Development Authority (BMRDA) was established on 26 January 1975 by the Government of Maharashtra as an apex body for planning and co-ordination of development activities in the Bombay metropolitan region. In August 1979, a sister township of New Bombay was founded by the City and Industrial Development Corporation (CIDCO) across the Thane and Raigad districts to help the dispersal and control of Bombay's population. The textile industry in Bombay largely disappeared after the widespread 1982 Great Bombay Textile Strike, in which nearly 250,000 workers in more than 50 textile mills went on strike. Mumbai's defunct cotton mills have since become the focus of intense redevelopment.

 

The Jawaharlal Nehru Port, which currently handles 55–60% of India's containerised cargo, was commissioned on 26 May 1989 across the creek at Nhava Sheva with a view to de-congest Bombay Harbour and to serve as a hub port for the city. The geographical limits of Greater Bombay were coextensive with municipal limits of Greater Bombay. On 1 October 1990, the Greater Bombay district was bifurcated to form two revenue districts namely, Bombay City and Bombay Suburban, though they continued to be administered by same Municipal Administration.

 

From 1990 to 2010, there has been an increase in violence in the hitherto largely peaceful city. Following the demolition of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, the city was rocked by the Hindu-Muslim riots of 1992–93 in which more than 1,000 people were killed. On 12 March 1993, a series of 13 co-ordinated bombings at several city landmarks by Islamic extremists and the Bombay underworld resulted in 257 deaths and over 700 injuries. In 2006, 209 people were killed and over 700 injured when seven bombs exploded on the city's commuter trains. In 2008, a series of ten coordinated attacks by armed terrorists for three days resulted in 173 deaths, 308 injuries, and severe damage to several heritage landmarks and prestigious hotels. The blasts that occurred at the Opera House, Zaveri Bazaar, and Dadar on 13 July 2011 were the latest in the series of terrorist attacks in Mumbai.

 

Mumbai is the commercial capital of India and has evolved into a global financial hub. For several decades it has been the home of India's main financial services, and a focus for both infrastructure development and private investment. From being an ancient fishing community and a colonial centre of trade, Mumbai has become South Asia's largest city and home of the world's most prolific film industry.

 

GEOGRAPHY

Mumbai consists of two distinct regions: Mumbai City district and Mumbai Suburban district, which form two separate revenue districts of Maharashtra. The city district region is also commonly referred to as the Island City or South Mumbai. The total area of Mumbai is 603.4 km2. Of this, the island city spans 67.79 km2, while the suburban district spans 370 km2, together accounting for 437.71 km2 under the administration of Municipal Corporation of Greater Mumbai (MCGM). The remaining areas belong to various Defence establishments, the Mumbai Port Trust, the Atomic Energy Commission and the Borivali National Park, which are out of the jurisdiction of the MCGM.

 

Mumbai lies at the mouth of the Ulhas River on the western coast of India, in the coastal region known as the Konkan. It sits on Salsette Island (Sashti Island), which it partially shares with the Thane district. Mumbai is bounded by the Arabian Sea to the west. Many parts of the city lie just above sea level, with elevations ranging from 10 m to 15 m; the city has an average elevation of 14 m. Northern Mumbai (Salsette) is hilly, and the highest point in the city is 450 m at Salsette in the Powai–Kanheri ranges. The Sanjay Gandhi National Park (Borivali National Park) is located partly in the Mumbai suburban district, and partly in the Thane district, and it extends over an area of 103.09 km2.

 

Apart from the Bhatsa Dam, there are six major lakes that supply water to the city: Vihar, Lower Vaitarna, Upper Vaitarna, Tulsi, Tansa and Powai. Tulsi Lake and Vihar Lake are located in Borivili National Park, within the city's limits. The supply from Powai lake, also within the city limits, is used only for agricultural and industrial purposes. Three small rivers, the Dahisar River, Poinsar (or Poisar) and Ohiwara (or Oshiwara) originate within the park, while the polluted Mithi River originates from Tulsi Lake and gathers water overflowing from Vihar and Powai Lakes. The coastline of the city is indented with numerous creeks and bays, stretching from the Thane creek on the eastern to Madh Marve on the western front. The eastern coast of Salsette Island is covered with large mangrove swamps, rich in biodiversity, while the western coast is mostly sandy and rocky.

 

Soil cover in the city region is predominantly sandy due to its proximity to the sea. In the suburbs, the soil cover is largely alluvial and loamy. The underlying rock of the region is composed of black Deccan basalt flows, and their acidic and basic variants dating back to the late Cretaceous and early Eocene eras. Mumbai sits on a seismically active zone owing to the presence of 23 fault lines in the vicinity. The area is classified as a Seismic Zone III region, which means an earthquake of up to magnitude 6.5 on the Richter scale may be expected.

  

ARCHITECTURE

The architecture of the city is a blend of Gothic Revival, Indo-Saracenic, Art Deco, and other contemporary styles. Most of the buildings during the British period, such as the Victoria Terminus and Bombay University, were built in Gothic Revival style. Their architectural features include a variety of European influences such as German gables, Dutch roofs, Swiss timbering, Romance arches, Tudor casements, and traditional Indian features. There are also a few Indo-Saracenic styled buildings such as the Gateway of India. Art Deco styled landmarks can be found along the Marine Drive and west of the Oval Maidan. Mumbai has the second largest number of Art Deco buildings in the world after Miami. In the newer suburbs, modern buildings dominate the landscape. Mumbai has by far the largest number of skyscrapers in India, with 956 existing buildings and 272 under construction as of 2009.

 

The Mumbai Heritage Conservation Committee (MHCC), established in 1995, formulates special regulations and by-laws to assist in the conservation of the city's heritage structures. Mumbai has two UNESCO World Heritage Sites, the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus and the Elephanta Caves. In the south of Mumbai, there are colonial-era buildings and Soviet-style offices. In the east are factories and some slums. On the West coast are former-textile mills being demolished and skyscrapers built on top. There are 31 buildings taller than 100m, compared with 200 in Shanghai, 500 in Hong Kong and 500 in New York.

 

DEMOGRAPHICS

According to the 2011 census, the population of Mumbai was 12,479,608. The population density is estimated to be about 20,482 persons per square kilometre. The living space is 4.5sq metre per person. As Per 2011 census, Greater Mumbai, the area under the administration of the MCGM, has a literacy rate of 94.7%, higher than the national average of 86.7%. The number of slum-dwellers is estimated to be 9 million, up from 6 million in 2001, that is, 62% of all Mumbaikars live in informal slums.

 

The sex ratio was 838 (females per 1,000 males) in the island city, 857 in the suburbs, and 848 as a whole in Greater Mumbai, all numbers lower than the national average of 914 females per 1,000 males. The low sex ratio is partly because of the large number of male migrants who come to the city to work.

 

Residents of Mumbai call themselves Mumbaikar, Mumbaiite, Bombayite or Bombaiite. Mumbai has a large polyglot population like any other metropolitan city of India. Sixteen major languages of India are also spoken in Mumbai, most common being Marathi, Hindi, Gujarati and English. English is extensively spoken and is the principal language of the city's white collar workforce. A colloquial form of Hindi, known as Bambaiya – a blend of Marathi, Hindi, Gujarati, Konkani, Urdu, Indian English and some invented words – is spoken on the streets.

 

Mumbai suffers from the same major urbanisation problems seen in many fast growing cities in developing countries: widespread poverty and unemployment, poor public health and poor civic and educational standards for a large section of the population. With available land at a premium, Mumbai residents often reside in cramped, relatively expensive housing, usually far from workplaces, and therefore requiring long commutes on crowded mass transit, or clogged roadways. Many of them live in close proximity to bus or train stations although suburban residents spend significant time travelling southward to the main commercial district. Dharavi, Asia's second largest slum (if Karachi's Orangi Town is counted as a single slum) is located in central Mumbai and houses between 800,000 and one million people in 2.39 square kilometres, making it one of the most densely populated areas on Earth with a population density of at least 334,728 persons per square kilometre. With a literacy rate of 69%, the slums in Mumbai are the most literate in India.

 

The number of migrants to Mumbai from outside Maharashtra during the 1991–2001 decade was 1.12 million, which amounted to 54.8% of the net addition to the population of Mumbai.

 

The number of households in Mumbai is forecast to rise from 4.2 million in 2008 to 6.6 million in 2020. The number of households with annual incomes of 2 million rupees will increase from 4% to 10% by 2020, amounting to 660,000 families. The number of households with incomes from 1–2 million rupees is also estimated to increase from 4% to 15% by 2020. According to Report of Central Pollution Control Board (CPCB) 2016 Mumbai is the noisiest city in India before Lucknow , Hyderabad and Delhi.

 

ETHNIC GROUPS AND RELIGION

The religious groups represented in Mumbai include Hindus (67.39%), Muslims (18.56%), Buddhists (5.22%), Jains (3.99%), Christians (4.2%), Sikhs (0.58%), with Parsis and Jews making up the rest of the population. The linguistic/ethnic demographics are: Maharashtrians (42%), Gujaratis (19%), with the rest hailing from other parts of India.

 

Native Christians include East Indian Catholics, who were converted by the Portuguese during the 16th century, while Goan and Mangalorean Catholics also constitute a significant portion of the Christian community of the city. Jews settled in Bombay during the 18th century. The Bene Israeli Jewish community of Bombay, who migrated from the Konkan villages, south of Bombay, are believed to be the descendants of the Jews of Israel who were shipwrecked off the Konkan coast, probably in the year 175 BCE, during the reign of the Greek ruler, Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Mumbai is also home to the largest population of Parsi Zoroastrians in the world, numbering about 80,000. Parsis migrated to India from Pars (Persia/Iran) following the Muslim conquest of Persia in the seventh century. The oldest Muslim communities in Mumbai include the Dawoodi Bohras, Ismaili Khojas, and Konkani Muslims.

 

CULTURE

Mumbai's culture is a blend of traditional festivals, food, music, and theatres. The city offers a cosmopolitan and diverse lifestyle with a variety of food, entertainment, and night life, available in a form and abundance comparable to that in other world capitals. Mumbai's history as a major trading centre has led to a diverse range of cultures, religions, and cuisines coexisting in the city. This unique blend of cultures is due to the migration of people from all over India since the British period.

 

Mumbai is the birthplace of Indian cinema - Dadasaheb Phalke laid the foundations with silent movies followed by Marathi talkies - and the oldest film broadcast took place in the early 20th century. Mumbai also has a large number of cinema halls that feature Bollywood, Marathi and Hollywood movies. The Mumbai International Film Festival and the award ceremony of the Filmfare Awards, the oldest and prominent film awards given for Hindi film industry in India, are held in Mumbai. Despite most of the professional theatre groups that formed during the British Raj having disbanded by the 1950s, Mumbai has developed a thriving "theatre movement" tradition in Marathi, Hindi, English, and other regional languages.

 

Contemporary art is featured in both government-funded art spaces and private commercial galleries. The government-funded institutions include the Jehangir Art Gallery and the National Gallery of Modern Art. Built in 1833, the Asiatic Society of Bombay is one of the oldest public libraries in the city. The Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (formerly The Prince of Wales Museum) is a renowned museum in South Mumbai which houses rare ancient exhibits of Indian history.

 

Mumbai has a zoo named Jijamata Udyaan (formerly Victoria Gardens), which also harbours a garden. The rich literary traditions of the city have been highlighted internationally by Booker Prize winners Salman Rushdie, Aravind Adiga. Marathi literature has been modernised in the works of Mumbai-based authors such as Mohan Apte, Anant Kanekar, and Gangadhar Gadgil, and is promoted through an annual Sahitya Akademi Award, a literary honour bestowed by India's National Academy of Letters.

 

Mumbai residents celebrate both Western and Indian festivals. Diwali, Holi, Eid, Christmas, Navratri, Good Friday, Dussera, Moharram, Ganesh Chaturthi, Durga Puja and Maha Shivratri are some of the popular festivals in the city. The Kala Ghoda Arts Festival is an exhibition of a world of arts that encapsulates works of artists in the fields of music, dance, theatre, and films. A week-long annual fair known as Bandra Fair, starting on the following Sunday after 8 September, is celebrated by people of all faiths, to commemorate the Nativity of Mary, mother of Jesus, on 8 September.

 

The Banganga Festival is a two-day music festival, held annually in the month of January, which is organised by the Maharashtra Tourism Development Corporation (MTDC) at the historic Banganga Tank in Mumbai. The Elephanta Festival - celebrated every February on the Elephanta Islands - is dedicated to classical Indian dance and music and attracts performers from across the country. Public holidays specific to the city and the state include Maharashtra Day on 1 May, to celebrate the formation of Maharashtra state on 1 May 1960, and Gudi Padwa which is the New Year's Day for Marathi people.

 

Beaches are a major tourist attraction in the city. The major beaches in Mumbai are Girgaum Chowpatty, Juhu Beach, Dadar Chowpatty, Gorai Beach, Marve Beach, Versova Beach, Madh Beach, Aksa Beach, and Manori Beach. Most of the beaches are unfit for swimming, except Girgaum Chowpatty and Juhu Beach. Essel World is a theme park and amusement centre situated close to Gorai Beach, and includes Asia's largest theme water park, Water Kingdom. Adlabs Imagica opened in April 2013 is located near the city of Khopoli off the Mumbai-Pune Expressway.

 

WIKIPEDIA

(Hippolais polyglotta)

Bicycle rickshaw driver, Agra, Uttar Pradesh India 1985

 

This was my driver during my stay in Agra. He spoke pretty good English, German, French, and a little bit of Japanese.

 

Pentax K2, 28mm, Fujichrome100, Hell s3900 scanner

L'Hypolaïs polyglotte (Hippolais polyglotta) est une espèce d'oiseaux de la famille des Acrocephalidae. C'est un visiteur d'été en France.

Il a le dessus gris-brun olivâtre et le dessous jaune, plus net sur la gorge et le haut de la poitrine. Le ventre et les flancs sont lavés de gris jaunâtre. Petit sourcil jaune, pas toujours visible. Le bec, long relativement à la tête, et orangé.

Cet oiseau mesure 12 à 13 cm de longueur pour une envergure de 18 à 20 cm et une masse de 11 à 14 g.

Source: fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypola%C3%AFs_polyglotte

 

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

"Do you know what's important for children to be taught?

Languages ! Each language that you know makes you an extra person. My parents encouraged us children to learn foreign languages and I speak seven languages!"

Hippolais polyglotta

Serra da Lousã

Portugal

Taille : 14 cm - Poids : 9 à 16 g

Merci à tous pour vos visites, favoris et commentaires

Thanks you all for your visits, faves and comments

Felosa-poliglota

 

Melodious warbler

 

Beja - Portugal

 

10.8.2011

 

Na companhia do GOEF Luís Freitas...está a acabar o tirocínio com aproveitamento e distinção...!

Wishing you all good health, happiness, success and brilliant photos in 2016.

Personally I am longing to see the return of old friends that I miss so much; you know who you are. Sending love and thoughts and vibes to you and yours.

 

And if you have time, please see my gallery of other people's beautiful photos in 2015.

flic.kr/y/2dm5G7Z

"Greetings, X-Men. I bid you welcome to the site of your final battleground. You are going to die here, mutants. And neither your powers nor all your skills can save you from my wrath! Look on me, X-Men for I am your oldest, deadliest foe. Master of the legion of evil mutants -- and soon to be lord of all the world! I -- am -- Magneto!!"

— Magneto, X-Men Vol 1 104

 

Character Publication History

 

Magneto (/mæɡˈniːtoʊ/; birth name: Max Eisenhardt; (alias: Erik Lehnsherr and Magnus) is a character appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics, commonly in association with the X-Men. Created by writer Stan Lee and artist/co-writer Jack Kirby, the character first appeared in The X-Men #1 (cover-dated September 1963) as an adversary of the X-Men.

 

Magneto is a powerful mutant, one of a fictional subspecies of humanity born with superhuman abilities, who has the ability to generate and control magnetic fields. Magneto regards mutants as evolutionarily superior to humans and rejects the possibility of peaceful human-mutant coexistence; he initially aimed to conquer the world to enable mutants, whom he refers to as Homo superior, to replace humans as the dominant species, and occasionally advocated for human genocide.

 

Writers have since fleshed out his origins and motivations, revealing him to be a Holocaust survivor whose extreme methods and cynical philosophy derive from his "Never again" determination to protect mutants from suffering a similar fate to the European Jews at the hands of a world that fears and persecutes them.

 

He was once a friend of Professor X, the leader of the X-Men, but their different philosophies sometimes cause a rift in their friendship. Magneto's role in comics has progressed from supervillain to antihero to superhero, having served as an occasional ally and member of the X-Men, even leading the New Mutants for a time as headmaster of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.

 

Writer Chris Claremont, who originated Magneto's backstory, modeled the character on then-Israeli opposition leader Menachem Begin.

 

Ian McKellen has portrayed Magneto in various films since X-Men in 2000, while Michael Fassbender has portrayed a younger version of the character in the prequel films since X-Men: First Class in 2011. Both actors portrayed their respective incarnations in X-Men: Days of Future Past. Magneto appears in X-Men: The Animated Series (1992) voiced by David Hemblen and its sequel X-Men '97 (2024) voiced by Matthew Waterson.

 

Magneto first appeared in the debut issue of The X-Men in 1963. Since the 1960s, Magneto has appeared in The Uncanny X-Men, X-Men, Astonishing X-Men, Alpha Flight, Cable, Excalibur, The New Mutants, various X-Men miniseries, and many other Marvel titles. His first solo title was a one-shot special, Magneto: The Twisting of a Soul #0 (Sept. 1993), published when the character returned from a brief absence; it reprinted Magneto-based stories from Classic X-Men #12 and 19 (Aug. 1987 and March 1988), by writer Chris Claremont and artist John Bolton.

 

When asked about his approach to Magneto, Jack Kirby stated, "I saw my villains not as villains. I knew villains had to come from somewhere and they came from people. My villains were people that developed problems." In a 2008 interview, Stan Lee said he "did not think of Magneto as a bad guy. He just wanted to strike back at the people who were so bigoted and racist...he was trying to defend the mutants, and because society was not treating them fairly he was going to teach society a lesson. He was a danger of course...but I never thought of him as a villain." In the same interview, he also revealed that he originally planned for Magneto to be the brother of his nemesis Professor X.

 

Writer Chris Claremont stated that Menachem Begin was an inspiration for Magneto's development, as David Ben-Gurion was for Professor X. "An equivalent analogy could be made to [Israeli prime minister] Menachem Begin as Magneto, evolving through his life from a terrorist in 1947 to a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize 30 years later."

 

Claremont also said "My resonance to Magneto and Xavier was borne more out of the Holocaust. It was coming face to face with evil, and how do you respond to it? In Magneto's case it was violence begets violence. In Xavier's it was the constant attempt to find a better way..."

 

Magneto's first original title was the four-issue miniseries Magneto (Nov. 1996-Feb. 1997), by writers Peter Milligan and Jorge Gonzalez, and penciller Kelley Jones. In the miniseries, Magneto had been de-aged and suffered from amnesia, calling himself Joseph; it was later revealed that Joseph was a younger clone of Magneto.

Later, Magneto became ruler of the nation Genosha and then appeared in two miniseries; Magneto Rex (written by Joe Pruett and drawn by Brandon Peterson) and Magneto: Dark Seduction (written by Fabian Nicieza and drawn by Roger Cruz).

 

A trade paperback novel detailing Magneto's childhood, X-Men: Magneto Testament was written by Greg Pak and released in September 2008. Pak based Magneto Testament on accounts from Holocaust survivors. Before the publication of X-Men: Magneto Testament, Magneto's personal background and history were invented in The Uncanny X-Men #150 (Aug. 1981).

 

He was portrayed as a Jewish Holocaust survivor; while searching for his wife Magda, a Sintesa, Magneto maintained a cover identity as a Sinto. This created confusion among some readers as to Magneto's heritage, until his Jewish background was confirmed in Magneto: Testament.

 

Origin

 

The man that would become known as "Magneto" was born Max Eisenhardt in Germany during the 1920's to a middle class Jewish family. His father, Jakob Eisenhardt, was a World War I veteran and a proud German. The family struggled against discrimination and hardship during the Nazi's rise to power, the Nuremberg laws, and Kristallnacht. In the early 1930's, the family fled to Poland, where they were captured during the Nazi invasion and sent to the Warsaw Ghetto. They managed to escape the ghetto, but were captured again. Max's mother, father, and sister were executed, but Max survived (potentially thanks to an early manifestation of his powers) and was sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp.

 

There, Max became a Sonderkommando, forced to dispose of gas chamber victims. While at the camp, Max was reunited with a girl he had fallen in love with during his school days named Magda. Max and and Magda escaped when Auschwitz was liberated and were soon married. They moved to the Ukrainian city of Vinnytsia, where they started their new lives together. Max adopted the name "Magnus" and Magda gave birth to their daughter who they named Anya.

 

Magnus worked as a carpenter to support the family and for a time they lived happily. One night Magnus was attacked and instinctively lashed out with his mutant powers of magnetism (which had never surfaced before due to a bout of scarlet fever as a child), killing the attackers. Later that evening, he returned home to find his house on fire, with Anya trapped inside. Magnus rushed inside to rescue her but he was too late. Enraged at the death of his beloved daughter, he used his new powers to kill the surrounding mob that started the fire. Magda, terrified of her husband's strange abilities, fled to the forest and never saw her husband again.

 

Magda made her way to Wundagore Mountain, where she gave birth to twins Pietro and Wanda (who would grew up to be Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, respectively). Magda later disappeared, presumed deceased. During the next few years Magnus had an identity forger named Greg Odekirk create him a new identity, reinventing himself as a gypsy named "Erik Magnus Lehnsherr". It was while using this identity that he went to Israel to help at a psychiatric hospital. There, he met Professor Charles Xavier. The two became fast friends, playing chess and having intellectual debates about mutation and the future of mankind.

 

When Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker attacked a young patient named Gabrielle Haller, Xavier and Magnus used their powers in order to save her. Following the battle, Charles and Magnus realized they had very differing ideologies. Magnus disappeared and the two friends would not meet again for many years. During the next few years, Magnus worked for the CIA hunting Nazis, but this association ended when they murdered a girl he was becoming close to. Magnus would not be seen again until he became the mutant known as Magneto.

 

Character Evolution

 

In his initial appearances, Magneto was portrayed as a would-be tyrant, who had a desire to punish all human and would often abuse his subjects (he physically abused Toad, one of the members of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, while Scarlet Witch was psychologically tormented into obedience, as Magneto saved her life in the past). Eventually, (as Marvel did with many of their long-lasting villains over the years) Magneto was given a more humanized portrayal as a Holocaust survivor who wanted to ensure that mutants would not suffer the same fate his family did for being born different.

 

Magneto has long been the face of mutant separatism, in opposition to Charles Xavier's ideal of coexistence with humanity. Believing that mutants are the next stage in human evolution, he sought to assert their dominance over the planet and its inhabitants. This was Magneto's means of assuring the survival of his people in a world that hates and fears them for there very existence. Though not a hero, Magneto is charismatic, noble, and wise. His long and turbulent friendship with Charles Xavier has been a cornerstone for both men's lives, as a rivalry that has lasted decades.

 

Major Story Arcs

 

War on Humanity

 

After years of lying low, Magnus eventually resurfaced, now using the identity of "Magneto" bursting into the public eye. He attacked Cape Citadel, but was stopped by the original X-Men, a confrontation that would spark a decades long rivalry. Some months later, Magneto was seen leading a team of mutants witch he mockingly named the Brotherhood of "Evil" Mutants. This group consisted of a few mutants including, the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver. These young mutants where actually his daughter and son, but none of them knew at the time.

 

Demanding not merely equal rights, the Brotherhood sought supremacy for mutant-kind. Their vicious attacks against humans led them to attract the attention of Professor Xavier and his X-Men, whom where often able to repel the group. Magneto did however not just fight against the X-Men but many other superhero groups such as the Avengers and the Fantastic Four. During one of Magneto's plans, Professor Xavier sought the help of the superheroes team known as the Defenders. Magneto had made a new mutant-like entity named Alpha the Ultimate Mutant.

This mutant was made by Magneto to help further his cause. The creature however turned on him and returned Magneto to the age of an infant. The child was brought into the care of Charles Xavier, who brought him over to his former lover Moira MacTaggert. She took care of the infant Magneto for some months before he was restored to his prime age as a young man by the Shi'ar agent Eric the Red. Although shaken by the events and perhaps changed for good, Magneto still sought out to win his war against humanity. Now once again in his physical prime (and stronger than before), Magneto battled the X-Men on Muir Island before disappearing. He would later return to capture the X-Men, but was badly injured after being attacked by Wolverine. The injuries forced Magneto to flee, allowing the X-Men to thwart his plan.

 

Reformation Period

 

During a particularly heated battle with the X-Men, Magneto wounds and nearly kills Kitty Pryde (then only fourteen). Stricken with the revelation that he’s become a horrific extremist, willing to murder even children to achieve his goals, Magneto renounces his terrorist ways. He seeks out his former wife Magda and learns of her death, but also the truth about Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver: that they are his children. While the pair accept that he’s their father, they reject Magneto's leadership for his abusive treatment of them over their years in the Brotherhood.

 

Time would eventually heal their wounds, and they would come to a grudging acceptance of him. Magneto joins the X-Men after being persuaded to give human/mutant co-existence a chance by Professor Xavier. This comes at a time when Charles is badly injured in battle and Magneto takes over the reign of his school, teaching young mutants to control their powers and use them for the betterment of both humans and mutants. He started teaching the New Mutants and fought alongside the X-men. This, at first was very difficult for many of the team-members, since they had done battle against Magneto more then once.

 

However, Magneto proved to be a valuable ally and the X-Men started to trust him. Even Wolverine, previously extremely wary of the mutant leader, grew to accept him. It appeared Magneto was truly a changed man, and even allowed himself to be put on trial on France. However, the trial was interrupted by a battle before it could be finished.

 

When part of Magneto's old Asteroid M base crashed down onto the Earth, he went to survey one of the impact sites and destroy any dangerous weaponry that might be inside. However, he was soon confronted by the Avengers, who mistakenly believed him to be there for sinister purposes. Despite trying to explain himself, Magneto ended up fighting against the heroes, which only got worse when the X-Men arrived to back him up. The situation would grow even more complicated when the Soviet Super Soldiers joined the fray, seeking to arrest Magneto for a volcanic eruption he'd previously caused in Russia. The X-Men themselves were concerned by Magneto's actions, and Wolverine began to suspect that Erik might be returning to his old ways. After finding his old helmet in the ruins of Asteroid M, Magneto began to feel tempted by his past, believing that he could use the old mind control circuits within to brainwash the planet's population so that all feelings of bigotry would be erased. When asked his thoughts on the situation, Captain America argued that using mind control to change minds was unethical, and something that would violate the very concept of freedom Magneto was striving for. After realizing that there was no anti-mutant bigotry in Captain America's heart, Magneto surrendered himself to the Avengers and allowed himself to be put on trial once again. When Captain Marvel discovered that the head judge presiding over the case was revealed to be an anti-mutant bigot, Magneto decided to use his helmet to alter the man's mind and remove his prejudiced thoughts. After finally destroying his helmet and being found innocent of his past crimes, a largely surprised Magneto now felt like a free man once more who had made a change for the good.

 

However, certain events would reverse a great many of those feelings soon. The Mutant Massacre occurred, in which many of the Morlocks would be killed by the mutant-hunting Marauders. Some months later, during the events of the Fall of the Mutants, Magneto's star pupils, Cypher, was killed by a human. This incident and the fact that he could not have protected an innocent young mutant under his care, started breaking Magneto up. At this time, he also lost contact with the X-Men when the team went to Australia.

 

In finding security for his New Mutant students, Magneto went as far as joining longtime X-Men rivals the Hellfire Club in hope of providing the security for them that he could not give. The New Mutants, however, wanted nothing to do with Magneto anymore, feeling he had betrayed them. Magneto, now angry, left the New Mutants and, after this, many of his human-hating ways resurfaced. Ultimately, Magneto would view his role as leader of the X-Men and teacher of the New Mutants as a failure on his part and he retired to Asteroid M to live in seclusion.

 

Mutant Separatism

 

While living in isolation, a group of mutants led by Fabian Cortez calling themselves the Acolytes approached Magneto asking for his leadership. Magneto decided that his best course of action would be to create a nation for mutants unto themselves and goes so far as declaring Asteroid M such a nation. Magneto even made the move to defend himself against further attacks of the human race by taking up the armed missiles of a Russian submarine he sunk years ago.

 

The X-Men responded accordingly by assaulting Magneto and his group of mutants. While the X-man Rogue tried to bring peace between the former allies, it ultimately had no effect and he attacked her without remorse. Magneto turned his back on the X-Men for good, feeling they had not only betrayed him in not trusting his judgement, but also betraying their friendship. The X-men then assaulted the asteroid, with Cortez’ betrayal leading to Magneto’s ultimate defeat. Magneto retreated to his back-up space station Avalon where he grew even more bitter then before. Erik however soon encountered the X-men once again, during the X-Men’s siege on Avalon.

 

During this conflict, Magneto still held back against his former allies, until the X-Man Wolverine attacked him and almost gutted him. He then used his powers to rip the adamantium from Wolverine's skeleton, almost killing him. An angered and furious Xavier lashed out, wiping Magneto's mind and leaving him in a catatonic state. The X-man Colossus turned sides on the X-men and helped Magneto out of Avalon and returned him to a rebuild Astroid M.

 

Joseph

 

For months, the catatonic Magneto sat on his thrown on Asteroid M, being served by his Acolytes, but not being able to even utter a word. This all changed when an "Age of Apocalypse" refugee named Holocaust entered the base and brought it down around them. Magneto was saved by Colossus and found himself alone again back on earth. It was then that a mutant teleporter named Astra, as a way of revenge, restored Magneto's memories (by an unknown method) and created a clone named Joseph from his DNA. It was her plan to kill Magneto after that, but the clone went out of control and during this scene, Magneto managed to escape. For some months, it was thought that Jospeh was actually Magneto. The clone even became an ally to the X-men. It took a few more months before Magneto finally made himself known to the world once again.

 

Disguised as a normal human, Magneto placed the fate of humanity in the hands of an average man name William Jones. William was a building-contractor and was investigating a freakish building collapse of the Center for Humanitarian Excellence in Los Angeles, which was suspected to be the work of mutants. Magneto, posing as a board member, engaged William in conversation. The two had a pleasant conversation until Magneto showed him his powers and told him who he really was. William became afraid and told him in all honesty that he would like him to be gone from this world, not because he hated him, but because of his overwhelming power and what he did with it.

 

Having perverted his supposedly objective experiment in human nature to his own ends, Magneto thanked William and left him to meet his cadre of robots at the magnetic north pole, where he began to manipulate the Polar magnetic fields. Only if the United Nations would meat his demands, Magneto would stop destroying the Polar magnetic fields. Luckily, the X-men intervened and managed to defeat Magneto, with Magneto's clone Joseph dying in the process. His defeat was, however, not before the United Nations met his demands, giving Magneto his only island to rule, the nation of Genosha.

 

Leader of Genosha

 

Magneto was given full authority by the United Nation to become the leader of the Island nation of Genosha. A difficult task lay before him since the country was wrecked during the civil war between humans and mutants after the uprising of the former mutant slaves. Magneto however soon managed to establish a government and tried to bring order to the nation. Despite some difficulties, Magneto managed to pull it of. He even got help from his son and daughters, Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch and Polaris, during this time. Genosha became a utopian nation for mutants where they could live in peace and freedom. Some months later however, Magneto kidnapped Charles Xavier in order to show him what he had achieved. A newly formed team of X-men managed to free Xavier, while Wolverine gutted Magneto badly and was left with serious injuries. Magneto however had full right to defend his nation from foreign diplomacy (being the X-men) and while Magneto was defeated in battle, he won the war when the X-men left the nation.

 

Destruction of a Nation

 

Some weeks went by and Erik was healing from his last battle against the X-men. It was at this time that a full frontal Sentinel attack was undertaken on Genosha by the menace known as Cassandra Nova, who now had possession over the Sentinels, only after killing Bolivar Trask's nephew, Donald Trask and "gaining" his DNA. Magneto was seemingly one of the first to fall in battle. A giant airplane with the appearance of an iron fist entered the tower in witch Magneto was located. After this first attack, a huge Sentinel destroyed the entire city, leaving almost everyone dead in it's wake. When the X-men came to investigate they saw the slaughter of countless mutants. A true new dark age for the mutants had begun. While investigating, the X-men found a tape that was made by Magneto a few minutes prior to his seeming death. He told his nation to never give up and be strong, even in the darkest of times. It seemed that Erik Lenhsherr, Magneto, had finally perished in battle.

 

Xorn and Excalibur

 

After believing Magneto gone for good, the newest teacher at the Xavier Institute, the enigmatic, masked mutant known as Xorn, revealed himself as Magneto in disguise to Professor Xavier. This "Magneto" told Charles he had been living under their noses the whole time. He quickly defeated the X-men and, along with several mutant-students he had been teaching the last months, staged an attack on the island of Manhattan. This included murdering numerous humans in crematoriums, mirroring his Holocaust persecution. The X-Men however doubted his legitimacy as the real "Master of Magnetism". The X-men regrouped and fought Xorn. His addiction to the power-enhancing drug named “ Kick” however allowed Xorn to assault and kill Jean Grey by giving her a planetary-scale stroke. An enraged Wolverine decapitated the alleged Magneto, who was later revealed to be an impostor, actually Xorn under the influence of X-men enemy Sublime. The real Magneto had never left the island of Genosha after the attacks on it by Cassandra Nova.

 

Eventually, Charles Xavier contacted Magneto and went to Genosha to figure out what Erik's next move should be. He was now the world's most hated man, even though it had not been him that attacked humankind this time. Magneto was furious to think that people would actually think him able to do those horrible acts. Magneto and Xavier remained on the island for a longer period of time, in the meantime finding other survivors of the Sentinels attacks. The two became close friends once more over the period of time and Magneto finally seemed to have forsaken his more violent ways. Things all changed when Charles and Erik saw a news broadcast that showed images of Erik's daughter, Wanda Maximoff (better known as the Scarlet Witch), to have suffered a nervous breakdown and hurt and killed many of her former Avengers teammates in the process. She had been taken into custody. Magneto donned his uniform once more and went straight to New York City, leaving Charles and his more peaceful life behind.

 

House of M

 

After Wanda devastatingly, but accidentally, disbanded the Avengers and was rendered unconscious, Magneto appeared and demanded to have his daughter remanded to his care. The Avengers and the X-men at this point found out that Magneto was still alive and that he was not the one responsible for the attacks on New York City, which where actually Xorn's. The Avengers accepted a grieving father's demands and gave Wanda, somewhat reluctant, over to Magneto. Magneto then returned back with Wanda to the island of Genosha where he and Charles Xavier had spent their last months. Magneto watched over his sleeping daughter, kept unconscious by Xavier. However, both the X-men and the newly formed Avengers saw Wanda as a threat and where planing to bring Wanda in, or even have her killed should that be necessary. Magneto's son, Pietro (Quicksilver) demanded that Magneto saved her. Magneto responded that it was out of his hands and there was nothing he could do. On the one hand Wanda was indeed his flesh and blood and he would give his life for her, but on the other hand, she clearly had a mental breakdown and was dangerous.

 

It was then that the combined forces of the X-Men and the New Avengers arrived on Magneto's doorstep. Before they could act however, the world flashed white and when it returned, reality had been remade as a world where mutants where the dominant species and humanity was on the decline. Magneto was now ruler over the sovereign nation of Genosha, the dominant superpower in the world, and mutants held almost all worldwide positions of power.

 

The world has been reversed: mutants now subjugate and legislate against humans, waiting for them to die out over the natural course of their existence. When Wolverine and a mysterious girl named Layla Miller begin restoring the memories of the heroes, they staged a daring coup against Magneto’s headquarters where Wanda was kept. The revelation came out that it was actually Pietro, not Erik, who convinced Wanda to remake the world in this image. As the world crumbled around them and returned to normal reality, Wanda utters three simple words: No more mutants. When everything returns to normal, 99% of the world’s mutant population has been depowered, including Magneto. This day would be known as M-Day

 

The Master Returns

 

For the following months, Magneto wandered the Earth. He then contacted his old friend Xavier, leading them both ino trouble when Magneto's old soldiers, the Acolytes, showed up to kill Xavier. They no longer listened to Magneto, because he wasn't a mutant anymore. By teaming up, Magneto and Xavier managed to break free of the Acolytes and stop them from further pursuit. The two then went their separate ways again. Some months later, Magneto contacted the High Evolutionary, who managed to return Magneto's lost mutant powers. This all happened during a ruse where he attacked the X-Men once again. He was now the only mutant to regain his powers after losing them on M-Day.

 

Nation X

 

Magneto, with his powers back, stood for a choice, returning to his old ways or now join the X-men on their homebase known as Utopia. Since no more then 200 mutants remained after M-Day, Magneto thought the few that where still there should stand strong together. He embarked on a journey to Utopia where he was met with anger by the X-men. When he arrives, Xavier demands he leave, but Cyclops overrules him and allows Magneto to state his business. Magneto then fell down on his knees and praised Cyclops' leadership and asked him if he could join them.

 

Xavier refused to accept Magneto’s suspicious acts and change of heart and telepathically attacks him, but Cyclops stops the attack and orders Xavier to leave. Magneto laments the future of their race, but Cyclops assures him that Hope Summers, the Mutant Messiah is alive and well. Magneto swears fealty to the X-Men and is made a senior member of Cyclops’ cabinet. He’s still not fully accepted, however, as Cyclops reprimands him for taking what he believed to be too much initiative by constructing a giant support column to not only support Utopia, but house the Atlantean refugees, calling the structure New Atlantis.

 

To finally atone for his past sins, he journeys to the top of a mountain to reflect and finally realizes what he can do: bring Kitty Pryde back to Earth. He saw the massive bullet she was trapped in when he was in the High Evolutionary’s space station and uses his abilities to bring her back, but he lapses into a coma.

 

Return

 

Magneto comes out of his coma right after Hope was teleported into Utopia by a dying Nightcrawler. With the Nimrod Sentinels laying siege to Utopia, Magneto stopped Hank McCoy from leaving his patients as he stated that he had made certain promises to himself, which precluded him from laying in bed while his people were in danger of genocide. Magneto prepares for battle and manage to hold off a squad of Nimrods by attacking them with electrical blasts before finally dismembering the robots by pulling shards of iron from the core of Utopia through them. The wounded but victorious Magneto then gave a speech to the awed young mutants that surrounded him that it was their destiny to inherit the world. On one day, Magneto receives a lead from X-men teammate Dr. Nemesis on one of his old Nazi tormentors. Erik reveals to Wolverine's X-Force that he is aware of their existence, and trades his silence for the murder of the Nazi officer. Wolverine takes the task on alone and completes it.

 

Schism

 

Magneto appears alongside Emma Frost, Colossus, Namor, and Iceman at the unveiling of a mutant museum in San Francisco under orders from Cyclops. The highly publicized event is attacked by the new Hellfire Club. Each of the X-Men present are taken down one by one through technology specifically designed to defeat each of them. Magneto is shot with a miniaturized neutron star. The Hellfire Club then attaches brain slugs to the X-Men to keep them unconscious. Idie, the only mutant left in the museum unscathed, kills the remaining Hellfire members to save everyone.

 

The Hellfire Club unleashes a giant Sentinel, charged with destroying Utopia. Cyclops and some of the younger mutants prepare to stand their ground, while Wolverine demands that the children run and save themselves. The Sentinel winds up being defeated. However, the X-Men are split between Cyclops and Wolverine. Magneto remains loyal to Cyclops and stays on Utopia.

 

Regenesis

 

Magneto is later assigned to Cyclops' new "Extinction Team", which also consists of Namor, Danger, Magik, Colossus, Storm, Hope, and Emma Frost. In a training exercise between the Extinction Team and Hope's Lights, Magneto is attacked by Zero and reacts by brutally by ripping him in half with his magnetic powers. Zero is able to pull himself back together (which Magneto knew he was capable of doing), but Magneto is harshly reprimanded by Hope and Cyclops for attacking so harshly during a training exercise. After the apparent death of Jocasta, Hank Pym calls for Cyclops, Emma Frost and Magneto to aid him in his investigation. Upon their arrival to the West Coast Academy, Magneto agrees to assist so long as Quicksilver refrains from involving himself in any mutant affairs. He claims that Pietro coerced his sister into the events that led to her breakdown and cites his misuse of the Terrigen Mists and the war that was caused due to it.

 

Magneto is also faced with a ghost from his past in the form of his clone, Joseph. Disguised as Magneto, Joseph kills a group of anti-mutant protesters witch causes a conflict between Magneto and the authorities and the Avengers. The Avengers claim Magneto to be the perpetrator. However, Magneto soon found out that the mutant teleporter Astra, an old nemesis to Magneto as well as the person who created the original Joseph, was to blame for the new Joseph and the murders. Eventually Magneto managed to clear his name and defeated Astra while Joseph was brought over to Cyclops where he was imprisoned.

 

Avengers vs. X-Men

 

When Captain America arrives on Utopia to discuss Hope and the returning Phoenix Force, the two teams can not come to an agreement. This causes a rift between the two superhero teams. Where most of the X-men believe the Phoenix Force to be a force that can re-spark the dying mutant race, the Avengers believe it will cause nothing but harm. During this, Magneto stands with the X-men's Extinction Team lead by Cyclops and helps him gain the advantage during the first fight that breaks out as a result of the difference in opinion. Magneto also helps the X-men and Avengers during the following days in search of Hope and later when five of the X-men gained the Phoenix's powers.

 

The Mutant Revolution

 

Magneto helps break Cyclops out of prison and joins his group of rogue X-Men. Magneto's powers are broken due to a blast from the Phoenix Force, as well as the rest of the team's due to their exposure. With their broken abilities, the team have searched the planet for new mutants due to the re-igniting of the mutant gene. Magneto seemingly betrays the X-Men in order to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and tell them what Cyclops' team is up to. He reveals himself to the rest of the X-Men that he did so in order to act as a double agent since the team is on the run. Magneto helps build the New Charles Xavier school from the remnants of an old Weapon X facility. He also helps in recruiting new mutants in a girl that can control time, a healer, a boy who can project golden balls, a chameleon like mutant, and even visits the Jean Grey Institute to recruit some of their students in the form of the Stepford Cuckoos, and the time-displaced Angel of the original X-Men. Magneto is now Limbo with the team to fight the threat of Dormammu and his demons. Magneto and the team hold out long enough for Magik to absorb Limbo, defeat Dormammu and cast them out back to their dimension. Scott confronts Magneto about his loyalties, but Magneto wants the end goal to be the same as Scott and the two have a conversation to further strengthen their relationship and come to terms with their standings in regards to each other. Magneto is there with the rest of the team when Emma is helping the new mutant David Bond, control his powers to show off what he can do. Magneto and the rest of the X-Men help rescue Fabio from S.H.I.E.L.D..

 

Magneto gets a message from Maria Hill so that they can meet up and talk. Hill tells Erik that if he wishes to continue talking with her he will have to talk to Dazzler, the new mutant liaison. Magneto ends up returning to the X-Men's hideout, where he watches a pro-mutant rally supporting Cyclops with the team. Magneto shows up late to help battle Blockbuster sentinel, and he delivers the final blow before the sentinel is called back by its master.

 

Magneto ponders his current situation and what his direction is. Mystique posing as Dazzler reveals herself to him and invites him to come to Madripoor. He finds that Madripoor has been made into a new safe haven for the mutants. He finds there is the drug kick being made, but he ends up meeting up with the Blob. Fred takes him to the skyscraper where Mystique is at with Sabretooth and the new Silver Samurai, where they have reformed the Brotherhood of Mutants. Erik snaps at what has happened, saying this isn't a dream but a nightmare. In his rage he attacks the team and ends up making the skyscraper collapse before riding away in a helicopter, heading off on his own.

 

AXIS and Time Runs Out

 

Magneto again appears on the scene during the events of AXIS, in which the Red Skull had taken the brain and telepathic powers of the deceased Charles Xavier, one of Erik's oldest friends. In his quest for revenge against the Red Skull, Magneto found out that Red Skull had used his new powers to wreck havok among the world and even founded his own concentration camp for mutants on the island of Genosha, Magneto's former base. As many of the heroes whom apposed the Red Skull in the initial assault fell, Magneto sought out a group of relunctant villains whom helped him fight the Red Skull. Eventually, Magneto and the rest of the heroes and villains where succesfull in taking out the Red Skull, after which Magneto took his rightfull place in Genosha, helping out the mutants that had been captured by the Skull some weeks before.

 

Although Magneto started rebuilding Genosha, all seemed for nothing when the Universal Incursion started happening. The multiverse had began to unravel, as each time, two planet earth's from two different universes collided, ending both universes. While many of the Marvel heroes tried to stop these incursions, Magneto also did his best in stopping the incursions. He, as well as all other heroes however failed, and the Marvel universe was seemingly destroyed forever.

 

Leading the X-Men

 

After the events of Secret Wars, reality was brought back thanks to Doctor Doom and Reed Richards. We see that Magneto is now leading a team of X-Men consisting of Psylocke, M, and Sabretooth. They are trying to find a cure for the Terrigen Mist when they discover that someone is gunning for healers. The Dark riders are their opponents, but they appear to being controlled by a unknown source.

 

Powers

 

Magnetic Field Manipulation

 

Magneto's mutant power gives him mastery over all forms of magnetism. He can perceive the magnetic forces of the Earth as well as the bio-electrical patterns of all living beings. He can draw on and use the magnetosphere of the planet, which extends far into space. Magneto can use his vast power to reshape even the most indestructible metals, including the adamantium in Wolverine's skeleton. He's been shown controlling the most insignificant magnetic particles in both the atmosphere and in living beings, reversing their blood flow or ripping out any ferrous elements through their tissues.

 

Magneto can create electromagnetic fields strong enough to manipulate non-ferrous items, though he may be using anti-gravity fields to do this. He has demonstrated the ability to lift thousands of tons with his magnetic powers, although the greater he exerts himself the greater the physical and mental stress he undergoes. Magneto has the ability to increase his physical attributes by directing his magnetic powers inward. He has been seeing increasing his physical strength and durability, as well as his speed and reaction time.

 

Magneto can create powerful magnetic force fields for personal protection, project blasts of electricity or magnetic energy, and generate powerful electromagnetic pulses. He can also assemble complicated machines within seconds through the use of his powers. Although Magneto's primary power is the control over magnetism, he can also manipulate any form of energy from the electromagnetic spectrum. This includes visible light, radio waves, ultraviolet light, gamma rays, and x-rays. It is more difficult for Magneto to manipulate other forms of energy, so he predominately only uses magnetism.

 

After his exposure to an attack from the Phoenix Force, Magneto's powers have been greatly reduced. He has shown limits in only being able to dismantle a few sentinels at a time, and has been forced to become more precise in his attacks, resulting in him using metallic objects as projectiles more frequently. Magneto has also shown he can overexert himself rather quickly, resulting in physical harm. Despite these limits, Magneto has still shown the ability to fly and use his powers in a precise and accurate manner. Recently, in a fit of rage, he made a skyscraper collapse. Perhaps this shows his powers are returning to their once former glory or that in cases of extreme emotion, his powers get stronger than their current state.

 

Abilities

 

Mental Resistance

 

Magneto has trained himself to defend his mind against even the strongest telepathic attacks. Due in part to his long history with Charles Xavier, he possesses a great deal of knowledge in devising technology to block psychic assaults. Magneto's helmet greatly augments his already immense mental fortitude, and even without it he has been shown resisting the intrusion of immensely powerful psychics such as Xavier and Emma Frost (whose telepathy Magneto resisted even when she possessed the Phoenix Force, though with great effort).

 

Genius-level Intellect

 

Magneto is a genius with competence in various fields of advanced science, especially genetic mutation, particle physics, engineering, and robotics. His intellect has allowed him to create many advanced and complex machines, most of which are well beyond the scope contemporary science. He has engineered advanced robots, space stations, devices capable of nullifying mutant powers except for his own, devices that generate volcanoes and earthquakes, and devices that block telepathy. He can create artificial living beings (such as Alpha the Ultimate Mutant) and fully-grown adult clones, as well as mutate humans in order to give them superhuman powers.

 

Master Combatant

 

Magneto has some military training in hand-to-combat and is capable of holding his own in a fight, though he prefers the use of his mutant powers in most combat situations. He is an able athlete despite his age, and keeps himself in excellent physical condition.

 

Master Tactician and Strategist

 

Magneto is an excellent strategist, both in actual battles and games of chess, and has extensive combat experience. He has successfully held his own in combat against entire groups of superhuman adversaries, such as the X-Men and the Avengers.

 

Multilingual

 

Magneto is a polyglot, fluent in English, German, Polish, Yiddish, French, Russian, Ukrainian, Hebrew, and Arabic. He has even managed to decipher the ancient language of a lost civilization.

 

Paraphernalia

 

Magneto's Helmet

 

Magneto's helmet is designed to prevent telepathic intrusion or psionic attacks. This is accomplished via technology of Magneto's own design wired into the helmet itself. The helmet has become something of a symbol, an integral part of Magneto's persona. When Magneto was thought dead after the sentinel attack on Genosha, t-shirts adorned with the image of him wearing his helmet and featuring the slogan "Magneto Was Right" started being worn by disenfranchised mutant youth as a symbol of rebellion.

 

The costume that Magneto wears is actually a type of armor that he has created through the use of his magnetic powers. The costume is an amalgam of various lightweight, but highly durable, metallic alloys that further protects him from many forms of physical injury.

 

Utility Belt

 

After losing most of his power due to exposure to the Phoenix Force, Magneto has resorted to donning a new outfit, including a utility belt. He has shown to keep small, metallic objects, such as nails, in his pouches to use as weapons. In times of being out of his suit, Magneto carries knives and bullets on his person.

 

⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽

_____________________________

 

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

 

Secret Identity: Max Eisenhardt

 

Publisher: Marvel

 

First Appearance: The X-Men #1

(September 1963)

 

Created by: Stan Lee (writer)

Jack Kirby (artist)

 

Magneto has been in the Paprihaven story such as in issue 962, describing his view of world domination to Unger!

www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/22490760991/

 

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

The Plantin-Moretus Museum (Dutch: Plantin-Moretusmuseum) is a printing museum in Antwerp, Belgium which focuses on the work of the 16th-century printers Christophe Plantin and Jan Moretus. It is located in their former residence and printing establishment, the Plantin Press, at the Vrijdagmarkt (Friday Market) in Antwerp, and has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2005.

 

The printing company was founded in the 16th century by Christophe Plantin, who obtained type from the leading typefounders of the day in Paris. Plantin was a major figure in contemporary printing with interests in humanism; his eight-volume, multi-language Plantin Polyglot Bible with Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Syriac texts was one of the most complex productions of the period. Plantin's is now suspected of being at least connected to members of heretical groups known as the Familists, and this may have led him to spend time in exile in his native France.

  

View of the courtyard of the museum

After Plantin's death it was owned by his son-in-law Jan Moretus. While most printing concerns disposed of their collections of older type in the eighteenth and nineteenth century in response to changing tastes, the Plantin-Moretus company "piously preserved the collection of its founder."

 

Four women ran the family-owned Plantin-Moretus printing house (Plantin Press) over the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries: Martina Plantin, Anna Goos, Anna Maria de Neuf and Maria Theresia Borrekens.

 

In 1876 Edward Moretus sold the company to the city of Antwerp. One year later the public could visit the living areas and the printing presses. The collection has been used extensively for research, by historians H. D. L. Vervliet, Mike Parker and Harry Carter. Carter's son Matthew would later describe this research as helping to demonstrate "that the finest collection of printing types made in typography's golden age was in perfect condition (some muddle aside) [along with] Plantin's accounts and inventories which names the cutters of his types."

 

In 2002 the museum was nominated as UNESCO World Heritage Site and in 2005 was inscribed onto the World Heritage list.

 

The Plantin-Moretus Museum possesses an exceptional collection of typographical material. Not only does it house the two oldest surviving printing presses in the world and complete sets of dies and matrices, it also has an extensive library, a richly decorated interior and the entire archives of the Plantin business, which were inscribed on UNESCO's Memory of the World Programme Register in 2001 in recognition of their historical significance.

In Memory

To

Padre Luis Jaume

First California Martyr

Who Was Killed Nov. 4, 1775,

By Indians on This Spot

Erected and Dedicated Sept. 8, 1924

By Native Sons and Daughters

Of the Golden West

 

Considering the significance of this site, I am surprised the plaque is looking so shabby. Perhaps the Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West no longer have the resources to maintain their monuments.

 

According to Wikipedia:

 

Luis Jayme (October 18, 1740 – November 4, 1775), born Melchor Jayme, was a Spanish-born Roman Catholic priest of the Franciscan Order. Born at the farm Son Baró in the village of Sant Joan, Majorca, his earliest schooling was acquired from the local parish priest. At the age of fifteen Melchor was enrolled at the convent school of San Bernardino, where Fray Junípero Serra had studied some years earlier.

 

Melchor Jayme was admitted to the Franciscan Order on September 27, 1760 in the Convento de Santa Maria de los Angeles de Jesus.

 

Following a year of strict seclusion and rigorous discipline, Jayme solemnly promised to observe the rule of the Friars Minor for the rest of his earthly lifespan; he was known as Fray Luis from thereon. The friar conducted his theological studies at the Convento de San Francisco, and was ordained to the priesthood on December 22, 1764.

 

Fray Luis was appointed "Lector of Philosophy" upon completion of his coursework (a position he occupied at San Francisco from 1765 to 1770). Jayme arrived in New Spain in early 1770 after a long and arduous trans-Atlantic voyage. There he began the special training course at the missionary College of San Fernando de Mexico wherein "soldiers of the Cross" were conditioned to the privation, fatigue, mortification and penance encountered on the missionary frontier.

 

Fray Luis set out for California along with nine other priests to begin a ten-year commitment ministering to the indigenous population.

 

Jayme was assigned to Mission San Diego de Alcalá, where his earliest efforts were devoted to mastering the complexities of the local Kumeyaay language. Once he had gained a facility with its vocabulary, he was able to compile a polyglot Christian catechism. The lack of a dependable water supply, coupled with the proximity of the military personnel at the Presidio, led to the priest asking for and being granted permission to relocate the mission from its original site, atop Presidio Hill, to the valley several miles east, where it is now situated.

 

Almost immediately there was a noticeable increase in the number of conversions which, by 1775, stood at 431. Some of the local Kumeyaay people resented the Spanish intrusion into their land.

 

At approximately 1:30 a.m., on the moonlit morning of November 4, 1775, more than 600 warriors from the surrounding rancherías silently crept into the mission compound. After plundering the chapel, they set the other buildings ablaze. The commotion soon awakened the two missionaries, the Spanish guards, and the Christian neophytes.

 

Rather than run to the stock hold for shelter, Fray Luis walked toward the band of warriors, uttering the traditional Franciscan greeting: "Amar a Dios, hijos!"—"Love God, my children!" The Kumeyaay seized him, stripped off his garments, shot some eighteen arrows into his torso, then smashed his face with clubs and stones.

 

Jayme's body was, at first, interred in the Presidio chapel. When the new church at the mission was completed, the body was reinterred in the sanctuary. There it rested until November 12, 1813 when it was transferred once more.

 

Today, the remains of Fray Luis Jayme lie in a common vault between the main and side altar. He is considered to be the first Catholic martyr in Alta California.

 

Mission Basilica San Diego de Alcalá, San Diego, California.

 

Hypolaïs polyglotte (Hippolais polyglotta)

Psalterium, Hebręum, Gręcū, Arabicũ, & Chaldęũ, cũ tribus latinis ĩterp̃tatõibus & glossis ...

 

Bible polyglot, each double-page spread having eight columns containing the text of the Psalms in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, Arabic, and Chaldean, along with columns for a Latin translation of the Hebrew, a Latin translation of the Chaldean, and a column for notes. At one point the editor (or printer?) includes a lengthy explanation of Christopher Columbus’s voyages, probably because he was proud of him as a native son of Genoa where the book was printed.

 

University of Michigan Catalog Record

We were told by experienced travellers, that the local cuisine would be kind of "cucina povera". Well, it may have its roots there, but we were surprised, how tasteful dishes and interesting recipes we found. The Osteria Scvnazz is a nice place, with polyglot waiters, but no written menu. What is fresh on the (fish) market in the morning will be offered here in the evening. Octopus is a very common dish in Apulia.

 

Polpo in umido

   

Scheveningse bosjes

Mumbai (/mʊmˈbaɪ/; also known as Bombay, the official name until 1995) is the capital city of the Indian state of Maharashtra. It is the most populous city in India and the ninth most populous agglomeration in the world, with an estimated city population of 18.4 million. Along with the neighbouring regions of the Mumbai Metropolitan Region, it is one of the most populous urban regions in the world and the seсond most populous metropolitan area in India, with a population of 20.7 million as of 2011. Mumbai lies on the west coast of India and has a deep natural harbour. In 2009, Mumbai was named an alpha world city. It is also the wealthiest city in India, and has the highest GDP of any city in South, West, or Central Asia. Mumbai has the highest number of billionaires and millionaires among all cities in India.The seven islands that came to constitute Mumbai were home to communities of fishing colonies. For centuries, the islands were under the control of successive indigenous empires before being ceded to the Portuguese and subsequently to the British East India Company when in 1661 King Charles II married the Portuguese Catherine of Braganza, and as part of her dowry Charles received the ports of Tangier and seven islands of Bombay. During the mid-18th century, Bombay was reshaped by the Hornby Vellard project, which undertook reclamation of the area between the seven islands from the sea. Along with construction of major roads and railways, the reclamation project, completed in 1845, transformed Bombay into a major seaport on the Arabian Sea. Bombay in the 19th century was characterized by economic and educational development. During the early 20th century it became a strong base for the Indian independence movement. Upon India's independence in 1947 the city was incorporated into Bombay State. In 1960, following the Samyukta Maharashtra movement, a new state of Maharashtra was created with Bombay as the capital.Mumbai is the financial, commercial and entertainment capital of India. It is also one of the world's top ten centres of commerce in terms of global financial flow, generating 6.16% of India's GDP and accounting for 25% of industrial output, 70% of maritime trade in India (Mumbai Port Trust and JNPT), and 70% of capital transactions to India's economy. The city houses important financial institutions such as the Reserve Bank of India, the Bombay Stock Exchange, the National Stock Exchange of India, the SEBI and the corporate headquarters of numerous Indian companies and multinational corporations. It is also home to some of India's premier scientific and nuclear institutes like BARC, NPCL, IREL, TIFR, AERB, AECI, and the Department of Atomic Energy. The city also houses India's Hindi (Bollywood) and Marathi film and television industry. Mumbai's business opportunities, as well as its potential to offer a higher standard of living, attract migrants from all over India, making the city a melting pot of many communities and cultures.

 

ETYMOLOGY

The name Mumbai is derived from Mumbā or Mahā-Ambā—the name of the patron goddess (Kuladevi) Mumbadevi of the native Agri, Koli and Somvanshi Kshatriya communities - and ā'ī meaning "mother" in the Marathi language, which is the mother tongue of the kolis and the official language of Maharashtra.

 

The oldest known names for the city are Kakamuchee and Galajunkja; these are sometimes still used. Ali Muhammad Khan, in the Mirat-i-Ahmedi (1507) referred to the city as Manbai. In 1508, Portuguese writer Gaspar Correia used the name Bombaim, in his Lendas da Índia ("Legends of India"). This name possibly originated as the Old Portuguese phrase bom baim, meaning "good little bay", and Bombaim is still commonly used in Portuguese. In 1516, Portuguese explorer Duarte Barbosa used the name Tana-Maiambu: Tana appears to refer to the adjoining town of Thane and Maiambu to Mumbadevi.

 

Other variations recorded in the 16th and the 17th centuries include: Mombayn (1525), Bombay (1538), Bombain (1552), Bombaym (1552), Monbaym (1554), Mombaim (1563), Mombaym (1644), Bambaye (1666), Bombaiim (1666), Bombeye (1676), Boon Bay (1690), and Bon Bahia. After the British gained possession of the city in the 17th century, the Portuguese name was officially anglicised as Bombay.

 

By the late 20th century, the city was referred to as Mumbai or Mambai in the Indian statewise official languages of Marathi, Konkani, Gujarati, Kannada and Sindhi, and as Bambai in Hindi. The English name was officially changed to Mumbai in November 1995. This came at the insistence of the Marathi nationalist Shiv Sena party that had just won the Maharashtra state elections and mirrored similar name changes across the country and particularly in Maharashtra. According to Slate, "they argued that 'Bombay' was a corrupted English version of 'Mumbai' and an unwanted legacy of British colonial rule." Slate also said "The push to rename Bombay was part of a larger movement to strengthen Marathi identity in the Maharashtra region." While the city is still referred to as Bombay by some of its residents and Indians from other regions, mention of the city by a name other than Mumbai has been controversial, resulting in emotional outbursts sometimes of a violently political nature.

 

A resident of Mumbai is called mumbaikar; in Marathi language the suffix kar has a meaning resident of. The term has been in use for quite some time but it gained popularity after the official name change to Mumbai.

 

EARLY HISTORY

Mumbai is built on what was once an archipelago of seven islands: Bombay Island, Parel, Mazagaon, Mahim, Colaba, Worli, and Old Woman's Island (also known as Little Colaba). It is not exactly known when these islands were first inhabited. Pleistocene sediments found along the coastal areas around Kandivali in northern Mumbai suggest that the islands were inhabited since the Stone Age. Perhaps at the beginning of the Common era (2,000 years ago), or possibly earlier, they came to be occupied by the Koli fishing community.

 

In the third century BCE, the islands formed part of the Maurya Empire, during its expansion in the south, ruled by the Buddhist emperor, Ashoka of Magadha. The Kanheri Caves in Borivali were excavated in the mid-third century BCE, and served as an important centre of Buddhism in Western India during ancient Times. The city then was known as Heptanesia (Ancient Greek: A Cluster of Seven Islands) to the Greek geographer Ptolemy in 150 CE. The Mahakali Caves in Andheri were built between the 1st century BCE and the 6th century CE.

 

Between the second century BCE and ninth century CE, the islands came under the control of successive indigenous dynasties: Satavahanas, Western Kshatrapas, Abhiras, Vakatakas, Kalachuris, Konkan Mauryas, Chalukyas and Rashtrakutas, before being ruled by the Silhara dynasty from 810 to 1260. Some of the oldest edifices in the city built during this period are, Jogeshwari Caves (between 520 and 525), Elephanta Caves (between the sixth to seventh century), Walkeshwar Temple (10th century), and Banganga Tank (12th century).

 

King Bhimdev founded his kingdom in the region in the late 13th century and established his capital in Mahikawati (present day Mahim). The Pathare Prabhus, among the earliest known settlers of the city, were brought to Mahikawati from Saurashtra in Gujarat around 1298 by Bhimdev. The Delhi Sultanate annexed the islands in 1347–48 and controlled it until 1407. During this time, the islands were administered by the Muslim Governors of Gujarat, who were appointed by the Delhi Sultanate.

 

The islands were later governed by the independent Gujarat Sultanate, which was established in 1407. The Sultanate's patronage led to the construction of many mosques, prominent being the Haji Ali Dargah in Worli, built in honour of the Muslim saint Haji Ali in 1431. From 1429 to 1431, the islands were a source of contention between the Gujarat Sultanate and the Bahamani Sultanate of Deccan. In 1493, Bahadur Khan Gilani of the Bahamani Sultanate attempted to conquer the islands but was defeated.

 

PORTUGUESE AND BRITISH RULE

The Mughal Empire, founded in 1526, was the dominant power in the Indian subcontinent during the mid-16th century. Growing apprehensive of the power of the Mughal emperor Humayun, Sultan Bahadur Shah of the Gujarat Sultanate was obliged to sign the Treaty of Bassein with the Portuguese Empire on 23 December 1534. According to the treaty, the seven islands of Bombay, the nearby strategic town of Bassein and its dependencies were offered to the Portuguese. The territories were later surrendered on 25 October 1535.

 

The Portuguese were actively involved in the foundation and growth of their Roman Catholic religious orders in Bombay. They called the islands by various names, which finally took the written form Bombaim. The islands were leased to several Portuguese officers during their regime. The Portuguese Franciscans and Jesuits built several churches in the city, prominent being the St. Michael's Church at Mahim (1534), St. John the Baptist Church at Andheri (1579), St. Andrew's Church at Bandra (1580), and Gloria Church at Byculla (1632). The Portuguese also built several fortifications around the city like the Bombay Castle, Castella de Aguada (Castelo da Aguada or Bandra Fort), and Madh Fort. The English were in constant struggle with the Portuguese vying for hegemony over Bombay, as they recognized its strategic natural harbour and its natural isolation from land-attacks. By the middle of the 17th century the growing power of the Dutch Empire forced the English to acquire a station in western India. On 11 May 1661, the marriage treaty of Charles II of England and Catherine of Braganza, daughter of King John IV of Portugal, placed the islands in possession of the English Empire, as part of Catherine's dowry to Charles. However, Salsette, Bassein, Mazagaon, Parel, Worli, Sion, Dharavi, and Wadala still remained under Portuguese possession. From 1665 to 1666, the English managed to acquire Mahim, Sion, Dharavi, and Wadala.

In accordance with the Royal Charter of 27 March 1668, England leased these islands to the English East India Company in 1668 for a sum of £10 per annum. The population quickly rose from 10,000 in 1661, to 60,000 in 1675. The islands were subsequently attacked by Yakut Khan, the Siddi admiral of the Mughal Empire, in October 1672, Rickloffe van Goen, the Governor-General of Dutch India on 20 February 1673, and Siddi admiral Sambal on 10 October 1673.In 1687, the English East India Company transferred its headquarters from Surat to Bombay. The city eventually became the headquarters of the Bombay Presidency. Following the transfer, Bombay was placed at the head of all the Company's establishments in India. Towards the end of the 17th century, the islands again suffered incursions from Yakut Khan in 1689–90. The Portuguese presence ended in Bombay when the Marathas under Peshwa Baji Rao I captured Salsette in 1737, and Bassein in 1739. By the middle of the 18th century, Bombay began to grow into a major trading town, and received a huge influx of migrants from across India. Later, the British occupied Salsette on 28 December 1774. With the Treaty of Surat (1775), the British formally gained control of Salsette and Bassein, resulting in the First Anglo-Maratha War. The British were able to secure Salsette from the Marathas without violence through the Treaty of Purandar (1776), and later through the Treaty of Salbai (1782), signed to settle the outcome of the First Anglo-Maratha War.

 

From 1782 onwards, the city was reshaped with large-scale civil engineering projects aimed at merging all the seven islands into a single amalgamated mass. This project, known as Hornby Vellard, was completed by 1784. In 1817, the British East India Company under Mountstuart Elphinstone defeated Baji Rao II, the last of the Maratha Peshwa in the Battle of Khadki. Following his defeat, almost the whole of the Deccan came under British suzerainty, and was incorporated into the Bombay Presidency. The success of the British campaign in the Deccan marked the liberation of Bombay from all attacks by native powers.

 

By 1845, the seven islands coalesced into a single landmass by the Hornby Vellard project via large scale land reclamation. On 16 April 1853, India's first passenger railway line was established, connecting Bombay to the neighbouring town of Thana (now Thane). During the American Civil War (1861–1865), the city became the world's chief cotton-trading market, resulting in a boom in the economy that subsequently enhanced the city's stature.

The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 transformed Bombay into one of the largest seaports on the Arabian Sea. In September 1896, Bombay was hit by a bubonic plague epidemic where the death toll was estimated at 1,900 people per week. About 850,000 people fled Bombay and the textile industry was adversely affected. As the capital of the Bombay Presidency, the city witnessed the Indian independence movement, with the Quit India Movement in 1942 and The Royal Indian Navy Mutiny in 1946 being its most notable events.

  

INDEPENDENT INDIA

After India's independence in 1947, the territory of the Bombay Presidency retained by India was restructured into Bombay State. The area of Bombay State increased, after several erstwhile princely states that joined the Indian union were integrated into the state. Subsequently, the city became the capital of Bombay State. On April 1950, Municipal limits of Bombay were expanded by merging the Bombay Suburban District and Bombay City to form the Greater Bombay Municipal Corporation.

 

The Samyukta Maharashtra movement to create a separate Maharashtra state including Bombay was at its height in the 1950s. In the Lok Sabha discussions in 1955, the Congress party demanded that the city be constituted as an autonomous city-state. The States Reorganisation Committee recommended a bilingual state for Maharashtra–Gujarat with Bombay as its capital in its 1955 report. Bombay Citizens' Committee, an advocacy group of leading Gujarati industrialists lobbied for Bombay's independent status.

 

Following protests during the movement in which 105 people lost their lives in clashes with the police, Bombay State was reorganised on linguistic lines on 1 May 1960. Gujarati-speaking areas of Bombay State were partitioned into the state of Gujarat. Maharashtra State with Bombay as its capital was formed with the merger of Marathi-speaking areas of Bombay State, eight districts from Central Provinces and Berar, five districts from Hyderabad State, and numerous princely states enclosed between them. As a memorial to the martyrs of the Samyukta Maharashtra movement, Flora Fountain was renamed as Hutatma Chowk (Martyr's Square), and a memorial was erected.

 

The following decades saw massive expansion of the city and its suburbs. In the late 1960s, Nariman Point and Cuffe Parade were reclaimed and developed. The Bombay Metropolitan Region Development Authority (BMRDA) was established on 26 January 1975 by the Government of Maharashtra as an apex body for planning and co-ordination of development activities in the Bombay metropolitan region. In August 1979, a sister township of New Bombay was founded by the City and Industrial Development Corporation (CIDCO) across the Thane and Raigad districts to help the dispersal and control of Bombay's population. The textile industry in Bombay largely disappeared after the widespread 1982 Great Bombay Textile Strike, in which nearly 250,000 workers in more than 50 textile mills went on strike. Mumbai's defunct cotton mills have since become the focus of intense redevelopment.

 

The Jawaharlal Nehru Port, which currently handles 55–60% of India's containerised cargo, was commissioned on 26 May 1989 across the creek at Nhava Sheva with a view to de-congest Bombay Harbour and to serve as a hub port for the city. The geographical limits of Greater Bombay were coextensive with municipal limits of Greater Bombay. On 1 October 1990, the Greater Bombay district was bifurcated to form two revenue districts namely, Bombay City and Bombay Suburban, though they continued to be administered by same Municipal Administration.

 

From 1990 to 2010, there has been an increase in violence in the hitherto largely peaceful city. Following the demolition of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, the city was rocked by the Hindu-Muslim riots of 1992–93 in which more than 1,000 people were killed. On 12 March 1993, a series of 13 co-ordinated bombings at several city landmarks by Islamic extremists and the Bombay underworld resulted in 257 deaths and over 700 injuries. In 2006, 209 people were killed and over 700 injured when seven bombs exploded on the city's commuter trains. In 2008, a series of ten coordinated attacks by armed terrorists for three days resulted in 173 deaths, 308 injuries, and severe damage to several heritage landmarks and prestigious hotels. The blasts that occurred at the Opera House, Zaveri Bazaar, and Dadar on 13 July 2011 were the latest in the series of terrorist attacks in Mumbai.

 

Mumbai is the commercial capital of India and has evolved into a global financial hub. For several decades it has been the home of India's main financial services, and a focus for both infrastructure development and private investment. From being an ancient fishing community and a colonial centre of trade, Mumbai has become South Asia's largest city and home of the world's most prolific film industry.

 

GEOGRAPHY

Mumbai consists of two distinct regions: Mumbai City district and Mumbai Suburban district, which form two separate revenue districts of Maharashtra. The city district region is also commonly referred to as the Island City or South Mumbai. The total area of Mumbai is 603.4 km2. Of this, the island city spans 67.79 km2, while the suburban district spans 370 km2, together accounting for 437.71 km2 under the administration of Municipal Corporation of Greater Mumbai (MCGM). The remaining areas belong to various Defence establishments, the Mumbai Port Trust, the Atomic Energy Commission and the Borivali National Park, which are out of the jurisdiction of the MCGM.

 

Mumbai lies at the mouth of the Ulhas River on the western coast of India, in the coastal region known as the Konkan. It sits on Salsette Island (Sashti Island), which it partially shares with the Thane district. Mumbai is bounded by the Arabian Sea to the west. Many parts of the city lie just above sea level, with elevations ranging from 10 m to 15 m; the city has an average elevation of 14 m. Northern Mumbai (Salsette) is hilly, and the highest point in the city is 450 m at Salsette in the Powai–Kanheri ranges. The Sanjay Gandhi National Park (Borivali National Park) is located partly in the Mumbai suburban district, and partly in the Thane district, and it extends over an area of 103.09 km2.

 

Apart from the Bhatsa Dam, there are six major lakes that supply water to the city: Vihar, Lower Vaitarna, Upper Vaitarna, Tulsi, Tansa and Powai. Tulsi Lake and Vihar Lake are located in Borivili National Park, within the city's limits. The supply from Powai lake, also within the city limits, is used only for agricultural and industrial purposes. Three small rivers, the Dahisar River, Poinsar (or Poisar) and Ohiwara (or Oshiwara) originate within the park, while the polluted Mithi River originates from Tulsi Lake and gathers water overflowing from Vihar and Powai Lakes. The coastline of the city is indented with numerous creeks and bays, stretching from the Thane creek on the eastern to Madh Marve on the western front. The eastern coast of Salsette Island is covered with large mangrove swamps, rich in biodiversity, while the western coast is mostly sandy and rocky.

 

Soil cover in the city region is predominantly sandy due to its proximity to the sea. In the suburbs, the soil cover is largely alluvial and loamy. The underlying rock of the region is composed of black Deccan basalt flows, and their acidic and basic variants dating back to the late Cretaceous and early Eocene eras. Mumbai sits on a seismically active zone owing to the presence of 23 fault lines in the vicinity. The area is classified as a Seismic Zone III region, which means an earthquake of up to magnitude 6.5 on the Richter scale may be expected.

  

ARCHITECTURE

The architecture of the city is a blend of Gothic Revival, Indo-Saracenic, Art Deco, and other contemporary styles. Most of the buildings during the British period, such as the Victoria Terminus and Bombay University, were built in Gothic Revival style. Their architectural features include a variety of European influences such as German gables, Dutch roofs, Swiss timbering, Romance arches, Tudor casements, and traditional Indian features. There are also a few Indo-Saracenic styled buildings such as the Gateway of India. Art Deco styled landmarks can be found along the Marine Drive and west of the Oval Maidan. Mumbai has the second largest number of Art Deco buildings in the world after Miami. In the newer suburbs, modern buildings dominate the landscape. Mumbai has by far the largest number of skyscrapers in India, with 956 existing buildings and 272 under construction as of 2009.

 

The Mumbai Heritage Conservation Committee (MHCC), established in 1995, formulates special regulations and by-laws to assist in the conservation of the city's heritage structures. Mumbai has two UNESCO World Heritage Sites, the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus and the Elephanta Caves. In the south of Mumbai, there are colonial-era buildings and Soviet-style offices. In the east are factories and some slums. On the West coast are former-textile mills being demolished and skyscrapers built on top. There are 31 buildings taller than 100m, compared with 200 in Shanghai, 500 in Hong Kong and 500 in New York.

 

DEMOGRAPHICS

According to the 2011 census, the population of Mumbai was 12,479,608. The population density is estimated to be about 20,482 persons per square kilometre. The living space is 4.5sq metre per person. As Per 2011 census, Greater Mumbai, the area under the administration of the MCGM, has a literacy rate of 94.7%, higher than the national average of 86.7%. The number of slum-dwellers is estimated to be 9 million, up from 6 million in 2001, that is, 62% of all Mumbaikars live in informal slums.

 

The sex ratio was 838 (females per 1,000 males) in the island city, 857 in the suburbs, and 848 as a whole in Greater Mumbai, all numbers lower than the national average of 914 females per 1,000 males. The low sex ratio is partly because of the large number of male migrants who come to the city to work.

 

Residents of Mumbai call themselves Mumbaikar, Mumbaiite, Bombayite or Bombaiite. Mumbai has a large polyglot population like any other metropolitan city of India. Sixteen major languages of India are also spoken in Mumbai, most common being Marathi, Hindi, Gujarati and English. English is extensively spoken and is the principal language of the city's white collar workforce. A colloquial form of Hindi, known as Bambaiya – a blend of Marathi, Hindi, Gujarati, Konkani, Urdu, Indian English and some invented words – is spoken on the streets.

 

Mumbai suffers from the same major urbanisation problems seen in many fast growing cities in developing countries: widespread poverty and unemployment, poor public health and poor civic and educational standards for a large section of the population. With available land at a premium, Mumbai residents often reside in cramped, relatively expensive housing, usually far from workplaces, and therefore requiring long commutes on crowded mass transit, or clogged roadways. Many of them live in close proximity to bus or train stations although suburban residents spend significant time travelling southward to the main commercial district. Dharavi, Asia's second largest slum (if Karachi's Orangi Town is counted as a single slum) is located in central Mumbai and houses between 800,000 and one million people in 2.39 square kilometres, making it one of the most densely populated areas on Earth with a population density of at least 334,728 persons per square kilometre. With a literacy rate of 69%, the slums in Mumbai are the most literate in India.

 

The number of migrants to Mumbai from outside Maharashtra during the 1991–2001 decade was 1.12 million, which amounted to 54.8% of the net addition to the population of Mumbai.

 

The number of households in Mumbai is forecast to rise from 4.2 million in 2008 to 6.6 million in 2020. The number of households with annual incomes of 2 million rupees will increase from 4% to 10% by 2020, amounting to 660,000 families. The number of households with incomes from 1–2 million rupees is also estimated to increase from 4% to 15% by 2020. According to Report of Central Pollution Control Board (CPCB) 2016 Mumbai is the noisiest city in India before Lucknow , Hyderabad and Delhi.

 

ETHNIC GROUPS AND RELIGION

The religious groups represented in Mumbai include Hindus (67.39%), Muslims (18.56%), Buddhists (5.22%), Jains (3.99%), Christians (4.2%), Sikhs (0.58%), with Parsis and Jews making up the rest of the population. The linguistic/ethnic demographics are: Maharashtrians (42%), Gujaratis (19%), with the rest hailing from other parts of India.

 

Native Christians include East Indian Catholics, who were converted by the Portuguese during the 16th century, while Goan and Mangalorean Catholics also constitute a significant portion of the Christian community of the city. Jews settled in Bombay during the 18th century. The Bene Israeli Jewish community of Bombay, who migrated from the Konkan villages, south of Bombay, are believed to be the descendants of the Jews of Israel who were shipwrecked off the Konkan coast, probably in the year 175 BCE, during the reign of the Greek ruler, Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Mumbai is also home to the largest population of Parsi Zoroastrians in the world, numbering about 80,000. Parsis migrated to India from Pars (Persia/Iran) following the Muslim conquest of Persia in the seventh century. The oldest Muslim communities in Mumbai include the Dawoodi Bohras, Ismaili Khojas, and Konkani Muslims.

 

CULTURE

Mumbai's culture is a blend of traditional festivals, food, music, and theatres. The city offers a cosmopolitan and diverse lifestyle with a variety of food, entertainment, and night life, available in a form and abundance comparable to that in other world capitals. Mumbai's history as a major trading centre has led to a diverse range of cultures, religions, and cuisines coexisting in the city. This unique blend of cultures is due to the migration of people from all over India since the British period.

 

Mumbai is the birthplace of Indian cinema - Dadasaheb Phalke laid the foundations with silent movies followed by Marathi talkies - and the oldest film broadcast took place in the early 20th century. Mumbai also has a large number of cinema halls that feature Bollywood, Marathi and Hollywood movies. The Mumbai International Film Festival and the award ceremony of the Filmfare Awards, the oldest and prominent film awards given for Hindi film industry in India, are held in Mumbai. Despite most of the professional theatre groups that formed during the British Raj having disbanded by the 1950s, Mumbai has developed a thriving "theatre movement" tradition in Marathi, Hindi, English, and other regional languages.

 

Contemporary art is featured in both government-funded art spaces and private commercial galleries. The government-funded institutions include the Jehangir Art Gallery and the National Gallery of Modern Art. Built in 1833, the Asiatic Society of Bombay is one of the oldest public libraries in the city. The Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (formerly The Prince of Wales Museum) is a renowned museum in South Mumbai which houses rare ancient exhibits of Indian history.

 

Mumbai has a zoo named Jijamata Udyaan (formerly Victoria Gardens), which also harbours a garden. The rich literary traditions of the city have been highlighted internationally by Booker Prize winners Salman Rushdie, Aravind Adiga. Marathi literature has been modernised in the works of Mumbai-based authors such as Mohan Apte, Anant Kanekar, and Gangadhar Gadgil, and is promoted through an annual Sahitya Akademi Award, a literary honour bestowed by India's National Academy of Letters.

 

Mumbai residents celebrate both Western and Indian festivals. Diwali, Holi, Eid, Christmas, Navratri, Good Friday, Dussera, Moharram, Ganesh Chaturthi, Durga Puja and Maha Shivratri are some of the popular festivals in the city. The Kala Ghoda Arts Festival is an exhibition of a world of arts that encapsulates works of artists in the fields of music, dance, theatre, and films. A week-long annual fair known as Bandra Fair, starting on the following Sunday after 8 September, is celebrated by people of all faiths, to commemorate the Nativity of Mary, mother of Jesus, on 8 September.

 

The Banganga Festival is a two-day music festival, held annually in the month of January, which is organised by the Maharashtra Tourism Development Corporation (MTDC) at the historic Banganga Tank in Mumbai. The Elephanta Festival - celebrated every February on the Elephanta Islands - is dedicated to classical Indian dance and music and attracts performers from across the country. Public holidays specific to the city and the state include Maharashtra Day on 1 May, to celebrate the formation of Maharashtra state on 1 May 1960, and Gudi Padwa which is the New Year's Day for Marathi people.

 

Beaches are a major tourist attraction in the city. The major beaches in Mumbai are Girgaum Chowpatty, Juhu Beach, Dadar Chowpatty, Gorai Beach, Marve Beach, Versova Beach, Madh Beach, Aksa Beach, and Manori Beach. Most of the beaches are unfit for swimming, except Girgaum Chowpatty and Juhu Beach. Essel World is a theme park and amusement centre situated close to Gorai Beach, and includes Asia's largest theme water park, Water Kingdom. Adlabs Imagica opened in April 2013 is located near the city of Khopoli off the Mumbai-Pune Expressway.

 

WIKIPEDIA

www.clickconnectgo.com/treasures-of-pondicherry/

What keeps a person all agog and hooked on to glee is a journey. For most, it’s a trip that makes them a tranquil soul and keeps their life frabjous. With no space for doubt, travelling provokes amicability in one’s behaviour and exploring new places gives rise to more skills. Coupled with a visit to a beatifying destination, the moments get converted well-nigh into euphoric state. When it comes to such a place, Puducherry (formerly known as Pondicherry), casually referred to as ‘Pondy’, holds one of the top positions to offer intense happiness and excitement to its guests.

 

Pondicherry is a union territory located in Tamil Nadu, the south-eastern state of Bharat. If it’s your first step in South India, there is whole lot to get excited about. If you dig into the history, it states that the territory took place in records after the colonial rule by British, Portuguese, French, and Dutch. France ruled over Pondy until 1954 and the impact is still reflected through the French dialect used by some people. Well, the next section brings the whole shebang including the challenges tourists may face; let’s read on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I personally believe solo travelling is the best way to rejuvenate the soul. I, however, was accompanied by a large group of friends who were on the brink of 20’s and were avid for having a glimpse of pretty Pondy. You can also whisk away with your sweetheart and experience a peachy tryst once again. Golly! By a surprising coincidence during a get together, we finally planned to make it in December last year which undoubtedly is the best time to enjoy Pondicherry. You can experience a pleasant Pondy trip from October to March. You can also plan the trip between July to September (Monsoon) if you love to (who doesn’t?) soak in the drops showered by rain; nonetheless, despite rainy season, this place is hot and humid. During rest of the year, Pondy is obsessed by comparatively more heat and humidity hence lacks the potential to show its best.

 

We got air tickets booked from New Delhi (IGI Airport) to Chennai. No matter where you are coming from, you need to land in Chennai. Well, it was a fine Sunday morning when our flight was scheduled to take off. We avoided packing more than two bags each. You prolly know the hassles that may create due to too much of luggage. However, since it was winter season, we kept some light woollens with us; you also never avoid paying heed to the choice of clothes according to the season.

 

With so much excitement, we reached airport and festinated to catch the flight. Right after the departure we began yearning for sumptuous South Indian food, engaging culture, and scenic beauty. After duration of approximately 2h 40m, we got landed at Chennai airport. Subsequently, after checking out, we pushed our way through the throng on taxi stand outside the airport. We couldn’t find a polyglot, therefore, encountered language issues. You can see everyone speaking Tamil around you. Taxi drivers approached us to drive us to the desired destination; however, the language left us entirely confused.

 

Fortunately, we had pre-booked a car through Zoomcar, a group that provides a car on rent with a deposit of Rs. 5000 as security. The amount is non-refundable in case of accident or damage to the car. Therefore, it is recommended to take pics of the car as a proof and check meter reading to avoid pesky arguments. It provides both web based as well as mobile based applications. The latter is easy, fast, and time effective. Tariff varies depending on the class of car you choose. We opted for a Honda City and paid accordingly. Zoomcar includes unlimited fuel in its tariff and also suggests you to keep the receipt if you have fuelled the car by some extra litres. Note that no discount is offered and charges are a bit high during peak season.

 

We bore the total bill of Rs.12360 (approximately) for 3 days and 22 extra hours for a distance of 574 Kilometres. If hours were exceeded, extra money would be charged accordingly. You may also consider opting for a taxi from Uber, OLA, Meru, et cetera.

 

Visitors also take trains or buses that run frequently at fixed intervals from Chennai to Pondicherry; Volvo bus facility is also available which indeed is a comfortable option.

A Journey of Taste and Unique Flavours (Pondicherry)

Our first journey to cover at Chennai included breezy beach which is a serene place to be at. The charisma of this place is beyond the hustle & bustle of the city. It, however gets over-crowded on weekends. I have been an ardent fan of the food served by Sarvana Bhavan at Delhi and wished to experience it on its own land. So, in the evening, we couldn’t resist our temptation and entered Hotel Sarvana Bhavan. The service was unbelievably quick, and before we knew it, our order was before us. We took every bite with relish, beginning with a round of delicious kaima idli with raita, 14 idly with sambhar ghee which was followed by Kara Dosai and Kal Dosai. Next, a fresh lime soda and sweet lassi added a punch to the meal, but it was kaima idli that won the hour.

 

 

Marina Beach is just opposite to it; a complete hot and humid place. Not recommended for tourists. The parking guys dont issue a receipt; therefore, they do not vouch for the safety of your vehicle. Moreover, the way to beach is unpleasant or I must say it’s terrible to be here. Next, we decided to shop to boost up our mood and found our way to Pothys store. It is a nice and big shopping hub where you can buy garments, silk saris, and lungis as souvenir. Another happening shopping place is Express Avenue Mall where we hung out for hours. If you have enough time like we had, visit the mall for a grand shopping experience.Well, before heading to Pondy, we first decided to drive through some of the popular destinations in Chennai. We first dug into a south Indian plate at Murugan Idli Shop, ‘temple of idli’. However, our appetite for South Indian forced us to tickle our taste buds at Adyar Ananda Bhawan where we experienced ambrosial food with yummy coconut chutney.

 

Now was the time to get back to our itinerary. The drive to Pondicherry can be dangerous because of no availability of lights on the narrow highway at night, we planned a sojourn at Mahabalipuram.

 

We had enough leeway while proceeding towards Mahabalipuram, therefore, visited Madras Crocodile Bank that justifies the name to the full extent. Especially when you are with kids, it’s a must visit place which is popular to have contained a huge bank of crocodiles and snake pits; an absolute interesting place.

A Date with Ancient India - Mahabalipuram (Pondicherry)

 

Mahabalipuram measures the distance of approx. 56 kilometres from Chennai that took us hardly an hour to reach there. Golden Sun Hotel & Beach Resort was our stay point that charged us Rs. 2200 for a night. An old city Mahabalipuram is located in Kancheepuram district and is known for consisting of ancient temples and stone carved monuments. Therefore, we found it worth it to spend some time at Mahabalipuram and experience the glimpse of this ancient land. It cannot be gainsaid that Mahabalipuram is among the most loved cultural heritage sites of India. If you are culturati, you will fall head over heels in love with the sites offered by this age old town.

 

Shore Temple

 

The Shore Temple was the first destination we chose to touch. Lo and behold! This amazing place made me believe in the unlimited potential of human. The 1400 years old temple, perfectly situated on the sea shore dates back to Pallava Dynasty and has the images of Lord Shiva, Goddess Durga, Lord Vishnu, and Nandi carved on its walls. When the sun rises, the natural glow hovers over the water surface and demonstrates what real beauty truly stands for. The temple consists of two main shrines namely Vishnu Shrine and Shiva Shrine. It is believed that the Vishnu Shrine was built first. It has a flat roof. There are a number of narrow pathways within the temple that connect the two shrines. We were just wondering how many generations have gone through these narrow paths. We first entered Shiva Shrine that has its face directed towards east at the sea.

 

Through a narrow path we entered the Vishnu Shrine that is popular for Lord Vishnu’s sleeping posture. Here, Lord Vishnu is lying in Ananta Shayana pose; therefore, the shrine is named as ‘Narapathisimha Pallava Vishnugruham’. The entry fee for the temple is Rs. 10 per person that also includes entry fee to Panch Rathas. The temple is 7 days open from 6:00 AM to 6:00 PM. There is no entry fee for the kids below fifteen years. Visit duration is 30 minutes.

 

 

Mahabalipuram boasts 8 Cave Temples namely Varaha, Tiger, Krishna, Panchpandava, Trimurti, Mahishasuramardini, Atiranachanda, and Kotikal built by Pallava dynasty in 7th century. A fine and detailed rock cutting makes these caves a true demonstrator of finest ancient Indian art.

An Evening with Krishna’s Butterball

Krishna's Butterball is another interesting attraction to see. The Butterball of 5 meters diameter is balanced on a smooth slope & defies the laws of Physics. We enjoyed underneath the rock for a while and clicked many candid pics.

 

Towards Happier HoursOther attractions that we explored include Arjuna’s Penance, Pancha Rathas, and beaches. Wherever you go, almost all sites are coverable on foot so you can stroll along the city. Mahabalipuram has now been declared as UNESCO world heritage site.

 

 

Next day we started off our journey to Pondicherry at 5.30 AM with an amazing gut feeling. Since Pondicherry is located approx. 131 kilometres far from Mahabalipuram, it took us around two hours and a few minutes to reach there. Supported by scenic destinations, mouth-watering food, and lovely coastline, Pondicherry is a small town and allows visitors to explore and enjoy on foot.

 

 

It was early morning and no restaurant was open; on asking people around, we were told that restaurants start serving from 9:00 AM onwards. Till then we satiated our hunger with the snacks we had and quenched our thirst with a small amount of water left with us. We then proceeded to French Guest House that we found a nice place to stay. The guest house is located near to Promenade beach promising to provide a breath-taking view. For corporate travellers, Le Royal Park is a good choice that offers a pool and good amenities. More importantly, this place offers everything at commendable prices. An interesting feature of Le Royal is its mid-night buffet that is available till 2.30 AM. If you are not hungry at supper time, the buffet turns out to be your true companion and that too at a very reasonable price. However, the hotel most of the times encounters traffic in front of it, making it a bit unpleasant for tourists.

Sri Aurobindo Ashram (Pondicherry)

After freshening up, we had tasty bites of breakfast and discussed our plan for rest of the day. We then found our way around the city beginning with Aurobindo Ashram which is also a centre for education. The Ashram opens from 8:00 AM to 12 noon and 2:00 PM to 6:00 PM. The highlights at the Ashram include:

 

Samadhi: Visit the inner courtyard to see the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and his disciple Mirra Alfasa whom Sri Aurobindo considered the divine mother and entitled her as ‘The Mother’. She was French and recognized that Sri Aurobindo was the one whom she had been seeing in her vision, and became the lifetime disciple.

Art Gallery: The Art Gallery was named ‘The Studio’ by the Mother who had keen interest in arts and painting. The gallery consists of paintings and photographs from the Mother’s collection and the paintings made by the people of Ashram. It opens from 9.00 AM to 11.00 AM, 3.00 PM to 4.00 PM.

Bureau Centre: Dedicated to visitors, Bureau Centre features an exhibition that explains the life of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, a detailed map of Pondicherry, video programs, and information about the Ashram.

Library: Recognized as an intellectual sanctuary by the Mother, the Library possesses eighty thousand books in twenty five languages.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ashram society also provides accommodation for visitors; however, it is easily available for Ashram guests only. Others need to get reservations in advance.

 

Near to Ashram (almost 7 km. drive) there is Auroville that welcomed us as warmly as if it had received instructions from nature to engulf us with ecstasy. Yes, this place is worth forgetting the routine life you live and living the life you always dreamt of. This place was established by The Mother and is adorned with utmost peace and spiritual atmosphere. Auroville is worth a stay of at least 4-5 days, cherish freedom, and give yourself a treat to live a little. We unfortunately didn’t have enough time so had to come back after spending a few hours out there. Additionally, the day just turned perfect owing to the murky weather. Auroville is often frequented by foreigners. The place is richly decorated with a beautiful beach known as Auroville beach; an ideal place to spend a spectacular, calm, and splendid evening. If possible, hire a scooty at Pondy to add more joy to your experience in the town. However, do not forget to bargain and limit them to max. Rs. 200 as the scooty rent varies between Rs. 150-200.

Time to Enjoy French Bites (Pondicherry)

After a busy yet enthralling day, we felt ravenous. Voila! Baker Street, a French Bakery served as a saviour. Tuna sandwich, doughnuts, mushroom puffs and other French delicacies satiated us. The restaurant provides WIFI connection; it is, however, better to take away. We enjoyed each French bite at Promenade Beach (Pondicherry Beach) that is a walk only zone at night. Taking a stroll or sitting by the beach and getting fresh air is an incomparable experience. The beach is a great place to be, surrounded by fascinating shops, water beyond, outstanding view, and relax.

 

While doing quite a little walking, we found a Gandhi statue and a sea facing restaurant named Le Cafe, a number of chaiwalas and chaatwalas, making it a more happening place. We enjoyed local chaats while celebrating tickling sounds of roaring waves.

 

 

At supper hour, we chose to taste the offerings of Le Café restaurant. It’s an open restaurant next to the beach where we enjoyed yummy cuisine while having a look at different facets of the sea. Though the restaurant draws many customers owing to its location and quality of food, the service was up to the mark despite good crowd; staff is quite attentive. Skipping the starters, we directly starved for the main course. Being a pure veggie, I ordered BBQ Paneer Tikka that pleased me with every spoonful. There is a variety for non-vegetarians, such as Chicken Tikka, Prawns, and much more. Following, our desire for Apple Tartlet remained disappointed as it was not as good as it should have been.

 

An important thing to keep a sincere check on is prices of food or any other item. Be it Pondicherry, Chennai or other places in South India, if you are a North Indian, you must possess good bargaining skills to avoid yourself from being looted.

An Italian Lick (Pondicherry)

 

With a wonderful experience throughout the day at Pondy, our tired body begged us to hit the hay. We drove to the hotel and had a sound sleep. The next morning, we woke up to glowing sun. Over breakfast, we decided to rush to the market and shop for local things.Ibaco is another nice ice-cream parlour which is located on Villianur Main Rd. It takes hardly 15 minutes to cover the distance from Promenade Beach to Ibaco. Other ice-cream shops are Richy Rich Snowflakes Ice Cream Parlour, etc.

 

Pondicherry houses local markets, boutiques, and Ashram shops most of which are located at MG road and Nehru Street. Special things worth buying at Pondy include arts & handicrafts, paper mache, room aromas, fragrance candles, bags and soaps that you can keep as souvenirs or present to your friends. We bought a bagful of aromatic items from a boutique at Auroville. There are several similar outlets at Pondicherry as well. Sunday market with vendors sitting alongside the street offers a good reason to spend an interesting time. From cheap clothes, shoes, bags to metal plates and pots, everything available in market makes people go gaga.

 

In the evening we were set to head to Paradise Beach, aka Plage Paradiso Island, one of the best beaches in India. In order to reach the beach, we had to first reach Pondicherry-Cuddalore highway which is approx. 7 kilometres far from the main city. From here a regular boat rode us to the island of Paradise Beach in 15-20 minutes.

 

With calm surroundings, array of tall coconut trees, incredible sound of sea waves and breeze, and picturesque landscape, the very much quintessential island, Paradise Beach is a hidden surprise. Playing and having fun at the beach like happy kids made us extremely happy. Sitting like someone with no worries and taking a deep breathe filled my heart with a feeling of immense pleasure and appreciation for everything our planet offers. Visit this paradise in the evening and stay thankful to this place for offering you such an amazing piece of peace. The time of over 3 hours spent at Paradise Beach is unforgettable. It’s a must visit place especially for those who love swimming. Along with a joyous time, we didn’t forget examining the zoomcar and taking clicks for an easy refund.

Cheers! (Pondicherry)

Our last activity at Pondy included enjoying liquor sips. Believe it or not but a large number of people visit Pondicherry for buying liquor. With the ‘no tax’ tag, the cheap liquor has made Pondy the cynosure of all alcoholics. After getting awesomely greeted by the Paradise Beach, now was the time to get into a restaurant cum bar. We were told by locals of a place named LB2 Lounge located on the La Bourdonnais Street. It’s a good place to enjoy night life as the lounge is open till 12 midnight. We chose to begin with cocktails; those guys undoubtedly have a good hand with cocktails. Our cocktail was coupled with the duo of starters – white sauce pasta and some fries that were later accompanied by a bottle of wine. The best things about the lounge include full of life ambience, good music played at standard sound levels, and comfortable sitting arrangement. However, it sounds sad that despite having everything up to the mark these people are a bit slow when it comes to service. You may have to wait for little more time than you thought.

 

We of course wanted to carry liquor for our friends, for which we were given the reference of PAPSCO, a government organization that supplies liquor and food products. The PAPSCO wholesale store at Pondy provides authenticated liquor at cheaper prices. We also bought the world class Amrut Fusion Single Malt whisky for just Rs. 2200. It was another moment to express gratitude to the great Pondy. Make sure you don’t get trapped by any unauthenticated and fraudulent liquor supplier. They will give you lower quality products at higher prices. In the next slot of hours, we went back to hotel room, did some chit-chat, and celebrated our last giggles at Pondy till the moment we were ready to drop. Another thing that may be pesky for some and interesting for others is wearing lungi which is the traditional bottom wear in South India. Lungi will act as a saviour while you cross the border with liquor by private vehicle. Cops usually do not restrict people wearing lungi at the border, holding an opinion that lungi people are locals. In case of carrying different attire, chances are higher that you may be nabbed by cops and it will take hours for you to deal with the situation with no guarantee if you will be allowed to take the liquor with you.

Adieu Pondy

Next morning, while buckling up for a journey back to Chennai, we realized that the charm and serenity was short-lived. To outsiders, it may be a barren town, but it is a home to amazing people, scenic beauty, rich culture, and cheap pegs we have ever encountered. Hope to come back again with an ample time and date Pondicherry for long.

 

While reminiscing about the beautiful moments, we finally reached Chennai, headed to zoomcar centre, left the car in good condition and got back the deposited security. We then proceeded to the airport and caught flight that was scheduled to depart at 8:00 PM.

 

Helpful Tips:

 

Try the mushroom buns (tastes like an omelette)

Taste the Masala Bread at Adyar Bhawan (Spicy)

Raw mango on streets

Buy perfumes & lungis as souvenirs

Hire a Scooty or Bike to commute withing Pondy

Experience the stay at a French Guest House

Buy tax free alcohol

 

Guest Houses Links:

 

www.tripadvisor.in/Hotel_Review-g659792-d1055323-Reviews-...

 

patriciaguesthouse.wordpress.com/

 

www.tripadvisor.in/Hotel_Review-g659792-d1908811-Reviews-...

 

www.tripadvisor.in/Hotel_Review-g659792-d1600492-Reviews-...

 

www.tripadvisor.in/Hotel_Review-g659792-d2374480-Reviews-...

 

www.yatra.com/hotels/hotels-in-pondicherry/la-maison-blan...

 

www.tripadvisor.in/Hotel_Review-g659792-d1603369-Reviews-...

 

www.cleartrip.com/hotels/info/dumas-guest-house-740254

Polyglott Bible, 1832

Asansör (which means elevator) is a 1907 built building in İzmir's Karataş quarter, within the boundaries of the metropolitan district of Konak. It was built as a work of public service by a wealthy Jewish banker and trader of its epoch, Nesim Levi Bayraklıoğlu, in order to ease passage from the narrow coastline of Karataş to the hillside, the elevator within the building serving to carry people and goods through the steep cliff between the two parts of the quarter.

 

In time, the small street that led to the building also came to be known under the same name, Asansör Street (Asansör Sokağı). In the 1940s, one of the residents of the street was the singer Dario Moreno, who was to attain fame later.

 

It was recently restored and since then, became one of the landmarks of İzmir. The street was renamed Dario Moreno Street in memory of the singer.

 

Darío Moreno (April 3, 1921 – December 1, 1968) was a Turkish polyglot singer with Jewish origin, as well as an accomplished composer, lyricist and guitarist, who was born in İzmir, Turkey, in 1921, and who attained fame and made a remarkable career centered in France which also included films, during the fifties and the sixties.

 

His real name was David Arugete and he was born in the poorer Jewish quarter of İzmir to a large family. He was orphaned in early childhood when his father, who worked in a train station in the city, was shot dead under tragic circumstances. He was placed in the Sephardic orphanage of İzmir (Nino De Guerfanos) by his mother and remained there until he was four.

 

After a patchy primary education in the Jewish educational establishments of İzmir, he did many odd jobs during his early youth. But he has also put great effort into improving his education at the same time while working for the bread, and having started as an errand boy in the cabinet of one of the city's prominent lawyers, he was in time raised to becoming a clerk in his office. In the evenings, he would study French in İzmir's Central Library. With a guitar that had fallen into his hands by chance, he also learned, mainly on his own with occasional tutoring asked here and there, to master playing that instrument.

 

He started singing in the Bar Mitzva feasts as a secondary occupation. In his early twenties, he had already become a well-known singer in İzmir, and particularly among the Jewish community. During his military service in the Turkish Army, he was employed as a singer in officers' quarters in various garrisons and became more focused on music. His first truly professional musical performance started in his hometown right after his discharge, through connections established while under the arms. Since he had started making money thanks to music, he moved to the more well-off Jewish quarter of Karataş to a house in a street leading to the historical building of Asansör, one of the city's landmarks (and which means, literally, the "Elevator", people taking an actual elevator to go to the higher part of the quarter, this part being separated by the coastal strait with a steep slope). This street is named Dario Moreno Sokağı (Dario Moreno Street) today in his memory.

 

A hyper-active personality, Darío Moreno died of a heart attack in a taxi while going to the airport in İstanbul on 1 December 1968. He was only 47. He has been buried in Holon, Israel, by his mother Madam Roza, against his will; in which he stated that he wished to be buried in İzmir if he died.[1]

'While there has been a church at the site of Holy Sepulchre for much longer, the current building dates from c.1450 when it was ‘newly re-edified or builded’ by Sir John Popham. The walls, porch and most of the tower all date from this rebuilding.

 

The interior is a polyglot of different styles and re-designs. The church was completely gutted in the Great Fire of London in 1666 and the interior had to be totally re-built. The legend is that Sir Christopher Wren was supposed to do the work, but the Church Wardens at the time got bored of waiting and organised it themselves! Since then the interior has been substantially changed a number of times: in 1712; in 1737; in 1790 in 1834; in 1878; in 1932; and 1955.

 

There are two significant chapels in the church, The Royal Fusiliers Chapel in the South-East of the church, The Musicians’ Chapel on the North side of the Nave.'

 

See ... hsl.church/our-history ...

this picture was taken by my old systematic camera ages ago, I think I have taken a more recent one with a digital camera so if you want to study the wear and tear of statues you could you could have a look on it, since the two pictures are years apart... many years even!

 

This is a pic of the Olof Palme statue or relief, bust or just artwork sculpture I guess! at the peoples-park in Sweden I think the artist made him a tad bit more hook-nosed that he was in real life, but he managed to capture his posture, almost like a cross between a falcon and vulture which he could get when he was debating at parliament and other places...

 

He, Bruno Kreisky and Willy Brand used to be call the european socialist triumvirat, that is the democratically elected socialist leaders of Austria, Germany and sweden!

 

As you know he was killed or so they say, since I am gonna share my very own homebrewn conspiracy theory: I don´t think he was killed! ...and you might ask what proof do you have? then I say: I saw him whenI was taking a few swedish friends on visit to vienna on a heurigen (wine place) he was sitting there reading the newspaper when we came drinking some fresh vienna-wine, when he heard swedish voices he was gone without leaving a trace of himself except for his undrunken wine on the table!

 

Just Kidding, But I did see someone looking like Palme there in Grinzing Huerigen in Vienna, but I do think he was killed but if anyone is interested about him or all the conspiracies circling around his death the internet is teaming with them...

 

...actually if he would like to "escape" somewhere I think Vienna would be a suitable place for him, since he spoke german (among other languages he was a polyglot) his mum was of baltic-german origin and he used that language to communicate with her!

 

Peace and noise!

 

/ MushroomBrain (without tinfoil)

 

(link to wikipedia about Palme: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olof_Palme )

The Plantin-Moretus Museum (Dutch: Plantin-Moretusmuseum) is a printing museum in Antwerp, Belgium which focuses on the work of the 16th-century printers Christophe Plantin and Jan Moretus. It is located in their former residence and printing establishment, the Plantin Press, at the Vrijdagmarkt (Friday Market) in Antwerp, and has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2005.

 

The printing company was founded in the 16th century by Christophe Plantin, who obtained type from the leading typefounders of the day in Paris. Plantin was a major figure in contemporary printing with interests in humanism; his eight-volume, multi-language Plantin Polyglot Bible with Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Syriac texts was one of the most complex productions of the period. Plantin's is now suspected of being at least connected to members of heretical groups known as the Familists, and this may have led him to spend time in exile in his native France.

  

View of the courtyard of the museum

After Plantin's death it was owned by his son-in-law Jan Moretus. While most printing concerns disposed of their collections of older type in the eighteenth and nineteenth century in response to changing tastes, the Plantin-Moretus company "piously preserved the collection of its founder."

 

Four women ran the family-owned Plantin-Moretus printing house (Plantin Press) over the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries: Martina Plantin, Anna Goos, Anna Maria de Neuf and Maria Theresia Borrekens.

 

In 1876 Edward Moretus sold the company to the city of Antwerp. One year later the public could visit the living areas and the printing presses. The collection has been used extensively for research, by historians H. D. L. Vervliet, Mike Parker and Harry Carter. Carter's son Matthew would later describe this research as helping to demonstrate "that the finest collection of printing types made in typography's golden age was in perfect condition (some muddle aside) [along with] Plantin's accounts and inventories which names the cutters of his types."

 

In 2002 the museum was nominated as UNESCO World Heritage Site and in 2005 was inscribed onto the World Heritage list.

 

The Plantin-Moretus Museum possesses an exceptional collection of typographical material. Not only does it house the two oldest surviving printing presses in the world and complete sets of dies and matrices, it also has an extensive library, a richly decorated interior and the entire archives of the Plantin business, which were inscribed on UNESCO's Memory of the World Programme Register in 2001 in recognition of their historical significance.

When I suggested this pose to Victor he said "no" rather impulsively, because it wasn't "him", but just seconds later he went along, realizing the irony of it all.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad 1973

CAST:

John Philip Law (Sinbad), Tom Baker (Koura), Douglas Wilmer (The Grand Vizier), Caroline Munro (Marigiana), Martin Shaw (Rachid), Kurt Christian (Haroun), Takis Emmanuel (Achmed)

PRODUCTION:

Director – Gordon Hessler, Screenplay – Brian Clemens, Story – Brian Clemens & Ray Harryhausen, Producers – Ray Harryhausen & Charles H. Schneer, Photography – Ted Moore, Music – Miklos Rosza, Visual Effects – Ray Harryhausen, Production Design – John Stoll. Production Company – Morningside. USA 1973

SYNOPSIS:

Sinbad fires an arrow at a strange creature that flies over his ship, causing it to drop the amulet it is carrying. Ashore, the sorcerer Koura attempts to forcibly take the amulet from Sinbad. Sinbad is granted refuge by the benevolent ruler of the city, the Grand Vizier, who has been forced to hide his face behind a beaten gold mask after Koura burnt it with a fireball. The Vizier shows Sinbad a companion amulet and the drawing of a third one. All three form a map that leads to a fountain of youth on the island of Lemuria. With the complete amulet, The Grand Vizier will be able to stop Koura’s ravages on the kingdom. And so Sinbad and the Vizier set sail on an expedition to Lemuria. However, Koura desires the amulet too, wanting to regain the youth that each spell he casts steals from him, and sets sail determined to stop them.

COMMENTARY:

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958) was a landmark in fantasy cinema. It was often imitated over the next decade. Most importantly, it brought to prominence the name of special effects man Ray Harryhausen and his fantastical creatures. Ray Harryhausen was a specialist in the process of stop-motion animation where models are meticulously moved and photographed one frame at a time. Harryhausen went onto a substantial career over the next two decades, creating similar flights of fantasy. (See below for Ray Harryhausen’s other films). He would revisit the Sinbad mythos twice, here and later with the disappointing Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977). The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is one of Ray Harryhausen’s most acclaimed works and one that shows him at the height of his art.

With The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, Ray Harryhausen employed director Gordon Hessler, who emerged out of the English horror cycle in the late 1960s (see below for Gordon Hessler’s other titles) and Brian Clemens on script. Brian Clemens had worked as script editor on tv’s The Avengers (1962-9), wrote a number of films during the English horror cycle and went on to create series such as The New Avengers (1976-8), The Professionals (1977-83) and Bugs (1995-8). (See below also for Brian Clemens’s other titles). Most Ray Harryhausen films tend to be set around Harryhausen’s provision of creature effects, with the intervening action being stolid and his leading men tending to a uniform woodenness. Although the dialogue here has a tendency to fall in clunky pseudo-profound aphorisms at times, Brian Clemens creates probably one of the more nuanced scripts for any Ray Harryhausen film. Particularly original is the character of the sorcerer Koura who ages every time he casts a spell.

Brian Clemens and Ray Harryhausen also plunder world mythology somewhat indiscriminately, ending up with what often seems a peculiar multi-cultural polyglot – there is Kali from Hindu religion, a griffin and combination centaur/cyclops from the Greek myths, the homunculus from mediaeval alchemy, Lemuria (an idea that was posited by biologist Ernst Haeckel in the 1870s, preceding the notion of continental drift, of a sunken land in order to explain how lemurs managed to get between Africa and India and one that was quickly appropriated by the 19th Century Theosophist movement), and of course the backdrop from the Arabian Nights cycle. This is the less important than the spectacular beauty of Ray Harryhausen’s various set-pieces which, by this time, were at the absolute peak of their form. Harryhausen offers us a six-armed statue of Kali brought to life in a sword-duel; a to-the-death battle between a griffin and a cyclopean centaur; a magically animated ship’s figurehead; and, best of all, the homunculus that Tom Baker brings to life, teasing and prodding it, as it lies pinned to a table.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is also notable for many of the up-and-coming stars. There is Tom Baker who, the following year, would become the fourth incarnation of tv’s Doctor Who (1963-89); cult queen Caroline Munro; and Martin Shaw, later hunk hero of Clemens’ superior action man tv show The Professionals.

Ray Harryhausen’s other films are:– The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), the granddaddy of all atomic monster films; the giant atomic octopus film It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955); the alien invader film Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers (1956); the alien monster film 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957); The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); The 3 Worlds of Gulliver (1960); the Jules Verne adaptation Mysterious Island (1961); the Greek myth adventure Jason and the Argonauts (1963); the H.G. Wells adaptation The First Men in the Moon (1964); the caveman vs dinosaurs epic One Million Years B.C. (1966); the dinosaur film The Valley of Gwangi (1969); Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977); and the Greek myth adventure Clash of the Titans (1981).

Brian Clemens’s other scripts are:– The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), Curse of the Voodoo/Curse of Simba (1965), And Soon the Darkness (1970), See No Evil/Blind Terror (1971), Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), the Disney ghost story The Watcher in the Woods (1980) and Highlander II: The Quickening (1991). Clemens also wrote and directed Hammer’s Captain Kronos – Vampire Hunter (1972). He has acted as script editor and producer on the tv series’ The Avengers, The New Avengers, The Professionals and Bugs.

Gordon Hessler’s other films are:– Scream and Scream Again (1969), The Oblong Box (1969), Cry of the Banshee (1970), Murders in the Rue Morgue (1971), Kiss Meets the Phantom/Kiss in the Attack of the Phantom (1978) and The Girl in a Swing (1988)

REVIEW: Richard Scheib

The Plantin-Moretus Museum (Dutch: Plantin-Moretusmuseum) is a printing museum in Antwerp, Belgium which focuses on the work of the 16th-century printers Christophe Plantin and Jan Moretus. It is located in their former residence and printing establishment, the Plantin Press, at the Vrijdagmarkt (Friday Market) in Antwerp, and has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2005.

 

The printing company was founded in the 16th century by Christophe Plantin, who obtained type from the leading typefounders of the day in Paris. Plantin was a major figure in contemporary printing with interests in humanism; his eight-volume, multi-language Plantin Polyglot Bible with Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Syriac texts was one of the most complex productions of the period. Plantin's is now suspected of being at least connected to members of heretical groups known as the Familists, and this may have led him to spend time in exile in his native France.

  

View of the courtyard of the museum

After Plantin's death it was owned by his son-in-law Jan Moretus. While most printing concerns disposed of their collections of older type in the eighteenth and nineteenth century in response to changing tastes, the Plantin-Moretus company "piously preserved the collection of its founder."

 

Four women ran the family-owned Plantin-Moretus printing house (Plantin Press) over the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries: Martina Plantin, Anna Goos, Anna Maria de Neuf and Maria Theresia Borrekens.

 

In 1876 Edward Moretus sold the company to the city of Antwerp. One year later the public could visit the living areas and the printing presses. The collection has been used extensively for research, by historians H. D. L. Vervliet, Mike Parker and Harry Carter. Carter's son Matthew would later describe this research as helping to demonstrate "that the finest collection of printing types made in typography's golden age was in perfect condition (some muddle aside) [along with] Plantin's accounts and inventories which names the cutters of his types."

 

In 2002 the museum was nominated as UNESCO World Heritage Site and in 2005 was inscribed onto the World Heritage list.

 

The Plantin-Moretus Museum possesses an exceptional collection of typographical material. Not only does it house the two oldest surviving printing presses in the world and complete sets of dies and matrices, it also has an extensive library, a richly decorated interior and the entire archives of the Plantin business, which were inscribed on UNESCO's Memory of the World Programme Register in 2001 in recognition of their historical significance.

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

9.4.09

The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

 

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

 

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

  

11.4.09

Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.

 

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

 

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

 

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.

 

I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

 

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

 

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

 

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

  

12.4.09

At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

 

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

 

I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?

 

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

 

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

 

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.

 

13.4.09

There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

 

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

 

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

 

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

 

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

 

I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

 

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

 

14.4.09

I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

 

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

 

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.

 

I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

 

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

 

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!

 

15.4.09

I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.

 

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

 

John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

 

I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

 

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

 

I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

 

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!

 

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

 

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

 

That's all for England!

I went this week, August 2013, to the wake for Mrs C. For over twenty years, I lived across the street from her. We stayed friendly with her family after my wife and I moved down the street twelve years ago. But she spent the last ten years of her life in care because she had Alzheimer's Disease. That's an especially debilitating dementia when you are completely deaf, as she was and had been since birth. I never saw her in all that time.

 

Deaf or no, Mrs C was no shrinking violet and, in the 1980s and '90s, she was the unofficial mayor of our neighbourhood, paying attention, passing on news, looking out for neighbours, introducing herself to new people, and so on. If you wanted to know what happened, you'd ask Mrs C.

 

She did not vocalise with fluency as some deaf people do, though as a child she'd gone to a school that taught her speech. They also taught her ASL, and she picked up the local dialect of that when she moved to Newfoundland in the early 1950s. Her husband was also deaf, though he had become deaf as a small child, and he still had some residual fluency as a speaker. I never heard him speak much, and certainly not as much as his wife, but his children did, and so did other close relatives.

 

Mrs C of course knew the North American hand-spelling system. I never learned that; my mind was already filled with the two-handed system that my father had taught me as a child. When I met Mrs C she was surprised that I knew the two-handed system (which is common in Britain and had been more common earlier in the 20th century in Newfoundland) and she enjoyed seeing me, a hearing person, spell things that old-fashioned way.

 

She also lip-read with ease, making her, in my mind, a kind of

five-language polyglot: ASL, Nfld SL, American spelling, UK spelling, and English lip-reading. And of course she could read and write. She could make herself understood to anyone who wanted to understand her, and she readily understood anyone who wanted her to understand. She was an amazing woman of whom -- in the two decades that I saw her almost every day -- I only took two or three pictures. Now that she's dead, I wish I had more.

 

This was the last picture I took of her. It was summer 2001 just

before we moved to a nearby neighbourhood. I think I was leaving for work and we had a short conversation across the street. I grabbed this shot in my Canonet, on Kodak Supra 100 film. Not exactly a sharp picture or anything, but a nice one that shows her laughing at me in mid-sign.

 

When some people die -- after long illnesses and after successful lives -- their death is not so much filled with grief, as celebration and relief. That's what the feeling was at her wake: a celebration of the person she was, and relief that her long illness was over.

Benedito Calixto

1922

Stained glass

Coffee Exchange, Santos, Brazil

 

For an explanation of this piece, please see the preceding photos of each of the sections.

 

I all but laid down on my back on the old trading floor to capture the entire piece.

 

Now, a word or two about the artist translated from the Portuguese into English by the polyglot elves over at Google:

 

Alongside Almeida Júnior, Pedro Alexandrino and Oscar Pereira da Silva, Benedito Calixto was one of the four plastic arts giants that stood out in the São Paulo scenario in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

 

Benedito Calixto de Jesus (1853-1927) was a Brazilian painter, draftsman, teacher, historian and amateur astronomer. Considered one of the greatest exponents of Brazilian painting of the early twentieth century, Calixto is what one can call a born talent. Benedito Calixto de Jesus (1853-1927) Self-taught, begins his first sketches as a child, at age eight.

 

After his childhood and youth between Itanhaém and Brotas, where he made several artistic works, in the end of 1881 he moved with his family to Santos , where he began to paint landscapes on the ceilings and walls of the mansions of the prosperous merchants of the city. He made his first exhibition in 1881 in the newspaper Correio Paulistano , in São Paulo, not having been able to sell any work, but obtained a favorable appreciation from the critics.

 

In 1882 he was invited to work on engraving and painting in the interior of the Guarany Theater in Santos, which earned him homage and a scholarship, funded by Nicolau de Campos Vergueiro, the Viscount of Vergueiro, to improve in Paris, where he stayed for almost a year and attended the workshop of master Rafaelli and the Julian Academy . In Europe he held several successful exhibitions. In 1884, back in Santos he brought in his luggage a photographic equipment and became a pioneer, in Brazil, in painting from photographs.

 

In the years of 1886 and 87, respectively, their children were born Sizenando and Pedrina. In 1890 he moved to São Paulo. Seven years later he returned to the coast and lived in a house built by himself in São Vicente.

 

He produced important works for several museums, among them the Ipiranga , in São Paulo, for countless churches throughout the country, for associations, foundations and institutions, such as the " Official Coffee Exchange " in Santos, where one of its main "The Foundation of Saints" occupies an entire wall of the main hall, as well as two others that also have as their theme the city of Santos and the stained glass ceiling with allegory for the Bandeirantes.

 

We had the privilege of visiting the old Coffee Exchange (Palácio da Bolsa Oficial do Café). Roberto C. Simonsen wrote: " This Palace can be considered one of the richest in Brazil, worthy temple of its main wealth and the undeniable grandeur of our State."

 

Throughout his career, Calixto produced approximately 700 works , of which 500 are cataloged. He painted navies, portraits, rural landscapes, urban and religious works. The latter earned him the Commendation of St. Sylvester , granted by Pope Pius XI in 1924.

 

Calixto died of a heart attack in São Paulo at his son's home, where he had gone with the intention of buying material to finish two canvases for the Cathedral of Santos.

 

He was buried in a perpetual deposit donated by the Municipality of Santos. His last two works are entitled "Noah" and "Melchisedech". In the state capital, the painter is honored with the Praça Benedito Calixto. In addition to painting, Calixto revealed himself as a historian, writer and photographer.

 

Twice we have visited the Pinacoteca Benedito Calixto Foundation, in Santos, SP. This is a non-profit entity located in an old mansion in eclectic and interior style in Art Noveau at Avenida Bartolomeu de Gusmão in Santos. There is a permanent exhibition of Calixto's works. His collection has about fifty works by the painter - navies, landscapes and portraits (some drawn at the Julian Academy , Paris). The Pinacoteca also has a library, with a collection of art books, and a Documentation Center about Calixto and his work.

 

There is a permanent exhibition "Benedito Calixto in the Land of Pinhal", with a wide panorama of the life and work of the famous Brazilian painter and original works done by him for the old "Episcopal Palace of São Carlos" and that today belong to the collection of the municipality of Sarmatians. The exhibition is in the Museum of the "Culture Station" at the São Carlos Station in São Carlos, SP. Unfortunately, the last time I was in São Carlos I could not visit the exhibition.

 

Source: institutopoimenica.com/2012/07/18/benedito-calixto-1853-1...