Curiouser and curiouser ... (apologies to Lewis Carroll)

Now that we are a bit more awake….  We are staying with friends in their flat in Portman Village, a few blocks behind London's Marble Arch.  Not far away is Hyde Park and in a slightly different direction, Regent’s Park, where I hope to sit and reread some of the excerpts from Mrs. Dalloway which took place there.

Peter and Ariel’s flat is upstairs over a wine shop, behind a lovely purple door.  Across the street is The Grazing Goat Pub.  Chinese, Pakistani, and Italian cuisine in the same small block.

Probably should have packed closed toe shoes.  Temps range from 70 to 50 with gusts of wind that have taken us by surprise.  But I am resistant to the idea of wearing athletic shoes and white socks with my capris in fashionable London.  Saving the New Balances for the cobblestoned streets of Oxford.

Lovely incongruities abound even in a 24 hour period.  Last night we dined at The Spaghetti House a few blocks away – a chain, as we discovered later, with a name that does not arouse high expectations, but where we discovered a wonderful roasted veggie pizza and the best Irish coffee Al has ever tasted (not the best in London, or the best from an Italian restaurant, he stipulates, but simply the best ever).  We had heard horror stories about coffee here, but since we like cappuccino, we have not been disappointed.

Rather than rushing to Hampton Court today, we chose to be a bit lazy – or rather Al did some work while I napped and plowed through more of Going After Cacciato for my course.  Then this afternoon, we took the Tube to Charing Cross for our Baroque Masterpieces concert at St. Martin-in-the-Fields and walked right into our second incongruity: right outside this magnificent church where Handel was music director was a screaming crowd in Trafalgar Square celebrating the premier of the final Harry Potter movie, which of course we had forgotten is this evening here in London.  Apparently people had camped there since last night to ensure their spot when the celebs arrived.  We less lucky/more sane people were outside the walled enclosure, but when the wind blew the branches in the right direction we could see the giant torches, banners, and some of the action on the big screen, including the arrival of Rupert Grint.  At one point we followed a stampede (sedately, of course) toward a corner and Al was tall enough to see the head and shoulders of Daniel Radcliffe as he walked by into the enclosed area.  (He mentioned that to several groups of young ladies on the Tube ride home and was immediately the object of vicarious admiration!)  Of course we did not remember our camera.

So, yes, Meg and Carolyn, we chose to leave HP behind and go into St. Martin’s, where we ate in the crypt café, a wonderful place where in 2002 we discovered the joys of Stilton cheese and Stella Artois.  This time, a goat cheese tart, new potatoes with cranberry and onion chutney, and “rocket” (AKA arugula) salad.  And Stella.  Fantastic!  When I finish this post I will be googling recipes.

The concert was a joy:  Mozart, Bach, Purcell, Pachelbel and, again, incongruously, a jazz piece for harpsichord and an incredible gypsy piece with the quirky name of “Rumanian Fry-up.”  The oboe soloist during the concert played with his eyebrows as well as his fingers; visual learners could have read every note variation in his face and in the way he moved his oboe in sweeping arcs. The violin soloist was, not to overuse the very Brit word, brilliant.  At times, the touch of his bow was as tender as a caress while at other times he wielded his bow like a rapier, attacking the gypsy piece with a power that cost multiple bowstrings before the piece was finished.  A soul-filling experience. 

More adventures tomorrow.  We have packed both umbrellas and the ponchos in our backpack, but we will probably be in the center of the Hampton Court maze when it rains -- the image of umbrellas bobbing up and down among the romantic yew and boxwood paths would be another incongruity, but then, we would have no trouble finding our way out.