A quest for the locations in the novels of Haruki Murakami and other travel musings
Author: mikeraggett
I'm a writer, producer and director living in London. My interests are wide ranging: reading, theatre, art and music battle it out with food and wine (especially Spanish), gardening, walking, Hampshire cricket, Watford Football Club and Boston Red Sox for prime spot which of course changes all the time.
My son had told us to look out for sign to an elephant seal colony “halfway up the PCH” which we duly did next morning as we set off north. Expecting the possibility of the odd glimpse of these huge creatures, we were staggered by pulling into a parking lot, walking twenty yards and seeing hundreds of elephant seals. Flopped on the sand in a sheltered bay you’d see a shower of sand fly up as one of them moved forward. Others just grunted and rolled over. Still more appeared to be in mortal combat – roaring and thumping each other in the throat. We learned form a helpful volunteer ranger that these were all males and the apparent fighting was toughening themselves so they’d be the prime selection for mating when the females returned from their present deep water sojourn.
Apparently they have been known to kill whales so being aggressive seems to be in their nature. You’d never believe it from the first sighting of these recumbent bodies on the beach. There was other wildlife around too – harbour seals out on the rocks, whales spouting further offshore and gangly pelicans which suddenly become elegant in flight.
We eventually tore ourselves away from the delights of this encounter with nature and soon afterwards encountered another American natural phenomenon. We all know of stories of people touring American in campervans – they’ve been doing it since the days of the good old VW Camper. Now it seems there’s a huge rental market as we kept passing – in the opposite direction – and being held up by these behemoths rented from CruiseAmerica.com or El Monte RV. And that’s what they are called nowadays – recreational vehicles or RVs. At one point on the PCH there must have been a convention – there were hundreds of them lining the road and the beach. I’ve been told I can be prone to exaggerate but not this time. There really were hundreds of them lining the road for at least a mile.
We drove on up through Big Sur where sadly the PCH drifts inland somewhat so the more spectacular views in this area were hidden from us unless we wanted to park up and explore.
But with the delights of both Carmel and Monterey beckoning we decided to keep going. The highway is a wonderful drive but I’ve actually driven more scenic and dramatic routes along the fringes of the Mediterranean so we kept on going counting the huge numbers of Mustangs coming towards us and being passed by us. We had been told by everyone we had to rent a Mustang but failed to do so and had to make do with a Chevy Impala – well they run faster than mustangs anyway, don’t they.
But there were loads of Mustangs in every hue driven by bright young couples, fifty-somethings and their offspring and a few loners perhaps out looking for their youth.
Soon we hit Carmel which I was keen to visit because of its role in the great film Play Misty for Me, Clint Eastwood’s first as a director. He obviously loved the place because he became mayor a decade later and I remember it as the first of the new generation of actors taking up politics – Ronald Reagan of course got there first and got to the highest office. Carmel-by-the-Sea is very lovely, quaint clapboard houses, well-kept streets, flowers everywhere and not a McDonalds or any other chain store in sight.
Apparently a bye-law requires women, well anybody I guess, to have a permit to wear high heels. We had a coffee, sauntered through its antique-shop-lined streets, bought some fudge and thought: “Need more time here”. This was to become a bit of a mantra for the whole visit. Perhaps doing America in three weeks was a little ambitious! We headed off towards Monterey and declined the first road we saw which required a toll. It’s called the 17 mile drive and maybe we made a mistake in going on the highway as it appears to be lined with fabulous mansions and affords great coastal views. Next time we’ll pay the toll.
The main attractions for us in Monterey were the aquarium and seeing Cannery Row of John Steinbeck fame. As with most aspects of US tourism it’s been over-commercialised but we enjoyed the huge tanks with their great variety of marine life, watching sea otters at play and seeing puffins and penguins disporting themselves. Monterey looked as if it would repay a longer stay as well but we still had quite a way to go and had no idea how bad traffic entering San Francisco on a Sunday evening would be.
It wasn’t too bad and the faithful Dolores navigated us directly to the Tomo Hotel in Japan Town. It’s a funky, anime-themed hotel right across from the peace pagoda. Spacious rooms were complemented by a shabu-shabu restaurant in house which saved us the hassle of looking elsewhere. You dip vegetables, noodles and thin strips of beef into a cauldron of water boiling on your table. It’s one of the few kinds of Japanese cuisine we didn’t try last year so could tick that box and while interesting and tasty it’s a lot of faff and won’t become a long term favourite. But we did go to sleep in a room with some excellent manga art on the wall.
Our first morning in San Francisco was spent in part discovering for ourselves its very hilly topography. We went in quest of three day travel passes to get us around on public transport from Sutter Fine Foods which ‘internet told us retailed them. We foolishly thought it couldn’t be far as our hotel was in Sutter Street too. Striding up one ridge, down the next, passing through some rather seedy areas on the way soon corrected that impression. It doesn’t matter in which direction you head in the city, you will soon be climbing a hill – and many of them are really steep too. We should have watched Bullitt again before visiting as a reminder. We then discovered that given the oldies only pay 75 cents per ride and younger companions only two bucks we probably needn’t have bothered. Particularly as our first proper outing was on the hop-on-hop-off tour bus to get a feel for the city.
The tour guide was so screechy and so trying to be funny all the time we jumped off at the third stop and explored the Ferry Terminal on foot. This is close to the financial district and some posh downtown shopping but the terminal building while still having passages to the ferries is now a trendy fruits and vegetable and craft boutique location. We had very pleasant saunter through a fine building but with all the food outlets sporting long queues we decided to look elsewhere.
Lots of walking about meant we were ready for a beer and we found the excellent Royal Exchange Bar and Grill. I got to musing about how good brewing has become in the States. There was a time when Budweiser, Coors and Miller were all you could ever find – none of which I would willingly ever drink. Nowadays craft beers are everywhere and of very high standards and a great variety of tastes and styles.
On our way up into San Francisco yesterday we stopped off for a quickie at the Highway 1 Brewing Company a typical modern day microbrewery with a pilsner, a pale ale, a summer ale, a porter and this week’s special wheat beer on offer. The beer was excellent but even better was the brewery’s slogan – “turning water into something drinkable”. Awesome!
In a stationery and card shop lobby we noticed this fine piece of marketing!
Back on the bus we were again amazed by how maps – even Google’s – foreshorten reality and make you think places are fairly easily reachable from one another. One thing’s for sure when the hippies took over Haight Ashbury in the 60s they didn’t often visit Fisherman’s Wharf 5 miles away to the north of the city. This tour guide was less shouty and we stayed for the duration including crossing the Golden Gate Bridge.
We got off the bus back at Fisherman’s Wharf and had a drink in the Blue Mermaid a bar attached to the classy Argonaut Hotel. On a trip to the restroom Dee noticed that a wine tasting was taking place in the hotel lobby area so, always keen to support local enterprise, we joined the other guests in sampling some rather good central valleys wines.
Dee gatecrashes a wine tasting
Sets off for Foreign Cinema
and enjoys a martini
We then caught the regular bus back to the hotel and then set off for dinner at an amazing restaurant recommended by a sound recordist friend, Foreign Cinema, which was way down in the area known as Mission. It was a fantastic steer. Great cocktails while we waited for our table, superb food and service, a great wine list and movies being shown in an open to the skies courtyard: this place is great. Somehow we were once again – a common feature in our lives – the last to leave the restaurant. A cab back and the sleep of the sated and satisfied.
Blog lag has set in in a big way. Driving, a concert, eating, drinking and chatting to folk have all interrupted my ability to compose but I’m now on a plane to Las Vegas from San Francisco and have a little time at my disposal. All too little as it turned out.I’m finally posting it back at Las Vegas airport after visiting the Grand Canyon and proving a not very good gambler in Las Vegas.
Back in Boston, Sunday dawned warm and bright and after a light breakfast at the apartment we set off for a stroll along the Charles River Esplanade – we’d filmed near the Hatch Shell and nearer the Common but had never walked the western end. It’s a little less congested with the bikers, bladers and runners who occupy the stretch nearer in and made for a pleasant walk or as we were later to discover – a saunter. We soon arrived at Kenmore Square, a convenient location for a quick beer before the ball game. We looked around a bit and then decided on a return to the Eastern Standard where we’d had a great lunch on Thursday.
We had a beer and a bloody Mary of high quality Dee reports. The beer inside Fenway Park is truly awful so getting a couple in beforehand is a wise move. We got talking, as you do, to a chef from South Boston who was telling us how much “southie” has changed and what a great place it now is. He did event and personal dinner party catering and part-time cheffing in the convention centre. Nothing has changed in 20 years on the employment front – everybody in America still seems to have several jobs – at least his were all in the area he was passionate about – cooking.
Synchronized pitch raking is always a spectacle and finally Big Papi David Ortiz connected with one.
We had harboured hopes that our presence at the home of baseball would propel the Sox from bottom of the American League back in to World Series contention. Nah! It was an attritional game until the sixth when finally some bats hit the ball. However we were already behind by then and although taking the lead were pegged back in the eighth and with a scoreless ninth we were into two extra innings with the Orioles hitting an answered run in the eleventh. So we had value for money in terms of time spent but not in the result. Ah well there’s always next year for the Sox to fly high again.
We had arranged to meet our friends Joe and Pat Weiler on Monday to go to Walden Pond to see Joe’s exhibition of photographs Thoreau’s Legacy at the gallery there and then go for a walk to the site of his (Thoreau’s) cabin. We are great admirers of Joe’s work and have several at home and the exhibition was superb. It blended Joe’s artistic vision with his and Thoreau’s concern for nature and conservation in a most thought provoking and dramatic way. We were low on useful dollar bills so Joe bought us some postcards and pencils for our grandchildren on the basis that they write him the postcards and send them back.
The walk round Walden Pond was excellent and led us to appreciate Thoreau’s concept of sauntering rather than rushing by so as to observe all that is there to see. There’s even, we discovered, a National Sauntering Day on 19 June which we shall be observing in future. The pond is beautiful and there were lots of families enjoying its beaches. We didn’t enter the water but sauntered through the woods chatting about all sorts of issues of mutual interest in a truly delightful morning. Joe and Pat then drove us into Concord where we had arranged to meet Trish Seeney who had been our make-up artist on our first two shoots 20 and 19 years ago.
Trish has had a good career after effectively making her debut in the role of make-up, hair and wardrobe with us. She’s lived and worked in LA for lengthy periods but is delighted that the film industry is sufficiently strong in the Boston area to allow her to move back east again. The Colonial Inn in Concord is a great place for lunch or dinner or just a drink. It’s a rambling edifice with little rooms dotted about and a super open air terrace where we enjoyed a couple of hours. It also brought back happy memories of a visit with Dee’s mum and dad when they came to Boston in 1996.
We said our farewells to Trish and sauntered about the lovely town of Concord taking in some antique shops – thank goodness for weight restrictions! – art galleries and some excellent ice-cream. Our cheapo American phone buzzed with a sound we hadn’t heard before. It was a tornado warning over the phone! We walked a little more briskly toward the railway station but got waylaid by the Concord Public Library where Thoreau’s surveying equipment is on display. Along with some excellent archive photographs and a lovely building, it was well worth the delay. We hadn’t often travelled by commuter rail but had a fun journey into Boston’s North Station amazed by the performance of the guard who seemed to issue and collect excessive pieces of paper throughout the journey – although it must be said some regulars did have Oyster Card equivalent so he didn’t have to perform for them.
Fetching up at North Station prompted a nostalgic visit to Fours Bar a place we had frequented often and filmed in twice. It’s a great old-style Boston Sports Bar and retains its atmosphere and an excellent tradition of knowledgeable, friendly bartenders. The threatened tornado which had spared us in Concord suddenly struck and we were forced to have another before it stopped and we could walk to the T to travel back home.
Tuesday was a total surprise in that Natalie Rose Liberace who had starred in our third year drama in 1996 decided to travel down from Portland, Maine to spend time with us. True friendship well repaid with a lunch at the Salty Pig just up Dartmouth and well recommended in the Improper Bostonian. It was great to hear her news – she has put acting on hold for the time being and is working at the Maine State Museum organising the many thousands of items and their storage, as well as working at LL Bean. We lunched outside until the sun became too intense and then moved inside to continue enjoying her company and their great selection of food and craft beers. We then walked with her back towards South Station through familiar sights and significant changes in the ten years since we were last here. After “don’t look back” farewells we then sauntered across Boston Common and the Public Gardens bringing back many memories of times spent and shoots wrapped in these iconic locations.
We managed a few moments on the roof deck – our first since the fireworks – and then went out for a quick snack after packing and then the prospect of a 05:20 shuttle to Logan from Copley to catch our flight to LA. Once again our Charlie tickets saw us good for the fare and proved a very wise purchase as we’d had a week of transport all over the MBTA area for $19 each.
On Thursday we had arranged to meet Erika who had been the art director on our first two Direct English shoots in Boston 20 years ago. Daisy and her husband Jerry and Jack Foley were also able to join us so a grand reunion was held in the excellent Eastern Standard in Kenmore Square. Before heading there though Dee and I spent a while and many dollars in Barnes and Noble equipping ourselves with maps and city guides for California. I had ventured one day in June into the wonderful Stanford’s map shop in Covent Garden but had been so confused by all that was on offer I walked out maples and resolved to buy them in Boston – better for baggage allowances anyway.
We had a brilliant lunch with memories shared and news and career and domestic developments caught up with. Because of the change of day our firework party was going to be a little smaller than planned which was probably as well since we had been told by the apartment owner that numbers were restricted and only Dee and I had our names on the list. However I phoned the building management company and persuaded them that several more names could be added to the list since access to the roof deck was to be strictly controlled by security guards. Daisy would be able to join us later with her son Zeke and his friend Elliott, masquerading as Zeke’s brother for the purposes of roof access.
After lunch Dee and I went to do some food shopping so that we could offer our guests some refreshments before the firework show scheduled for 10:35. Walking down Boylston Street we confidently expected to fine the Star Market we had used so often in the past. Dee rolls her eyes every time I exclaim “There was never a roundabout there before” or “where’s that nice restaurant gone” but I think even she was taken aback by the replacement of our trusted food source by a high end residential block and a Mandarin Oriental Hotel. The bell hop at said hotel advised us that it had gone five or six years ago but there was a Shaw’s up around the corner. Oh dear! Shopping in American supermarkets hasn’t got any easier. Multiple locations for the same products, baffling displays, tempting special offers – no we don’t want 4 for the price of 2 we’re only here for a few days. However we did eventually emerge laden with far too much produce. Well we do have a reputation for over-catering to preserve!
Back at the apartment we prepared our repast only to find that Daisy had fed the boys before coming out but she had previously warned us that if we provided smoked salmon it would soon disappear into Zeke. Temptation later proved too much for him and smoked salmon was indeed consumed. Language moves on all the time of course and with a passing, professional interest in the subject, one tries to keep abreast. However when opening the door to our guests I was taken aback to be told that our building was “really sick”. Now I know about sick building syndrome but didn’t really think it applied to the elegant brownstone, formerly the Victoria Hotel, we were dwelling in. Seeing my blank expression Zeke and his friend Elliott enlightened me: “Oh ‘sick’ is what, back in your day, you would probably have called ‘cool’. It’s great, it’s wicked; we love it!” Some neologisms aren’t really that helpful are they?
Equally sick was the roof deck which elicited the other taboo adjective of this trip: “awesome”. This superlative has been applied by wait staff etc in response to such Herculean tasks as managing to order breakfast that morning in the excellent Trident Bookshop and Café, which we stumbled upon by chance but then discovered later was rated by the magazine Improper Bostonian – free from those street-side newspaper dispensers – “best spots for breakfast”.
How they liked the fireworks we don’t really know as they typically went off to the other end of the deck away from us adults. We got to the roof earlier than planned and just as well since because the met radar showed a storm moving in from the west, the Boston Pops Concert which is the centrepiece of the celebrations and precedes the firework show had the customary rendition of the 1812 overture with cannon and mortar effects … cut from the programme so the display wouldn’t end up a series of very expensive damp squibs. The flexibility of the organiser was impressive and I’m not sure a similar occasion in the UK would have been managed so well. To bring the whole thing forward by a day with street closures and massive security required and then to change the schedule at the last minute was pretty impressive. As were the fireworks. Detonated from a barge in the middle of the Charles River they gave us a half hour display of ever-changing patterns, colours and sounds. They were so good that Dee has been stimulated to consider a new career as a firework display designer when she returns to the UK. Seconds after the last burst the heavens opened and Arthur’s leading edge drenched Massachusetts. Daisy and the boys got a little damp on the way to the T station but by the time they got home the storm had blown out into the Atlantic.
How do you make smiley faces with fireworks? The “a” word came out again a few times.
The least said about Friday the better. The weather alternated between drizzle and torrential throughout the day. We barely ventured out and were glad that our over-catering provided with sustenance without leaving the apartment. By now I had some hundreds of pictures to edit and the rest of the trip to prepare so it was actually a relief in a way that we were penned in.
On Saturday Erika wanted to see us on last time before she headed off to Cape Cod to join her mother so we went to the lovely Metropolis in the South End for brunch. Another great time of reminiscing, gossiping and sharing thoughts about the state of the film business, Boston, America and the world.
Jack had invited us to go sailing on his 33 footer which he moors in Salem Harbour. So armed with our trusty Charlie cards we caught the T to a stop called Wonderland passing Boston’s horse and greyhound racing tracks on the way. Jack picked us up and drove us to Salem where a launch took us out to the boat. We were able to drop in to see his son Zachary who was nine when we last saw him. He’s now twenty and running a surf shop and café in Swampscott. He’s a charming young man who’s going back to college in the autumn after a year out surfing and working to support his studies. It was great to catch up with him.
The post-storm winds were rather fierce and so no actual sailing occurred but we sat and drank beer, ate chips and salsa and chicken and chewed the fat with Jack and his friend and would-have-been crew David. David is an IT guru with a serious interest in photography and had just been on an iceberg safari in Newfoundland. The pictures were stunning.
We did go up on deck to enjoy a great Salem sunset and then repaired home for supper and sleep after a day on the water.
Some weeks ago in Regent Street we experienced some amazing customer service. I saw a jacket (but not with those trousers) that I liked and Dee kindly offered by buy it for me as a birthday present. Of course they didn’t have my size but since this was J Crew and we knew we were going to America soon we asked if they had any stock in my size in or around Boston. The guy serving us, who just happened to hail from Boston, checked the computer and found there was one at the store in Chestnut Hill Mall which we happened to be familiar with from our time of living in Brookline just a little way back in along Rte 9. He then amazed us by calling and speaking to a colleague, allowing Dee to pay for it by credit card – less than it would have been in London – and agreeing to hold it for us.
So after our day in the Met Bar we set off to Copley T station, bought go anywhere Charlie cards for $19 each and proceeded to board an outbound train. I had done a route search which told us to get off after two stops at Kenmore Square and take a bus, but we saw Chestnut Hill on the route map in the T so decided to stay on the train. Do as you are told! It was a fun ride through the suburbs but Chestnut Hill Station is rather a long way from the eponymous mall – like a mile and it’s midday and nearing 90 degrees. Mad dogs and Englishmen sound familiar? Well we made it, the coat was miraculously there waiting and it fits. They had a 50% sale on so I got a rather fetching shirt to go with it. We had a wander round the mall and then as previously advised by the Mass Bay Transit Authority took the number 60 which starts outside Bloomingdales and delivers us back to Kenmore Square from where we head back to Copley and drop stuff off.
We had spoken to our good friend Daisy about meeting up and so she came around and then we went to a exhibition of quilts together at the Museum of Fine Arts. It was a real eye-opener. The majority of them were made by Amish or Mennonite communities which one associates with plain colours and fabrics. These quilts almost literally jumped off the walls as us since many of them featured complementary colours from the spectrum which cause that optical dissonance which makes them appear to vibrate and shimmer. We wondered how such plain living folk had come by such colourful and patterned fabrics and still don’t have the answer. Some we liked, some we didn’t but it was a fascinating exhibition.
Dee and I had also spotted signs for modern Japanese prints, ceramics and bamboo sculpture so we set off through the impressive halls of the MFA (need to spend more time here as in so many galleries back home) where some very interesting prints showed young artists rediscovering the techniques of the ukiyo-e woodblock printers whose work has been admired and described in several previous blogs. The applications of the techniques were extremely varied ranging from almost animated line drawing to impressionist water colours. I was staggered in the next exhibit to see what artists can do with bamboo. As well as modern takes on various kinds of container there were completely abstract expressions of great skill and beauty. We also discovered that the MFA has 50,000 antique woodblock prints which it can’t possibly display but is in the process of digitizing so they can be viewed online. By the time we’d finished our visit – the museum is open late on Wednesdays and free after 4 pm although you still have to queue to pick up your non-ticket – it was around 9 so Daisy headed back home to Somerville and we headed back to the Met Bar for a light snack before heading somewhat wearily to 271 Dartmouth. There was confirmation on the TV that Independence Day was going to be a day early in Boston this year to avoid the ravages of hurricane Arthur. Good weather forecasting guys!
So we set off on the first of July with a 5.30 am arrival of one of south London’s ubiquitous Data Cars booked through their app which is highly efficient. We positively glide through early morning London and thoughts of an extra half hour in bed surge into the head but never mind it’s good to be in good time isn’t it? Terminal 3 seems to have fewer people than Southend with its stags and hens a couple of weeks ago and we breeze through bag drop and security and discover a new delight.For many years Dee has had a bank account that offers airport lounge access as a perk – one we’ve never taken advantage of, partly through our just-in-time scrambled arrival at airports, partly through it being buried away in the small print and needing to be activated. With a couple of hours to spare on this occasion we check it out spurred on by one of Dee’s colleagues who swears by them.
Oh what a difference from grabbing a sandwich in Pret or even a glass in the champagne bar! We check in expecting to have to pay for me as a guest but no one asks for any cash. A brilliant buffet breakfast is available for free and a full English can be purchased. The Number 1 Lounge is part of a chain and well worth signing up to. After breakfasting (or should that really be “after breaking fast”?) we repaired to the lounge area to read complimentary newspapers and magazines. We could have played pool or table football, watched a movie in a ten seater cinema or chosen a spa treatment
What a restful, restorative way to start a journey after what is always, whatever one’s best intentions, a bit of a KBS to get to the damn airport.The screens tell us to proceed to the gate so we leave our cocoon and re-enter the now rather busier terminal. Although billed at a Virgin Atlantic flight it is operated by Delta. Seats were comfortable, flight was very empty and it was utterly unmemorable which I guess is what you need in a flight. The one remarkable aspect was that the attendants seem to have been recruited for their ability to resemble Kathy Bates in Misery or Lotte Lenya as Rosa Klebb. You thought twice before asking these guys for anything.
Welcome to America! Terminal E at Logan airport is a familiar location – we even filmed there in 1994 – and while a few things have changed like the new electronic visa waiver ESTA programme which everyone without another form of visa has to complete before flying, some things it seems never will. Of the thirty booths where you can have you fingerprints checked and your photo taken only five were in operation so as usual the early arrival time of the flight (30 minutes in this case) are soon eaten up in the immigration hall. We stood in line for 75 minutes before being welcomed to the USA and being allowed to go and collect our lonely baggage. Lonely? Well you see US citizens go through seamlessly and had all long since lit out of the baggage claim area.
We were first in Boston at the time of the Big Dig which caused massive disruptions but now complete does enable you to get in from the airport with commendable speed. The driver dropped us off at the apartment we’d rented in Dartmouth Street, we negotiated the somewhat cryptic instructions for gaining entry only to be told that we could drop our bags but the cleaners were running late and could we go away for an hour or so. Bags and jackets deposited we emerge into a 33 degree Boston boiler, decide to turn right toward Newbury Street and find the Met Bar where in a very pleasant downstairs bar big screens were showing Argentina squeeze past Switzerland. So we settled in with a beer, checked our phones and found an email from our friend Jack Foley – desperate to find out where we were. His wife Robin had to go to New York next day for a few days and this would be our only chance to see her. So Jack told us to stay put and he and Robin would join us to watch the USA game due up next. Well we watched that and then repaired to a table on the street to take dinner and commiserate on the USA team exit. As you can see close friendships were restored after a nine year absence and Dee obviously said something that Robin found hilarious. You can also see that we stayed there until it got dark. So having been told at 1:30 to head out for an hour or so we finally made it back about ten hours later.
And so – after showing Jack and Robin our home for the next week and having a last one for the road – to a very comfortable bed in the Back Bay.
I started writing this on 9 April the anniversary of our departure on the trip to Japan last year which has been described in this blog.
However life, work and extraneous factors intervened. It's now July 3 and we're in Boston, MA about which more a little later.
9 April 2013 was indeed the day we flew from Heathrow for our eventful, amazing and never-to-be-forgotten trip to Japan. How we wish we were going again but the exigencies of budget and work will keep us here this year. My long absence from the blog has been due to a number of circumstances including limited social life and lots of writing for others rather than me or you.
However with spring in the air at last after the direst start to any year – ultra low return from our solar panels prove how grey it has been – it feels like time to take up my pen again. And then I got another urgent job for which I had to complete the first part of this week. The year has been so strange we’ve hardly been to any Watford matches relying instead on our friend Fran’s excellent blogs to keep us up to date with our team’s progress. No playoff excitement this year but some promising developments.
We did manage to go to our away game in Bournemouth back in January when we were excited by the prospect of the Japanese exhibits in the Russell Cotes Art Gallery and Museum. It’s a lovely eclectic collection assembled by one of the last great entrepreneur-travellers who gathered object that took his and his wife’s fancy from wherever the went – mostly in the Far East. The Japanese room had hundreds of objects but contained behind a perspex corridor along which you could inch your way and peer form side to side. Not ideal but with some glimpses of very interesting artefacts and scrolls.
Our taste for things Japanese was also fuelled by the mention of a Japanese garden on Margaret Island in Budapest where we went for a three night break on a very good deal from Groupon. The garden itself was a disappointment but not so Budapest although we did find cherry blossom. After an unpromising start with the first sign we saw emerging from the airport being a Tesco hypermarket,
Entrance to the Museum of Applied Arts
Budapest proved to be a delightful place to spend a few days. We made a concert with the Hilliard ensemble still in good voice all those years after their chart appearance with Jan Garbarek’s saxophone accompaniment in the incredible Vigado Concert Hall which re-opened two days before we arrived. It’s all gilt and marble and pillars and a total contrast to the Erkel theatre where we caught an excellent ballet programme the next night. Built as the People’s Opera during the communist era its clean lines and lack of adornment made it a very pleasant place to watch great performances of three Jiri Kylian works.
The highspot was a visit to the Szechenyi Baths a massive complex of thermal baths where we sat in a grand open air pool with water temperatures of 35 degrees and the air at 24 – fabulous.
Dee about to enter Szechenyi BathsBy the Chain Bridge
Architectural and culinary treasures abound and it’s definitely on the list for a return visit. Any of you who watch Drama on ITV sponsored by Viking River Cruises have seen the spotlit Chain Bridge, Buda Castle and Parliament Building modelled on the HP in London but with even more filigree.
We’ve been to more discussions and book launches at the Japan Foundation, entered a competition to win flights to Japan at the Japan Centre and discovered the joys – shared by grandchildren – of curry flavoured rice crackers.
Dee in the Garsington Garden
I’d heard of an opera in a country house in Oxfordshire some years ago but when a friend of ours Susanna told us she was its musical director we just had to go. Garsington Opera is very much Glyndebourne for the northern home counties but more bohemian in approach and audience. It’s now based on the Getty family’s Wormsley Estate just off the M40 past High Wycombe. The estate is also home to a fabulous cricket oval on which England women beat Australia last year in the first match of the Ashes. The extensive grounds are lined with picnic spots and restaurant marquees bringing a medieval feel to the whole thing. We were blessed with a fine day although it did get a bit breezy so we were glad we’d opted for in-marquee dining at the interval.The opera takes place in a glass pavilion which makes for a unique viewing experience in that performances start in broad daylight and then it gradually gets darker as the evening progresses. We saw Fidelio and in a great piece of theatre the released prisoners in Act 1 actually walk straight out of the auditorium and lounge about in the garden outside. Susanna was able to join us for dinner after warming up the chorus at the start of the interval so we had a great opportunity to catch up with her.
Mike by the cricket groundThe Opera PavilionField of feasting tents
I’ve been doing quite a bit of work for a Dutch publishing agency so took a day trip to Utrecht to meet them and an end-client. I flew from Southend airport which I scarcely knew existed but which was obviously very popular with a certain set. My thinking that there would be nobody there and I’d whizz through security after the hour’s drive from home was abruptly punctured by the sight of a bride and a retinue of bridesmaids; eight men in tiger onesies and a gaggle of guys with cork-trimmed hats. Then a look at the departure board for the three morning flights – Amsterdam, Krakow and Mallorca – and I knew I was in the stag and hen departure capital of Essex.
The flight was quick and the train connection from Schipol to Utrecht couldn’t have been easier. Clean, smooth and on time, I thought I was back in Japan. I had a few moments to stroll with my agency contact through the streets of Utrecht which is a cobbled, canal-threaded city with a vibrant street life. Tekst 2000 enjoy canalside offices in a vaulted cellar with a long hot desk for their colleagues and people like me. We went off to visit the client in Culemborg via a chain ferry so it was a day of just about every mode of transport.
20 years ago I was derided by newly made US friends for flying back to the UK on July 4 after my preliminary recce visit for what was to become Direct English. “Don’t you know we have the best fireworks show in the world on July 4?” Oops. So deciding to celebrate the Fourth of July properly this year we arrived in Boston as planned only to find that the firework display has been moved to July 3 to avoid being washed out by Hurricane Arthur. So history is rewritten and the War of Independence ended a day early – at least this year in Boston.
It’s been a while since the last blog – far too much work and play (yippee!) – but a lot has been going on – much of it with a Japanese flavour.
Everybody has seen Hokusai’s The Great Wave off Kanagawa even if they didn’t know that was what they were seeing. It’s from a series of wood block prints called 36 views of Mount Fuji. We have reproductions of two of them on the walls at home so the opportunity to see all of them in digitally analysed new versions was too good to miss. The exhibition was at the Old Truman Brewery on Brick Lane and to get there we went through the Spitalfields Market a lively area with craft, fashion and food stalls which we’d missed out on since it’s rebirth a few years ago. Great fun on a Saturday morning – very lively.
Some people are critical of ‘new’ versions of old works of art but seeing the whole series together was fascinating. Each print depicts aspects of everyday life in the Edo period (1603 to 1868)) always with a hint of Fujisan in the composition in the most imaginative ways. It showed just what a superb artist he was. The exhibition also confirmed the outstanding skills of the wood block makers and printers who worked with the artists of the period.
Prints on paper however well displayed always fade with age so seeing the colours as vibrant as they would have been in the first editions I found startling and a further tribute to the woodblock makers who had to make a block for each colour in the print. The exhibition also had various artists’ re-imaginings of Hokusai in an exhibition space laid out like the streets of old Edo with red lanterns and small rooms devoted to different visual approaches. A vast video wall completed the exhibition with images some of which gelled and some of which I failed to connect with. But a fascinating occasion all round.
Later in the month we saw lots more Hokusai in the brilliant Shunga exhibition at the British Museum – surely one of very few that have to carry a PG certificate! All the great artists of the period seem to have engaged in making erotic prints alongside their mainstream work. The extensive array gathered here shows that their drawings and the prints that followed were of the same quality as their mainstream work. It also confirms that sex can be elegant, energetic, exaggerated, delicate, delightful and dangerous but above all should be fun. There’s a great quote displayed relating to the old adage that size doesn’t matter:
“if ‘the thing’ were depicted in its actual size there would be nothing
of interest, for that reason don’t we say that art is fantasy?”
A couple of the more publishable shunga images for a family audience
The exhibition is clearly very popular given the crowds and the length of time people spent looking at each of the hundreds of prints displayed. The curators have done a brilliant job in putting them in context and explaining that they were usually produced in sets of 12 as with so many ukiyo-e prints and would be used as instruction manuals for newlyweds, as foreplay for couples, consolation for the separated and just for a laugh.
Seeing rooms full of people losing their embarrassment while peering at sheet after sheet of bi-gender genitalia having such fun made one doubt whether there’s much British reserve left. There were a few faces around looking a little confused though. The exhibition runs until 5 January 2014 and is well worth a visit.
Following last month’s Japan Foundation lecture on zen in gardens (our own Japanese maples are looking especially fine this year) and ceramics we were keen to find some really elegant cups for green tea consumption. We found them in the most unlikely place while on a two-day break in Wiltshire.
Mike in the gloom at Lacock
We drove down through alternating rain and drizzle, checked in and decided to go and view an outdoor sculpture exhibition at Lacock Abbey. By the time we arrived it was closed and nearly dark anyway, so we wandered around the village – in Cranford, Pride and Prejudice and Harry Potter land – and came across Lacock Pottery. We climbed the stairs to the deserted loft gallery and there were two bowls that were just what we needed. We looked at the other exhibits but kept coming back and eventually rang the bell for service which brought forth David McDowell who filled us in on his own intriguing history as the offspring of a FitzChurchill. After a time he vouchsafed the information that the pots were by a local potter Matt Waite and used a very uncommon glaze called Chün or Jun. It has no colour in itself but when light strikes it it takes on the finest pale blue tone because of reflection on metallic particles in the glaze – fascinating stuff. We bought them, were given a lengthy guided tour of the glorious B&B David and his wife Simone run at the pottery and eventually escaped back for dinner at Marco Pierre White’s latest project Rudloe Arms. It’s work in progress at present but the art from his collection displayed all over the hotel means you could just walk around for hours enjoying the paintings, mobiles, cartoons, photographs and memorabilia.
Dee making a bright – if chilly – start at the hotel
The next day a total contrast in terms of weather but held the same surprises and delights. A bright blue sunny morning dawned – ideal for our planned trip to Bath. We caught the bus from the end of the hotel driveway benefitting from Freedom Passes’ nation-wide (except Scotland – boo – have your independence!) validity for free bus transport and we’d also been warned that Bath was notoriously difficult for parking.
Neither of us had been to Bath for ages and so set out to do the main touristy things: Pump Room, Roman Baths, Assembly Rooms, Fashion Museum and the less well known Museum of East Asian Art which houses a lot of Chinese pottery, lacquer and jade with some good examples of Japanese ceramics too. We scuttled round being close to closing time and then had a long chat in the museum shop to a young Japanese lady with whom we exchanged views about the collection, her enjoyment of the UK and our trip to Japan.
Our need to scuttle was caused by spending much longer than we ever thought we would at the Roman Baths – a truly amazing “visitor attraction” (dreadful phrase). History, archaeology, reconstructions and interactivity coupled with the incredible extent of the site mean that you could easily pass a whole day in the Baths but that would not do justice to Bath which really deserves its World Heritage Site status.
Dee and Mike taking in the Baths Bath’s chandelier-themed lights The real thing in the Assembly Rooms
Back to the hotel on the bus and tonight’s dinner is at another Marco Pierre White pub The Pear Tree about five miles from Rudloe. It’s been part of his empire for three years now and feels much better bedded in – indeed it has eight rooms so you can stay there too. The dining room is in a large conservatory on the side of an old stone pub and very tastefully decorated and designed. Food and wine were up to scratch too.
Then it was back to London but via the workshop of potter Matt Waite whose pots we bought earlier in the week. He didn’t have any others available but undertook to make us two more and to fashion us a sake jug and beakers in a similar style. We await the outcome with bated breath. Matt is interested in oriental ceramics and ancient glazes and produces elegant tableware in a variety of styles but all individually thrown so each pot, cup or bowl is unique. We were pleased to meet him and kept him from his kiln for far too long chatting about travel, pottery and everything under the sun. He was great company and is a fine potter.
Another Japan Foundation discussion evening focused on a Japanese project to catalogue all Japanese art objects in foreign collections – I don’t think it’s a sinister move to demand them all back! It was fascinating to see how many collections there are in stately homes and private houses as well as more accessibly in museums. We’ve ordered a promising-looking book A Guide to Japanese Art Collections in UK which will help us track them down as we travel around. It seems like there’s a good Japanese gallery in the Maidstone Museum which we might get to visit over Christmas.
And as with every blog there has been some more Japanese food. After the Shunga exhibition we paid a return visit to Abeno now with its licence restored so no free beer this time. Despite the availability of okonomiyaki we tried the soba rice which has rice, noodles, meat and vegetables and the yaki soba fried noodles. Both were excellent as were the kari kari renkon – crispy slices of lotus root with sea salt.
Then following the Japan Foundation evening we tried a fairly newly opened restaurant in Coptic Street called Cocoro. It specialises in ramen (noodles) and curry. We had one of each and they were very good – the speciality tonkotsu ramen with pork belly and broth made from stewed pork bone was really tasty. Judging from the salarymen behind us who had clearly been in for a long evening and several other tables occupied by Japanese diners it’s proving a popular addition to the area.
Finally my own first efforts at sushi making have been moderately successful. Taste is good, shape and symmetry leave a lot to be desired. I also made the delicious slightly sweet omelette we use to have frequently for breakfast in Japan. It is great on its own and also makes a good sushi filling. I used it with some roasted pepper in one set of sushi while the others were prawn and avocado.
Dee and I are going on a sushi-making course next year as a Christmas present to ourselves so we hope that rapid progress will be made.
The month was rounded off nicely with some Murakami to add to the mix – he’s been missing a bit lately. In the New Yorker magazine on 28 October a new short story appeared called Samsa in Love. You can read it here and it makes for an good easy introduction to aspects of his world. The combination of disorientation, dysfunction, political edginess and the obvious nod to Franz Kakfa’s The Metamorphosis make for an interesting read. His descriptions of the interaction between Gregor Samsa and a hunchbacked woman with an ill-fitting bra are both poignant and hilarious.
We’ve had a great time, quiet, nine mainly sunny days by the pool. Eating at home because everywhere else means one of us not having a drink so as to drive home along the roads that cry out “mind the eggs”. But we’ve eaten well on local produce and drunk well on local Ciro wines. There have been a few moments of thunder and a couple of quick downpours but on the whole it was just what we needed. There was a well designed garden area with a stone bench that reminded us of Japan and lots of lizards and a few geckos for company.
So we leave our villa today passing what was maligned in a previous post as a wayside fruit stand. It is of course a full blown supermarket with everything we could have wanted and had we looked harder we could probably have avoided our fraught trip to Vibo Valentia last Sunday.
We are going to spend the day and night in another town up the Calabrian coast called Pizzo. We’ve booked into the hotel for one night and reminiscent of early arrivals in Japan earlier this year we have expectations of leaving baggage at the hotel and wandering about until official check in time at 15:30. Pizzo is a warren of undulating winding streets but eventually we hit a free parking space in Piazza Mussolino (note the last vowel) which is walkable to the hotel. However we arrive – sensibly deciding not to take our bags – to find the front door open but a sliding glass door impenetrable. We ring the bell. Niente. We walk about and knock on windows. Niente. We telephone and leave a message on the voicemail and so to the Piazza della Repubblica for a coffee. We’ve not quite ordered when the hotel phones and says we can come now. So we apologize to the patrone, head back to the car and pick up out bags and wheel them along a street of roadworks to the hotel.
Magic! Our room is ready. The hotel is beautiful. The staff are apologetic – they were serving breakfast on the roof terrace and couldn’t get the door – sounds good for tomorrow as breakfast’s included. It’s called the Piccolo Grand Hotel and it’s a perfect description. It has all the elegance and style of a grand hotel but in a converted palazzo that only has 12 rooms.
We ask about parking and are advised that we are best where we are and set off to park up for the day as there’s not much call for driving in Pizzo.
Now you can only buy parking by the hour on a card on which you scratch out the year, day, hour and minute on a foil covered card. And you can only buy cards by the hour. So having decided to stay put we need ten of them at 50 cents each so we sit and scratch and display the whole array in the windscreen. They say it’s OK in the tabacchi where we buy the cards – we’ll see tomorrow if there was a hidden sign saying “No return within one hour”.
Hey ho coffee calls. Il Patrone is pleased and maybe surprised to see us back but we have good coffee and a chocolate croissant for breakfast before exploring the town.
It is a pleasant place with some nice churches, grand – if rather run-down – palazzi and wonderful views of the sea from narrow, angled street corners. The area is famed for its liquorice so we buy a few packs to take home for offices and friends as well as some limoncello flavoured biscuits we think will go down nicely for Friday treats. We go for a prosecco and a beer in the main square before meeting Beata to give her the keys and retrieve our breakages deposit. She arrives, flustered and with many other visitors to attend to and we decide on a local produce shop-cum-restaurant Le Chicche di Calabria for lunch. What a good choice!
We had the Calabrian tasting menu which kept coming – a plate of four or five different cheeses, then a platter of salamis some mild, most quite fiery. For the first time we were presented with our cutlery and napkins in a paper bag. These first courses were the precursor to four bruchettas again two tomato-eyd and the others really hot with the chillies they love so much down in the south. Finally there was the steak – almost a comparable tenderness to the Hida beef we’d tasted in Japan earlier this year. Accompanied by a rosato wine from Ciro region just to the north and finished off with coffee it was an excellent way to spend several hours. We buy a few more bits and pieces from the shop and when we decline a large bottle of local liquorice liqueur our explanation “Ryanair” is greeted with a sage nod of acceptance. Their meagre baggage allowances go before them everywhere it seems. We retired to the hotel which has a lovely small roof terrace for some embroidery in Dee’s case and some reading in mine.
One of the great things about this static, relaxing holiday is that for the first time in ages we’ve been able to read all six of the Booker Prize shortlist – well nearly as according to Kindle I’m 18% through the sixth. For what it’s worth here are some brief observations in order of reading just before the winner is announced:
Ruth Ozeki A tale for the time being A bias has to be admitted because it deals with Japan and Canada in both of which I have an interest but it’s an imaginative look at post-tsunami Japan with further insights into zen and the Japanese character. The writing is not always quite as balanced as I would have liked but it was a compelling read.
Colm Toibin The Testament of Mary My winner by a short head. A beautifully crafted novel with a vivid sense of period and the politics of the birth of Christianity. A stunning concept brilliantly delivered.
NoViolet Bulawayo We need new names Startling and distressing but compelling and for me at least very educational, her stories of kids growing up in Zimbabwe are fresh and have an authentic feel. I found some of the US-set chapters a little less well done but it’s a book I’m very glad to have read.
Jhumpa Lahiri Lowland Again I was always going to enjoy the next book from a writer I already admire and with its settings in Kolkata and New England another two of my interests were featured. A heartbreaking series of stories unfold from her silky pen and I loved it.
Jim Crace Harvest How have I gone all these years without reading Crace? This is my second favourite – unusual for me in that it’s historical again set around the time of the enclosures but it’s love of the land, the politics of medieval poverty and the restless energy of the characters made this a wonderful introduction to an author who will be the subject of multiple downloads soon.
Eleanor Catton The Luminaries This will win because I can’t stand it. I must be the one person in the world who just can’t do Hilary Mantel’s Cromwell offerings which have twice won the Booker and this over-researched, over-written introduction to intrigue in New Zealand’s gold rush falls into the same category. The fastidiousness of the writing with immense effort to achieve a sense of “written at the time” I find very alienating. It leaves me completely frustrated with its lack of energy and I can’t say now that I’ll even bother to finish it. So put your money on this one and ignore my opinions above.
We had been told by several people that La Lampara was the best restaurant in Pizzo and the helpful staff at the hotel called ahead to make sure we could get a table as it is a) small and b) popular. It was great with a shared starter of smoked tuna followed by ricciola for Dee and swordfish for me so we had sampled the three fish the area’s most famous for. Wine choice not brilliant, a not quite dry enough local white but a very pleasant evening in excellent surroundings before retiring to the hotel to blog and discover that England had managed to qualify for the World Cup.
Next morning dawned very wetly. A veritable stream flowed by the hotel’s front door and it was impossible to distinguish sea from land from sky as everything was a uniform grey. Good preparation for our return to London.
Thursday comes and at least we’ve seen the volcano. We go into Tropea, explore a bit more of the town, have a coffee, then park up and have an early lunch down by the port. I choose ricciola a fish I’ve never heard of but am told is special to Sicily and Calabria. It’s texturally a bit like swordfish but with a sharper taste. In English it appears to go by the name of greater amberjack. Dee choose a plate of enormous prawns but even after her Japanese training declined to eat the heads.
We leave and walk to the port to be told we have to re-park our car – in a paying area! It seemed fine to me where it was but the attendant was very insistent. We exchange our trip voucher for tickets with an additional unexplained charge of 3 euros and head for the TropeaMar which is to take us on our trip. There’s great confusion among the throngs on the quayside. The TropeaMar won’t start and we’re going on the Stromboli Express instead. Tickets are exchanged and the Stromboli Express appears at the harbour entrance but there’s nowhere to berth her until some local boats have been moved. An almighty scrum to board takes places and eventually we set off at about 14:40. The view of Tropea up on its bluff is very fine as we leave the harbour.
The weather’s a bit hazy so spotting Sicily and the other islands is a bit difficult. We looked carefully for the promised dolphins but they were obviously in hiding today. We even consult with the bridge but they can’t help.
We can see Stromboli and its little rock Strombolicchio and Lipari and eventually Sicily. We arrive, disembark and are told to be back to the boat for departure sharp at 19:20.
There’s not a lot to do on Stromboli unless you are a trekker-vulcanologist, but we did see a couple of puffs of smoke from the crater that augured well for the night ahead. The beaches are still something of a surprise being completely black – not sure I could do a day lying on a completely black beach. So wandered its narrow tourist-shop-lined streets, leaping to avoid the buzzing three wheelers that are the main form of transport along with golf buggies.
We grabbed a beer and a snack before reporting back to the Stromboli Express as instructed. Some concern to find engineers with the engine room hatch up and the engine coughing like an old banger on a cold morning. However we finally moved off and went round to the back of Stromboli to the optimum place to observe the fireworks. And we wait and we wait. We drift. We turn around and we drift back. Several other expectant boats share the waters. Eventually after an hour the captain apologises for Stromboli not performing tonight and we whizz back to Tropea at full speed. What we do see is an amazing electrical storm over the Calabrian coast with vast areas of cloud lit up by flashes of pink tinged lightning. We couldn’t hear the thunder over the roar of the now full throttle engines – clearly desperate to get back before the curse of the TropeaMar stikes the Stromboli Express. Dolphins nil, Stromboli nil. But a fun and bracing day out on the sea wondering how our dear Captain Toddy is getting on in the tall ships race from Sydney to Auckland. Weather doesn’t look too clever down there either.