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September 5-7, 2016: The centerpiece of this year’s trip was a two week tour of Uzbekistan, starting in Tashkent. Getting to Tashkent from London, I discovered, would require a change of planes. I usually book my own air directly with the relevant airline, but this time I thought it safer to have the tour company, MIR, do it, so I had back up in case anything went wrong. But MIR’s initial suggestion had me changing planes in Moscow and arriving in Tashkent at 2:30 am. Turned out that if I wanted to arrive in Tashkent in daylight I would need to fly Uzbekistan Airlines, not Turkish, as MIR seemed to prefer, and would need to at least overnight between planes.
Stopping off in Riga was an attractive idea, but would put me into Tashkent three days early. Baku intrigued me, but I thought I would need an expensive visa (I later discovered that a transit visa might have worked). That left Istanbul, a city I have enjoyed visiting in the past, but in a country currently suffering political and security issues. Still, I figured that if I booked the rather nice WOW airport hotel I had used when in transit to Georgia, I could always hang out there in the event of serious trouble.


The trouble, of course, duly arrived in the form of the airport bombing in June, and the abortive coup in July, but fortunately I didn’t get to Istanbul until these were well over. There were a great many more very large Turkish flags flying than I remembered from past visits, and the crowds in Sultanahmet were much diminished (although the carpet sellers were still active), but my visit was unaffected. I did keep my reservation at the airport hotel, where I found myself staying in the five star property instead of the four star next door I thought I had booked, and I did eat dinner there both nights, but that was because I needed to get up early two mornings running.
While the WOW hotels are very convenient for the airport – one stop on the metro or a short shuttle ride – getting to central Istanbul by public transport takes an hour, and I had been invited to breakfast near Taksim Square by a long time Fodor’s poster. But early rising was a small price to pay for the time I spent with the charming and cultured OC and his equally charming and cultured wife, not to mention their adorable grandson. In addition, breakfast was delicious – I still remember the chestnut honey – and the apartment had a killer view of the Bosphorus. OC’s wife and grandson were headed for the couple’s other base in Izmir, and kindly dropped me off at my morning sightseeing objective, Dolmabahce Palace.


Dolmabahce was built for the 31st Sultan in the mid 1800s, after he decided Topkapi was too old-fashioned and uncomfortable. The cost of the ornate, baroque edifice was so great that it contributed to the Ottoman Empire’s default in 1875. Later the palace became the summer home of Kemal Ataturk, and he died in the palace on November 10, 1938. Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized this when I set out to visit on November 10, 2009, and the crowds were so big I decided to try later. Later had now arrived, but while the crowds were indeed much diminished, the size of the groups shuttled through the building was still too large for enjoyable sightseeing, and the rooms were almost oppressively ornate. I had a better time eating lunch in their cafe, although the views of the Bosphorus easily outshone the food.


I spent the afternoon enjoying still more views of the Bosphorus, this time on a cruise. I had done a Bosphorus cruise back in 1998, and taken the ferry to the Princes’ Islands in 2006, but more recently I had stayed on land. The day was fine, and the banks were lined with interesting buildings. I sat back and let the sights flow past me. The boat was actually a water version of a hop-on, hop-off, bus, but it was late enough in the day I just stayed on.
Afterwards I took a tram to Sultanahmet to pay my respects to one of my favorite buildings, the Blue Mosque. I didn’t go inside this time, just admired the beautiful exterior. Stopping off for coffee afterwards was a mistake, though, as I headed back to my airport hotel during the rush hour.
Next morning I took the airport shuttle to the terminal to board my flight. Tashkent was next!


September 2-5, 2016: My journey from Sydney Sussex in Cambridge to LSE’s Grosvenor House on Drury Lane went without a hitch – train to Liverpool Street station, add money to my Oyster card, tube to Holborn, short walk past the Freemason’s Hall I had enjoyed visiting on my last trip to London. Check-in, somewhat later in the day, did not go smoothly, however. The room I had been assigned was on the ground floor facing a narrow alley, with mostly frosted windows and less room than I remembered from previous visits. I went back to the front desk to point out that it was too dark and too narrow for a multi-night stay. The second room was a big surprise – I was upgraded to a suite almost at the top of the building. I had a big sitting room with multiple views, a separate bedroom – and a narrow kitchen and tiny bathroom just like the regular rooms.
Having spent eight nights in London – in the same LSE student dorm – the previous year, I did not have an ambitious agenda this time. I had booked an architecture tour of the King’s Cross area, reputedly much transformed, for the Saturday, hoped to join a National Trust walk from Richmond to Ham House on the Sunday with my younger sister and her daughter, and had a ticket for a Noel Coward revival at a tiny theater in Earls Court. On my last day, I would eat breakfast at Delauney and then for lunch try the food at the Indian YMCA much praised on Fodors.


Aside from the Indian meal, which I found very disappointing, everything went well. The architecture tour, arranged by Open-City, was sold out, but the group was small enough I had no trouble hearing the guide. The station itself had changed since I last saw it, with a soaring blue glass canopy over a pedestrian zone. And north of the station the transformation was remarkable. New buildings were still going up, and as Google was moving it’s headquarters there, they will have input into future buildings. Prices will probably rise considerably as a result, although affordable housing was a feature of the existing developments. It had not previously occurred to me that Regent’s Canal ran behind the station, although I had once enjoyed a boat ride on it from Little Venice to Camden, and there was now a stepped grassy terrace overlooking it. All-in-all, I was impressed both by the tour and the developments. After the tour ended I ate lunch in St. Pancras station before taking in a Shakespeare exhibition at the British Library.
Saturday night I took the tube over to Earl’s Court and the Finborough Theatre, which occupied a room over a pub. I had had extreme difficulty hearing the actors at the National the previous year, and thought a smaller venue would be safer – besides, I have always enjoyed Noel Coward. “Home Chat” had not been performed since its first run in 1927, but the opening night had drawn a good ┬áreview in the Telegraph. A biting satire on sexism, I found it thoroughly enjoyable as well as still relevant – and I had no difficulty hearing.


Sunday morning I took the tube still further out, to Richmond. I had renewed my membership in the Royal Oak Foundation, the US partner of the National Trust, and Ham House was one of the few London National Trust properties I had not seen. Plus, looking for activities in London, I had discovered a Thames River Festival, and the NT was offering a guided walk to Ham House on September Sundays as part of it. My concerns about possible rain proved unfounded, although the day stayed grey.
I met up with my sister and my niece in a popular coffee shop just outside the station, and then joined a handful of other people in front of the station to meet our two guides. We were introduced to some old buildings in Richmond itself, including the handsome Victorian public library, and the Gate House, one of the few remnants of the sixteenth century Richmond Palace, which was largely destroyed after Charles I’s execution. We went down to the river, then climbed above it, eventually reaching a viewpoint where the river made a sweeping curve below us, fringed with trees and with cattle grazing in the water meadows. Turned out that this view was the only one in England protected by Act of Parliament, and we all enjoyed it. We finished by walking a long, tree-lined avenue leading to Ham House, first pausing to watch the start of a polo match. Although I am glad to have seen the house, it was not from one of my favorite periods, and I really preferred the walk. We walked back to the station as well, but we followed the river.
Monday afternoon I set off for Horley, where I would spend a night in my usual B&B before catching a flight from Gatwick to Istanbul for the next stage of the trip. So far, I had been fortunate in avoiding Southern Railways, which was suffering from strike action (and, perhaps, from inefficiency), but it looked like I would be safe taking an afternoon train from London Bridge station. Alas, no. I had to change trains on the way. Still, all my other train trips had worked well, and all but one of my bus and coach rides. I would have no hesitation in planning another UK trip using public transport.

Loving Ely


August 31, 2016: When I walked through the south door of Ely Cathedral, and looked up, I was completely blown away. I was facing the crossing, where the nave, running west to east, meets the north and south transepts. Completely normal, but the octagonal lantern crowning the crossing was not at all normal. It was a marvel of stone, wood, stained glass and paint that really needs to be seen to be appreciated, although I did take some photographs. If I had entered at the west end, which is apparently the normal route, I might not have been quite as amazed, but coming in from the south the Octagon was the first thing I saw. And although the rest of the cathedral was certainly worth visiting, I kept coming back to the crossing.
The main building was lofty and long, and there was an additional, huge, lady chapel. The volunteer who took me round told me that it had been founded in 763 as a dual male and female monastery, and there was still a shrine to the female founder, Etheldreda, a Saxon princess. The current building was begun in the late eleventh century when it served a Benedictine monastery, although the Octagon was built in 1322 after the central Norman tower collapsed. Besides the Octagon the choir stalls were certainly worth a look, and the organ, in a case above the stalls, boasted gaily painted pipes. The cathedral even had a small labyrinth built into the floor, possibly Victorian, with very tight corners and not much respect from visitors.



Since Ely is so close to Cambridge – 16 miles, 15 minutes or so by train – and Cambridge is so close to Letchworth – 25 miles, half an hour by train – where I grew up, I am not sure why I had never been there before. True, it is one of the smaller cathedral cities (although St. David’s, in Wales, remains the smallest). But it is a perfectly fine place for a day trip, with the cathedral soaring majestically over the flat fens, a house once occupied by Oliver Cromwell during the first stage of his rise from obscurity to ultimate power, and a rather nice canal.


I skipped the cathedral’s stained glass museum, but I did visit the Cromwell house, of especial interest since I had just enjoyed the Civil War reenactment in Newport Pagnell. The tour ended with a request for visitors to vote on whether they now thought him a hero or a villain. During the tour, informational texts had reported on his reasons for rebellion, concentrating on Charles I’s attempts to change church policy in a more Catholic direction, and trying to debunk the persistent tale that he had been responsible for banning Christmas celebrations. (Having just encountered the first Christmas tree of the 2016 season – in mid October! in Kyoto Station! I must confess to some sympathy for the ban, whoever was responsible.) In the end I voted for hero, although he has never been a favorite of mine.


August 30 – September 2, 2016:
Cambridge, England, not Cambridge, Massachusetts, where I stayed last year. I had booked the Milton Keynes to Cambridge leg with National Express, the coach company, but noticed that the ride would actually be provided by Stagecoach. When my sister dropped me at the Milton Keynes Coachway stop, my bus was not on the departure board, and when I finally got a word with the ticket clerk, I was told they didn’t list other companies. Great. The clerk was besieged, as the ticket machines weren’t working. I was more than ever glad I had bought my ticket ahead of time. The ride was slow, as the bus morphed into a local after Bedford, but it dropped me in the center of town, quite close to Sydney Sussex, where I was staying.
Sydney Sussex, which I had picked because it was small, and likely to be less popular with tourists, turned out to be a disappointment. It’s true that there was a gratifying shortage of tourists, but the chapel was closed for repairs, and I found the dining hall rather plain after Christ Church and Keble (the college’s website claims it is “one of the great Rococo interiors of Cambridge”). Worse, my room was in a modern block, and the walk to the back of the site at night, dark. Whoever designed the block had some strange ideas, as all the rooms featured an unnecessary tall, thin, window, which in my case was opposite the bed and not curtained. A complaint to the porter did produce two men with a roll of black plastic and some tape, which fixed the problem, but why would anyone design it that way? The main,window was perfectly adequate. I also had issues with the mattress, which should have been retired some years back.


Another time I would put up with the tourists and book with one of the colleges with “backs” (i.e. grounds running down to the river Cam), as the backs turned out to be off limits when I first wanted to visit. I did get to spend some time enjoying the river and the views after I bought my ticket for a guided tour of King’s College Chapel. This is arguably the premier sight in Cambridge, with possibly the best fan vaulting in England. The product of the patronage of several kings, principally Henry VI, Richard III (yes, that Richard) and Henry VII, it was begun in 1441 but took nearly 100 years to complete. The fan vaulting, however, was completed in just three years, 1512 to 1515. Although the tour was delayed when the guide failed to turn up, it was worth waiting for. I would have liked to attend choral Evensong in the Chapel, but as with the four cathedrals I had visited, the choir was spending the summer elsewhere and there was no substitute the days I was in town.


Having visited the Ashmolean Museum and the Botanical Gardens in Oxford, I now proceeded to visit the Fitzwilliam Museum and the Botanical Gardens in Cambridge. The Fitzwilliam featured a great deal of china, both Japanese and European, a number of attractive fans, and a temporary exhibition on illuminated manuscripts, but on balance I think I would recommend the Ashmolean. However, there was no question but that Cambridge’s Botanical Gardens were bigger and better, with more varied and educational plantings.


Cambridge’s train station was inconveniently situated out of the center, but the town had a good bus system. I ate a not very good dinner at Bill’s – the chicken initially arrived undercooked – a quite good curry at Vedanta – for which a reservation is recommended – and a filling and delicious appetizer with a side of chips (fries) at Senate. I also drank quite a lot of coffee at various Caffe Nero’s, a chain that knows how to make a proper macchiato (although I have since been informed that I should boycott them because of tax evasion).

Houses and History


August 26-30, 2016: After Chester I headed back south by train to spend the August Bank Holiday weekend with my elder sister. The train was so packed for the run to Crewe that the reservation system had booked a family with kids into the quiet car. The train largely emptied out at Crewe, but the family remained. My sister lives on the edge of the new(ish) town of Milton Keynes. I say edge advisedly, as I could see sheep and later cows from my bedroom window, and one morning we walked to the local church for coffee, and I found that it had been built in the thirteenth century. (Since I was staying with my sister I was no longer restricted to public transport, and she drove me to a couple of sites that might be difficult to reach by bus.)
The first afternoon we visited Wrest Park, although the weather wasn’t very suitable for what is mostly an outdoor attraction. But at least the rain merely threatened. The de Greys first settled at Wrest in the fourteenth century, but the formal gardens were begun in the second half of the seventeenth century by Amabel, the wife of the 10th earl. Further extended in the next century, the finishing touches were supplied by Britain’s great landscape architect ‘Capability’ Brown. The current house itself, built only in the 1830s, is mostly off limits to visitors, but we did see some of the ground floor rooms, resolutely French and unfurnished. After a checkered career in the 20th century, including stints as a military hospital and a research institute, the house and grounds are now in the care of English Heritage. The grounds were extensive, decorated with statues, and with the ‘Long Water’ leading to an impressive baroque pavilion.


The next day we went back to Waddesdon Manor, which we had visited in 2014 for the Christmas decorations. The decorations had been impressive, with plenty of pretty trees in the house, and some imaginative light features in the grounds, but we really hadn’t been able to appreciate the rooms and furnishings. This time we made a day of it, with morning coffee in the cafe in the former stables, a formal (and very good) lunch in the restaurant, a two hour tour of the building with audio guide, and coffee with scones and clotted cream to top things off. I could easily have spend longer, as the house was full of interesting and beautiful objects, and the audio guide was informative. The house was built in the 1870s for Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild, who wanted a house in the style of a Loire chateau, where he could entertain weekend guests. We had visited another Rothschild house, Ascott, the last time I stayed with my sister, and that, too, had been well worth seeing.



And on Bank Holiday Monday we went over to Newport Pagnell for a Civil War reenactment. Yes, the English Civil War – I confess that I have now lived in the US long enough that my first thought was of the Union versus the Confederacy, but England had a Civil War, too. Fought between supporters of the monarchy on one side, and Parliament on the other, it started in 1642 and the fighting ended in 1651. Depending on how you look at it, though, it might be said to have finally ended with the restoration of Charles II in 1660, Charles I having been executed in 1649. The intervening years had featured first a Commonwealth and then a Protectorate under Oliver Cromwell. It had not been a popular regime, and after Cromwell’s death there was no enthusiasm for continuing it. The monarchy after the war, however, was a different institution than it had been before, when Charles I insisted that he ruled by divine right and could ignore Parliament. I consider the Civil War more important for the development of democracy in England than the Magna Carta, although it seems to be the Magna Carta that gets all the attention.


I have always been a little conflicted about the Civil War. The Royalists (I knew them as Cavaliers, and the opposition as Roundheads, but the reenacters objected to those terms) seemed more dashing and romantic, and the Parliamentarians overly somber and puritanical, but intellectually, of course, I supported Parliament. However, here there was a supporter of Parliament got up with lace collar and cuffs, and it is certainly true that even aristocratic families could be split over which side to support. The reenactment itself was a bit sedate, and seemed to be more for the participants than the audience, as despite a lot of gunfire and even cannon fire, no one acted killed or injured during the half hour we watched. There was a fair amount of marching and drumming, and the small contingent of horse galloped around every so often, but it was mostly a big photo op. Off the field of battle tents were set up with various demonstrations and I was pleased to see a spinning wheel actually in use.


August 25: Chester would make a reasonable base for a day trip to Liverpool, which I am told now has a revitalized river area, with good new museums. However, none of the museums particularly interested me, and I chose to visit Port Sunlight on the Wirral peninsula instead. Although my elder sister and her family had lived on the Wirral, between the Mersey and the Dee, for some years, and we had visited often, somehow we had never gone to Port Sunlight, even though we lived in Letchworth, the First Garden City, a town begun on somewhat similar principles.
Port Sunlight was built as a company town, but it should in no way be confused with the infamous company towns in the US designed by mine owners to effectively enslave their workers. Lord Leverhulme, born William Lever, the founder of Lever Brothers (now part of Unilever), wanted his employees to have healthy accommodation with light and air, and the village was laid out with plenty of open space and facilities for communal activity. He also provided health care for his employees, and was an advocate of old age pensions. Although the excellent small museum informed me that the houses had been built in north-west vernacular style, many of them could have been transplanted from Letchworth, in the south-east. Port Sunlight was begun a couple of decades before Letchworth, but the Quaker founders of the latter were in close contact with Lord Lever, and the 1902 meeting of the Garden City Association was held in Liverpool with Lord Leverhulme presiding, so the similarities are perhaps not surprising. Letchworth, however, was a town rather than a village, much bigger and with a commercial center and multiple factories.


Among the facilities for communal activity were dining halls – separated by sex in the early years – and a hall for concerts. I was interested to discover that the first concert the Beatles performed after Ringo Starr took over as drummer, was held in Port Sunlight. Of course, the village is no longer so tied to Unilever, although there is still a factory on site, and the current arrangements, which include restrictions on the appearance of the buildings, expire next year. The communal ethos led to a mass sign up of volunteers for the First World War, and a large war memorial dominates a central park. Nearby is a memorial area for the victims of the Hillsborough soccer disaster in 1989. In contrast I found an unusual floral sun dial. If you stood on the correct month stone, your shadow would fall on the stone for the hour – one set for “natural” time, and one for summer time. As the instructions pointed out, you needed sunshine for it to work, and therefore I couldn’t try it.


Lord Leverhulme amassed a considerable collection of art, and built a classically-styled museum to hold it. Unfortunately, I was rather tired by the time I visited it, and didn’t spend as much time as it deserved inside. I did admire a considerable collection of Wedgewood china, an unusual Tang horse, and some Pre-Raphaelite paintings.
Walking to one of the two stations serving the village to catch a commuter train back to Chester, I passed a bowling green with a small group of serious-looking men in possession. Further on, a larger group of women were also playing bowls, and on chatting to one of them I learned they were on a group outing. I’m sure Lord Leverhulme would have approved.


Checking Out Chester


August 24-26, 2016: Getting to Chester by rail was not a problem – the Birmingham-bound train duly stopped on request – although it was crowded. Getting from the station to my B&B by bus wasn’t a problem, thanks to my Android phone and its map app. Getting into the Grosvenor Place Guesthouse turned out to be an unexpected problem. My booking instructions said that check-in was at 3:00, but that I could leave luggage at “a laundry round the corner”. I can state definitively that there is no longer a laundry anywhere near the guesthouse. No-one answered the door bell and no-one answered the emergency number listed outside. Fortunately, a couple of men showed up on motor bikes, and were able to rouse someone in the house.

I left my bigger bag, collected the code for the front door, and set off into the very crowded town center in search of lunch. The place I picked, near the cathedral, was more of a tea place, and I indulged in a scone and clotted cream for dessert, with white tea selected from an extensive menu. The dark grey modern tower next door turned out to be a replacement bell tower, while the cathedral was close by in the other direction. Perhaps because it was my fourth cathedral in a week, I was not particularly impressed by Chester, except for the late fourteenth century misericords, which were beautiful. Unconstrained by the religious doctrine manifest elsewhere in the building, the carvers were able to have fun.


The day was fine, and the forecast for the next day not so good, so I walked down to the river and took the last cruise of the day – hardly an economic proposition for the owners, as the fair-sized boat only carried one family and me. I enjoyed this cruise much more than the canal trip in Gloucester, as there were plenty of interesting buildings to admire. Afterwards I did part of the wall walk. Aside from the walls, Chester’s main claim to fame is it’s medieval ‘rows’, the two crossing main streets, originally laid out by the Romans, lined with Tudor style buildings, with arcades. You can walk under the arcades, at ground level, or one level up, in both cases with shelter from sun and rain. These streets were mobbed with tourists during the day, but I quickly discovered that I could shake the crowds simply by going up, and walking above ground.


The day I left Chester I visited the Grosvenor Museum, just round the corner from my rather unsatisfactory guesthouse, and across the street from Chester’s historic racecourse, first used as such in 1539. I found the Roman artifacts surprisingly disappointing, and the impressive display of local silver too brightly lit. I was glad to have seen Chester again, but the crowds convinced me that August was not the best time to visit.