“Mushroom civilisation” by Sigrid Harris
Schloß Schönbrunn
Vienna (day 1, cont’d)
Lunch at Firenze. This Italian restaurant seems to have hosted virtually all the big names in classical music over the last couple of decades: the walls are covered by (often signed) photos of the likes of Seiji Ozawa, Claudio Abbado, Cecilia Bartoli, Zubin Mehta, Placido Domingo, Hildegard Behrens, Riccardo Muti, Carlos Kleiber, Jose Carreras, Pierre Boulez, and Anna Netrebko…to mention a few. Our table was next to a photo of an effervescent Pavarotti, who probably - like many - dropped in after a performance. I imagine he enjoyed his meal. We certainly did. So did Cecilia - there was a little note in Italian scribbled on her portrait, which was quite effusive about the delicious food and the marvellous interior.
Then came Stefansdom, an old Viennese friend whom I visit every time I come here. As usual, he was absolutely breathtaking.
A postcard from Vienna (day 1)
involving a walk around the Rathaus and its park,
Hofburg,
and cakes at Demel
Golden wings? An epistle
So here I am again, safely at home, retrospective travel blogging. It seems I share a certain Byronic hero’s proclivity for paving Hell with energy. But in the end, maybe I can get away with not fulfilling my good intentions. Dictionary.com defines the “travelogue” as ”a lecture, slide show, or motion picture describing travels”, so it could be argued that it is in the very nature of travel writing to be retrospective. I am not sure about this, but as it may just provide a decent loophole for saving my soul, I’m backing it.
As a result I can lean back comfortably in my chair without any prickles of conscience and send my thoughts fluttering on their gold leaf wings back to the British Isles. It was a marvellous trip. My heart is with Shakespeare when he says
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself…[Richard II, Act II, scene i]
- But then my heart is generally with Shakespeare.
Highlights of the trip were so numerous that listing them all would make for longer reading than a Tolstoy novel. Speaking of books, though, our travels did seem to have a rather literary theme. I have already mentioned Cockington Village and Oldway Mansion: Agatha Christie haunts both these places. She apparently used to partake in amateur theatricals at Cockington Court, while the Oldway Ballroom had the honour of having her dance in it. Then, of course, we also visited “the loveliest place in the world” - Greenway, Agatha’s own holiday home, which looks so much as though she still lives in it that it’s uncanny. Photos were prohibited inside, but I did get a few (hundred) snaps of - and from - her lovely garden.
Cockington Court
Greenway
Greenway gardens
Then there was Cornwall, with its connections to Daphne du Maurier and Virginia Woolf, and London, where I visited a beauteous library once frequented by the likes of T.S. Eliot and Alfred Lord Tennyson. Coincidentally, I went there in order to research in what happens to be Roland Michell’s favourite reading room. London also involved a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum and much admiration of the Gloucester Candlestick, an item central to The Children’s Book.
When in the heart of England, I also strolled around Jane Austen’s Bath, attempting (unsuccessfully) to spot Captain Wentworth in the Assembly Rooms and Catherine Morland in the Pump Room; and then in Oxford, I visited many colleges including Christ Church, where Lewis Carroll/Charles Dodgson lectured in maths. I even saw the Master’s garden, where the students are only allowed three or four times a year to play croquet: apparently its smooth lawns served as inspiration for Alice in Wonderland. As if that weren’t enough, I also walked around what is thought to be the Tumtum Tree!
“Gather ye Jabberwocks while ye may?”
For someone obsessed with English literature, this was all acutely thrilling. But the most mind-blowing of all was definitely, without the shadow of a doubt, and most emphatically Stratford-upon-Avon. What better place could there be for hanging out with Shakespeare’s ghost?
My hero
I’ll leave you with that thought, and collect my own gold-winged creatures into their nest. They need respite: even mental travelling can be exhausting.
Postscript
I retract my previous statement about rain. After Devon, the weather simply shined. In fact - however unbelievable this may seem - I didn’t put up my umbrella at any time during the whole trip. Now for the sceptred isle, that is something.
The London Library
Now officially a member. So excited I could hug myself. The world is at my fingertips…I don’t even have to reach out to touch it…
(Source: colourman)
Wonderful city, wonderful friends
The Victoria and Albert Museum, London
London dusk