Well, this was unexpected

In the midst of the furniture-paintings-knickknacks parade were these purple ice skating costumes worn by Torvill and Dean in their gold-medal winning ice dancing performance at Sarajevo in 1984. (And adding to the incongruity, Ravel's Bolero, the music they had skated to, was playing on a loop.)

This seemed a little strange, to say the least. But I hadn't realized that Newstead isn't a National Trust property; it's actually run by the city of Nottingham. And so basically anyone famous from Nottingham—like Torvill and Dean—might get an exhibit there.

This also explains why there is a bust of D.H Lawrence next to the bust of Byron in the gardens—I spent much of my time in the garden trying to figure out the connection.

Some interiors

I admit that I do get bored very quickly wandering through historic houses looking at furniture, paintings, knickknacks, furniture, paintings, knickknacks. And much of what you see in Newstead today wasn't there during Byron's time; Thomas Wildman, who had been at Harrow with Byron and bought Newstead from him in 1818, did extensive restorations.

I did enjoy the exhibit on Ada Lovelace—mathematician, computing pioneer, and Byron's daughter—in the library. Ada never knew her father; her parents separated when she was only a month old. Although her mother loathed her father (probably with good reason) Ada doesn't seem to have had negative feelings about him. She named her son Byron, and was buried next to her father in the Byron family vault. And though her mother was a less than ideal parent—in letters, she referred to her daughter as “it”—she did encourage her interest in mathematics as a way of avoiding the insanity she believed Ada might have inherited from her father.

More Newstead Abbey

Some exterior shots of the enormous main house, plus a bust of the poet in one of the gardens.

Newstead Priory (it was never an abbey, but the owners who acquired it after Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries thought that an abbey sounded grander than a priory) dated from the 12th century, founded by Henry II as part of his penance for the murder of Thomas á Becket.

Boatswain

This memorial in the gardens at Newstead is for Byron's beloved dog, Boatswain, who died of rabies. Byron had wanted to be buried nearby, but when he died in 1824, he no longer owned Newstead and had been living abroad for many years because of the backlash to his scandalous lifestyle. He ended up buried in the family vault at St. Mary Magdalene Church, with a somewhat less impressive memorial than the one he had erected for Boatswain.

The inscription reads, in part:

Near this Spot

are deposited the Remains of one

who possessed Beauty Without Vanity,

Strength without Insolence,

Courage without Ferosity,

and all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.

This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery

if inscribed over Human Ashes,

is but a just tribute to the Memory of

BOATSWAIN, A DOG,

who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,

and died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.

Urban poetry

A street of colorful houses in Oxford, near the Mathematical Institute.

The Cove

This is one of the two stones known as “the Cove.” I have a picture of the house framed by both of the stones but I like this one better. Imagine having this in your backyard!

Avebury

This charming village is about twenty minutes from Stonehenge. It was lovely to see green grass and flowers that aren't brown and dying, like most of those in Oxford this dry summer.

And the village sits in the middle of a henge and two stone circles that are much larger than Stonehenge—so large that I needed to look at aerial photographs to make any sense of it.

Little house on the prairie

 

Great Tew

Winding up the Cotswolds (at least for now) in Great Tew. We took a country lane out of town and circled back through a field, where a pair of curious horses checked us out for potential treats and then wandered off, disappointed.

More Lower Slaughter

Houses along the River Eye in the village. The river looked like more of a stream to my unprofessional eye, but there was enough water to make it worthwhile for the Victorians to build the water wheel on the left. The brick building is also Victorian, but the adjoining stone building has been there long enough to appear in the Domesday Book.

And yes, there is an Upper Slaughter, but alas we did not visit.

Pimlico

My London hotel is in Pimlico, which is where my uncle's family used to live. When I was dragging my luggage from Victoria Station to the hotel, I happened to cross Cambridge Street, and that name brought back so many happy memories of being young, in a city I loved.

When I'd dropped my luggage off, I walked the length of Cambridge Street, remembering. Of course, my family didn't live in one of those fancy London row houses, but in Russell House, a big brick block of flats at the end of the street. I had so much fun there. My uncle Bert was a dear man, sweet and shy, my aunt Maureen was a CHARACTER (if you'd known her, you'd understand that only upper case letters are appropriate here) and there was a crowd of cousins to get into mischief with.

I used to feel more at home in London and Paris than in the cities where I actually lived, but that hasn't been true for a long time. It will be good to get back to New York. To go home.

Saturday reflections

Our first field trip was to Horace Walpole's house in Twickenham, Strawberry Hill. He was pre-Victorian, but The Castle of Otranto is seen as the first Gothic novel and introduces so many of the tropes—secret passages, mysterious portraits, strange noises, stormy nights— that became commonplace in ghost stories afterwards that he does fit in with the theme of our class.

This is the reflection in an old mirror in the parlor that I think Walpole would find sufficently Gothic.

Golden hour

Some of the grasses on the verge in the golden light of late afternoon, and a house taking the theme of native plants to a beautiful conclusion

Our Days of Bliss

This small museum recreates the interior of the old houses of Al Balad as they looked a hundred years ago.

They served us Saudi coffee, which is very different from the Turkish or Greek-type coffee I was expecting. This was made from very lightly roasted beans that were still green, so the beverage looked more like green tea than coffee, and it had cardamom and other spices in it.

In the Old Town

Most of the Old Town was crowded, with shoppers and musicians and carolers, and families enjoying the beautiful weather, but I found lots of empty streets to wander through.

Sunday bird blogging

My summer vacation is almost over and I have done almost none of the things I meant to do, including finishing going over older photos. But here's one from Berkeley, earlier this year: some lovely architectural detail on a house, a framing tree, and the warm light of the golden hour.

And, if you look closely, a downy woodpecker in the tree.

Casas de Calle 37

A better look at a few of the houses on my street.

Random houses I saw in Monteverde

I like beautiful houses, and interesting architecture, but I'm always more fascinated by houses that are a little less polished, a little slapdash, places where it's obvious that human life, in all its messiness, is in residence.

So I much prefer whatever is going on with those green boards to the neat chalet on its right.

Urban poetry

This has been my home in San José for the past two weeks. I had dinner in Barrio Escalante tonight with some people from the program; it's a very chic neighborhood full of interesting cafés and small parks, and I think if I ever come back to San José I would stay there.

My neighborhood is strictly residential and adjoins a highway; the only restaurants are fast food and I buy my groceries at, I kid you not, Walmart.

But behind an unremarkable wall on my ordinary street is this oasis, a two-story glass house surrounded by garden. I love the way the front door seems to float there on its own; that's actually the living room to the right, looking through two sets of glass doors to the garden in the back. My bedroom is on the second floor behind the tree.

The Uber coming home from the restaurant took five minutes and cost two dollars, so I can easily hang out in the cool neighborhood without having to sleep there.

San José

Three random pictures of San José: the one on the right is the view from ILISA in the San Pedro district, and the other two are of downtown streets.

It's not a particularly lovely city. It's old and a little gritty and more than a little shabby. You can see why there aren't a lot of tourists here—this isn't the Costa Rica people imagine visiting. But I like the liveliness and the energy and the cityness of it. I'm enjoying taking buses or Ubers, buying groceries, and navigating restaurants and food stands in my mediocre Spanish.

I'm going to spend a few nights up in the mountains when this program is over and see more of the Costa Rica on all the travel brochures, but I'm glad I got to spend this time in San José first.