THE GREAT JOURNEY

September 23, 2017

Saturday

I FIRST READ ABOUT PADDINGTON STATION when my maternal grandmother Mamá Pepita lent me her Sherlock Holmes book collection. I must have been around 11 or 12 years old and stayed often with her and my grandfather Papá Leo some weekends, as much to give solace to my young parents as to escape from the structured environment of my childhood into a totally free and relaxed time and space where I was king and my Pepita and Leo were grandparents-in-waiting. Ah! That was the life!

I vaguely seem to remember that, in The Hound of the Baskervilles, Dr. Watson was at Paddington station going somewhere, either to meet Sherlock Holmes, or on an errand dictated by his friend; or maybe it was Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes going off together? At the time the name Paddington struck me as funny and stayed with me all these years. Earlier it had been the terminus of the first Metropolitan Railroad in London, a precursor of the Underground, also known as “The Tube”. Later, of course, it became the terminal for the Heathrow Express, the train that connects Heathrow airport and London, which is why Sabǎ and I found ourselves on Platform 6 at 13:35 this Friday afternoon, waiting for the arrival of Emma, on her way to Opening the Season in London with Sabǎ; and her father, Xavier, on his way to a Great Adventure in Southwest England with me.

PRINCE ALBERT, A BLACK CAB, AND A LOST STATUE. A London Black Cab is always an experience and why shouldn’t it be? It is as spacious as a limousine, easy to get in and out, the driver knows exactly what he (and now, more and more, what she) is doing and where you are going exactly. Plus, you know precisely how much it’s costing you since the meter is always clearly in plain sight. Our excellent driver took us through Hyde Park, across the bridge over the pond (Do not Jump/ the Water is Shallow) into Kensington Gardens, past the Serpentine Gallery and the Albert Memorial, splendid in the afternoon sun, and directly to Chelsea Cloisters, our hotel for the night. The Albert Memorial was built by Queen Victoria in the 19th century to honor Prince Albert.

Victoria was profoundly in love with her Prince and when he died very young, at the age of 42, she had this beautiful monument built so people would remember him forever. As Sabǎ explained also, when Albert (who was buried in Frogmore House, a retreat favored by Queen Victoria in the grounds of Windsor Castle) was interred a beautiful statue of him, in repose, was placed atop of his tomb. The Queen, with great foresight, had a similar statue of her carved at the time so that when she died, her statue would be placed alongside his.

Many years later, when the Palace courtiers looked for the statue, they could not find it. Just imagine the panic: the most powerful country in the world at the time; the Queen, an Empress of the British Empire which encompassed all the world; and the courtiers could not find the statue! To the great relief of everyone the statue was eventually found and now the two lovers lay, side by side, looking the same age, for all eternity to see them as a young couple.

BIBENDUM WAS FOR MANY YEARS THE FIRST RESTAURANT in London that launched a new way of cooking that, after its debut in France, took over the whole world. Bibendum is the name given to the Michelin Man who is made up of many layers of tires and looks a bit like the Pillsbury Dough Boy who gets his tummy squeezed all the time. Nunc est Bibendum in Latin means “Now is the Drinking” or, better translated as “Drink Up”, made famous but the Latin Poet Horace in his Ode to Love. And that is exactly what everyone was doing at the table of Bibendum, once Nilly, Kaan, Sabǎ, Xavier, Emma and I sat down and ordered. Our choices were to go High Stakes for the Restaurant or Lesser High Stakes for the Oyster Bar; we opted for the latter and had a wonderful time trying out Irish Oysters, Hake, Liver, Fettuccine and Mussels, which Emma discovered and relished in eating. The Michelin Brand, Bibendum and the Art Nouveau appears everywhere you set your eyes, from the stained-glass windows to the mosaics on the floor to the images of voiturettes or little cars (race cars of the beginning of the 20th century) in lovely vignettes alluding to races in faraway places, and even to sugar pots which have little Bibendums (Bibenda?) instead of a lid. When all was said and done (and eaten and drunk), the bill must have come out equivalent to a High Stakes meal at the four star, deluxe upstairs restaurant, but everyone agreed it was delicious and worth it.

Sunday

VICTORIA STATION WAS OUR FIRST DESTINATION, when Xavier and I took a London Cab to go and retrieve the car Xavier had ordered from SIXT, the car rental company. We could not leave fast enough for Emma and Saba, who were there at the car side to bid us goodbye. As we drove away it was not difficult to hear their shouts of joy and to notice their jumping up and down with great joy to celebrate not our departure but their freedom to have their own wonderful experience in London.

The car rental proved to be a disappointing experience since the car already announced on Xavier’s cellphone by the rental copany as being ready for delivery proved to be a lie. The car had not been returned, was not waiting for Xavier, and therefore we had to make do with a white BMW and not a black Mercedes. I know, everyone asks “What’s the difference?” Well, let me tell you it is enormous: “It is Enormous”. Both are fine cars but it was not what Xavier had ordered and dreamed of driving. There were six people in the counter and no one seemed to know what they were doing. The main scatterbrain was devoting more energy to twitching his leg up and down in a terrifying attack of Nervous Leg Syndrome than to figuring out what to type on the computer screen; the phone rang and rang and someone would pick it up and hang up instantly; another dotty character was smoking into the customers faces, just outside the rental booth; a fourth one was the grease monkey, monkeying around with the keys. As Nicolás would say to all this: “I mean...” Yes, I mean, what in the world is going on here? We finally got the car and after a few moments concentrating on how to drive à l’anglaise, meaning on the opposite side of the road where we usually drive, we were off to a great adventure of discovery in the Southwest of England. First destination: Westminster!

WE LEFT HEATHROW BEHIND AS WE TOOK THE A30 under a marvelous sky, blue the color of the Israeli flag and the air as crisp as a thin, crackly wafer. Xavier took to the streets of London without fear or hesitation and we were off, commenting on the major difficulty in driving on the other side of the road being the moment when you come to a roundabout, of which there are many and trying to remember that you must drive clockwise, that the priority is on the left and that you must slide left to leave the roundabout. But Xavier navigated the complexities with ease and elegance. I remember an episode of NCIS where Ducky says that driving on the left had its origins when men fought on horseback and riding on the left allowed the knights to slash at each other with the swords they carried on their right hands. I am fine with this, but we are not knights slashing at each other on the motorway!

We were soon leaving the heavy urbanized areas and slowly merging into the small industrial buildings that are usually on the outskirts of the large cities, then into nicely wooded areas, past Hounslow and through the dense forest of Windsor, near where the castle is; following our dual navigating systems (the car’s and the iPhone’s) we saw some light green rolling hills with yellow areas where the wheat had just been reaped and finally arrived in Winchester, our first destination and directly into the center of town where a marathon race was being run. We could not park there but we stopped momentarily until Xavier got his bearings and drove up to the Winchester Royal Hotel, built during the reign of Charles II. It was a center for local Catholics in the 1580s, becoming later a convent of English Benedictine nuns in 1794 and the perfect place for Xavier to park the car in the lot set for that purpose.

IT WAS APPROPRIATE THAT WE STAY HERE, at his hotel with a religious history, since we had spent some of the time of the short drive to Winchester talking about several things, one of which was religion, faith, belief and the philosophical basis for all this. We delved into the philosophy of religion, concerned with the study of arguments over the nature and existence of God and the relationship between religion and other value-systems such as science and ethics. We also talked about the key philosophical issue regarding the problem of faith and reason and how the authority of faith and the authority of reason interrelate in the process by which a religious belief is justified or established as true or justified. We concluded that our system of beliefs resides in the humanistic approach to the premise that all human beings are born good and therefore we believe in the goodness of life which is not a divine but a reasoned approach to our moral values which we hold in high esteem. But we also talked about important matters such as where were we going to have lunch.

The receptionist at the hotel recommended The Wykenham Arms, a wonderful 18th century pub, with a ceiling full of beer mugs and ale tankards and several handfuls of canes and walking sticks; wooden slanted tables which were previously school desks with holes for the ink wells; and a good London Ale with Fish and Chips (noblesse oblige) for Xavier and a smoked chicken sandwich with aïoli for me.

WE NEEDED THE SUSTENANCE BECAUSE WE HAD WALKED from the hotel to the pub via High Street, a marvelous pedestrian area filled with the Sunday market that consisted mainly of fabulous looking cuts of various game meats and autumn fowl that we would have purchased in a jiffy had we had a place to cook them. The whole town was out in force because of the marathon, the weather and the inclination of wintonians to support their local merchants. We continued our walk and arrived at the Cathedral, yet another extraordinary example of the will of the Church to make its presence felt. The construction began sometime in the 9th century and has been going on sporadically even into the 20th century. Most striking is the light that invades the space since there are clerestory windows placed into the side facades, very high up that add a ton of illumination to the beautiful ceilings with their ribbed arches swooping into clusters that are a marvel to behold. The color of the stone, long lost after the artificial decorative color disappeared from the columns and the arches, gives the ensemble a sense of lightness and purity that is unique and breath taking. We walked along the aisles, saw the tomb of Jane Austen, that strangely enough does not mention her incredible gift of writing marvelous novels of the landed gentry such as Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and our all-time favorite, Emma. We also reflected on all the individuals buried in the Cathedral well known in their era and now, through the passage of time, long forgotten. Sic Fugit Gloria Mundi.

RICK STEIN IS THE NAME OF THE RESTAURANT where Xavier had made a reservation. Nonetheless we walked the lower part of High Street, looked at an Indian and a Thai restaurant and opted for the fish one that was highly recommended. On the way to the restaurant we walked by the Mayor’s Office with extraordinary flower plantings, in dense reds and yellows on a perfectly manicured lawn that proved to be a delight. Rick Stein did not do us wrong, with Thai Salmon Cakes that we shared and with a spicy, messy, gooey, sticky, deliciously fragrant and spicy Dungeness crab with chilies and garlic sauce that we also shared. At the end of the meal the waitress brought a little sweet delicacy with Happy Birthday written in chocolate syrup as an added touch included by Xavier when he booked. We took the opportunity, during the meal, to talk at length about the Prince of Wales and Mrs. Simpson and that tawdry story, full of surprises.

Apart from the fabulous conversation and the meal, which we thoroughly enjoyed, we were also delighted to see a blond little fellow eating with his parents and holding intense, serious conversations with them, very well behaved and deliciously cute. He reminded me of Nicolás; Xavier went to congratulate his parents who turned out to love Mexican mole! Viva México. Sí Señor!

Monday

YOU HAVE TO GO AND HUNT BEFORE EATING BREAKFAST, be it with a shotgun or with the hounds, if you are going to deserve to eat properly. We didn’t. We just went ahead, forgot the hunt and devoured our English Breakfast which consisted of yoghurt, fruit and cereal; sausages and bacon; beans, potatoes and mushrooms, toast, poached eggs; butter and marmalade; tea. The calories we did not spend hunting, we now had to spend walking, which we attempted to do all day long. First off, a nice promenade along Winchester’s High Street doing some errands and then a last walk around the cathedral before heading off towards Salisbury, our next destination, barely an hour away. With his usual flawless manner and style Xavier guided us through traffic and highways with no problems save for a small encounter with a huge tractor, just to keep the reflexes sharp. No harm, no drama, no panic.

The sky is a light leaden color and there is some humidity in the air that does not dare turn into a proper sprinkle. The ozone is fully activated and the air smells good and invigorating, satisfying the lungs and the spirit. Our arrival in Salisbury was easy and elegant as we passed the cathedral and went into a parking lot in the center of the historic district, just outside the cathedral close. A nice pedestrian pathway, along an ancient wall, and then across the beautifully manicured green atrium that encloses the church on two sides. It took a bit of will power not to go directly into the cathedral but our decision was made infinitely easier when we saw a group of rowdy students getting ready to step inside. We glide until we arrive at The Rifles Museum, a large depository of all things military, including uniforms, weapons, kits, medals, bugles, trophies and other paraphernalia. Its royal importance lies in the fact that the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Consort and husband to the Queen, is the Colonel in Chief of the regiment. More importantly is the fact that the museum gives an extraordinary bird’s eye view of all these items since the 17th century allowing the visitor to understand not only the evolution of military fashion for combat and dress but also the evolution of the weaponry used by very brave individuals who throughout the ages put their lives in harm’s way to defend the values or ambitions of the United Kingdom. The incredible scope of the past global presence of the Empire can be seen though the changing uniforms and the different objectives pursued by the soldiers’ mess and weaponry kits.

How is it possible that an individual would be able to pull out of its scabbard the sharply honed saber and use it to attack another equally armed individual in face to face combat? Or for that matter, ready a bayonet for a hand to hand combat? Or unsheathe a dagger to slice a person’s throat, or lob a grenade, or use a rifle to shoot a deadly bullet, or trigger a machine gun? Today, when so many conflicts are solved or aided by high resolution cameras atop drones, by laser guided projectiles or even by bombs released from airplanes thousands of meters in the air, the idea of attacking an individual at close quarters to kill him seems very hard to grasp, at least for a person like myself who is a pacifist and an avoider of violent physical conflict at all cost.

The Queen and the Prince Consort visited this very small museum in 2012; the photographs of that visit give a wonderful insight into the Royal Job. It’s a very small museum but the Royal Couple came and walked through it and sat through a lunch of chicken in a savory broth and a light dessert of fruit mousse. How many thousands of times has the Royal Couple, together or individually, participated in these events throughout the kingdom, where they must smile, chitchat, extend their hands, act regal and friendly and provide indelible memories for the inhabitants of these small communities? We are used to seeing them on the grand ceremonies at Westminster Abbey or on the Buckingham Palace Balcony but by far these Royal Visits in small communities, done with the elegance, if not the pomp, of the larger ones, truly count in the eyes and minds of their subjects. When Prince Philip retired, he had attended

22, 219 events alone and thousands more with the Queen. What a difficult life. What a difficult job! This visit brought it home to me.

TED HEATH WAS A SAILOR, A CLASSICAL MUSICIAN, A PRIME MINISTER and is an individual that I always have admired since I started reading about him when I was attending UCLA. Perhaps it was his wide array of skills, or the incongruity of his different careers or his seeming good humor. He was instrumental in bringing the UK into the European Community in 1970 and that is perhaps his greatest political achievement.

Now, of course, all this is going down the drain because of the short sightedness of a portion of the British electorate. Only 65% of the total eligible voters of the UK voted in the Brexit referendum. Of these, 51% voted against. This means that only 33% of the total electoral voters of the UK decided on the future of Great Britain and, particularly, of her young people! Well done, Cameron! You are truly a genius! Now Mrs. May is trying to convince the European Union to give Britain a chance to extend the negotiations until 2021, two more years than allowed in the statues. Maybe she has the hope that all this blindness will reverse? Who knows, but the future looks bleak

Back to Ted Heath. He visited China 26 times, when it was not very popular to do so. He was a Member of Parliament for 52 years and he is quite a historic figure. So, it was very appropriate that we visit his country home called Arundells. It is a beautiful two story manor with seven rooms open to the public and a splendid five thousand square meter garden that goes all the way to the river. The house is decorated with icons of his life, from beautiful, sleek models of Morning Cloud, the name he gave to his various sailing boats, to photographs dedicated to him by the world leaders of the time such as China’s Premier Deng Xia Ping, President Lyndon Johnson, President Richard Nixon, Former Prime Minister Harold McMillan, Winston Churchill, the composer Andrew Lloyd Weber and many, varied more. A Steinway grand piano is part of his gorgeous drawing room; there are a couple of landscape oil paintings by Winston Churchill; a plethora of cartoons on walls about his political career; his military service coat; dozens of Christies’ and Sotheby’s catalogs, since he was a collector and a dealer; and an exquisitely appointed study with a view to the garden as well as a cozy library where he undoubtedly spent glorious moments, particularly after he retired. It was fascinating to step into the life of a worldly politician and to see the intimate elegance and style of his personal life. Lessons to be learned here. Another aspect that struck us as particularly interesting are the volunteer Stewarts, older gentlemen and ladies, each assigned to a different room of Arundells, who with great familiarity, easy going manner, vast knowledge and a provoking sense of humor, will engage you briefly (or as long as you like) in storytelling on the subject of the room and its objects and their history as these relate to Ted Heath. All of this made for, not only an interesting visit, but one as delightful and entertaining as Afternoon Tea, granted, without the scones and the cucumber sandwiches…

IT’S THE CRAFTSMANSHIP AS MUCH AS THE MAGNIFICENCE of Salisbury Cathedral that capture one’s imagination as you step into the incredible long (about 130 meters) and incredibly vast space of this magnificent monument. Xavier correctly noted that the names of the architects of these churches built long ago are seldom mentioned. Perhaps it is because it took the so long to build (many over three centuries) that there were many architects and generations of Mason Masters were chiefly responsible for them. Salisbury is a bit different because it was built in a period of under 40 years. The “Project Manager” as he is called in the Cathedral was Elias, a Brother, who made sure that all ran according to schedule. And it must have been a gruesome one. What, with the stones that need to be brought from the quarry, and then hewn, carved and polished to fit just so on the corbelled arches along the many ribs. Every bit of the cathedral, from the stone, to the windows, to the sieges of the wooden cathedra for the brothers is perfectly designed. Even the additions done today are quite impressive. Along the cathedrae, on top of the desks, there is a continuous brass tube that hides within it the lighting required to illuminate the texts in the semi darkness of the cathedral. You never see the bulbs, only the light coming out of a brass tube. Simple, elegant, precisely honed and a delight to the eye. We were able to see a scale model of the construction which was impressive because among many other aspects, it showed all the ropes along the pulleys that had to be drawn by hand, to lift those massive stones, and the lead roofs. We also saw the longest running clock in England, ticking continuously since the 14th century. Xavier correctly pointed out that this was very impressive, but where did it show the time? We were never able to tell where the dial, if any, was there! As we approached the apse we could see the incredible painted ribs in the arches which reminded us of the beauty of these monuments in the past when they were painted inside in beautiful colors in geometric patterns as if on a drapery. We exited the cathedral unto the astounding cloister with stone rosettes in each arch and the sight of the magnificent spire (which happens to be 70 centimeters off center!) and walked into a side room to continue our exploration.

IT IS ONE OF ONLY FOUR COPIES IN EXISTENCE IN THE WORLD and its name in English is the Great Charter of the Liberties, better known by its Latin name Magna Carta. The Salisbury copy is exhibited in a small hall adjacent to the cloisters of Salisbury Cathedral, under a dark tent with special red lighting that shows the extremely taut parchment with the text written in a beautiful Gothic script. Back in 1215 the Archbishop of Canterbury wrote a first draft that he shared with 25 Barons who forced King John to sign the document. The King was a cruel and arbitrary tyrant who put people in prison, took away land and forced individuals, by torture, into acts they did not want to do. The Archbishop wanted to put an end to this state of affairs and thought this would be a good way. The King signed under duress and later convinced the Pope that this document was not a good idea, so the Charter was revoked. When John’s son Henry III reinstituted the Charter, things went much better. The Charter is significant because it limits the power of the King and established new rules of responsibilities for the Monarch as well as the barons. Although, over the course of the centuries, the Charter was modified many times and the principles codified in it were later embodied into laws by Parliament, it is nonetheless an extraordinary document that shows many aspects of these rules valid for the first time since Roman times such as no harsh and undue punishment, judgement by a group of peers, not forcing widows to remarry, not taking away the livelihood of individuals if they are going to prison and other aspects of life that we now consider human rights. The Magna Carta was a source of inspiration, among other documents, for the Founding Fathers of the United States and the principle of common law which is the basis of the English jurisprudence, still prevails today, although the Carta, as such, has no more validity as a legal document today but its spirit does in the laws passed by Parliament. It is quite an extraordinary feeling to be in front of a document that is 900 years old and that has principles to which we adhere today as fair and equitable. Xavier and I walked away deeply moved by the meaning of the document and by the fact that it has survived in an almost pristine state throughout nine centuries not only in its material form but, more importantly, in its spiritual form as a document for all humankind to admire and respect.

“TANDOORI NIGHTS” IS QUITE AN EXTRAORDINARY EXPERIENCE when you think about it, because this Indian restaurant is located in Amesbury, across the hotel where we are staying the night to be closer to Stonehenge tomorrow morning. Our waiter, a middle aged Indian gentleman with a short military haircut that showed its salt and pepper color, annoyed me because he would not accept that the drink order he brought was not the correct one. But then I thought that he was so far away from home, from all things dear to him, that he had to endure the English weather and people like us who do not understand the proper ways to combine Indian food or how to order it, that I went to the opposite side of my feelings and empathized with him, as they say today, totally. We had a great dinner of lamb in a delicious thick tomato sauce with lots of spices, as well as jumbo prawns and garlic nan. Is there a more perfect way to end a day of Salisbury Cathedral, Prime Minister Heath and Magna Carta, than in a small Indian restaurant next to the airfields that welcomed thousands of planes during the Second World War and then sleep in a small hotel that welcomed Churchill and Eisenhower during World War II? Only in England.

Tuesday

AS WE APPROACH THE PALE GREEN ROLLING HILLS IN A SOFT, tender fog, bathed in a light that seems to be shyly shining though exquisite gauze, we see a large mass of huge monoliths emerged from the earth, as if by magic. We are arriving in Stonehenge. My previous experience was in 1972, when we stopped the car by the wayside, in the narrow lane that stood in for a highway, got off and walked straight into the center of the Stonehenge circle. That was before the world discovered global tourism. Today, the area around Stonehenge is completely controlled so that nothing can be built for miles around and it is all wonderful green grassland. The road is at least a mile away. Xavier drove us to the visitor center where we retrieved our tickets, hopped on a shuttle and were the first to enter the site this morning. The majesty of the moment was broken by the loud, unacceptable roar of a blow duster being used far away from the site by some workmen. Soon the sound vanished because the majesty of the monument overtakes all the senses. As Xavier mentioned, it is somewhat akin to entering an open-air cathedral. The massive stones are the inner monument of what is a very large Stone Age site which can only be seen from the air or in diagrams that show the extent of this wonder of ancient times. Archaeologists have calculated that the site dates from around 3000 BCE, so we are basically talking about something conceived and then built 50 centuries ago. (BCE= Before the Current Era. The Current Era starts at year 1 of our current calendar.) The monoliths, or single stone blocks, were brought later, around 2500BC and each weighing as much as 35 tons (around 77 000 pounds, equivalent to seven large automobiles, compacted to the size of two); some are around eight meters tall with accompanying lintels that fit with precision at the top, with a hole and a knob that interlock them perfectly. Many of the monoliths were brought form a quarry at least 120 kilometers from here. Even 700 years later, the site was still being used for some purpose, not yet perfectly known, since there are carvings in some of the stones that date from that period. At the time of the first site, for comparison purposes, the Great Pyramid of Cheops was being built in the Giza Plateau in Egypt.

The great mystery of the purpose of Stonehenge remains unsolved and archaeologists continue to battle with the meaning of the site and amongst themselves. The monument has no practical purposes. There is no evidence that people lived in the site, nor is it one that could be defended. Burial remains have been found, but not in such abundance as to make it a cemetery; few signs of constant use, such as earthenware or prehistoric tools have been found, apart from some that could be left over from the construction. So, the question is: What purpose did it have? There can only be speculation but the grandeur of the ensemble, the majesty of the size, the serenity of the presence, the power of the design, the astounding construction of what can be seen and of what the site originally contained, truly points to a courageous, even rabid determination to raise something that would be all-powerful while connecting human beings of the times to all-encompassing nature. At the Summer and Winter solstices, when the Sun reaches its most southerly or northerly position in the sky, the rising sun and the setting sun are perfectly aligned with marker spaces between the stones every six months. Other ditches, mounds and stones mark the various seasons. This means, of course, that the builders had a perfect knowledge of astronomy and could plan far ahead the position of the stones, since once in place, they could not be easily moved.

We, on the other hand, were easily and profoundly moved by the imposing presence of this monument built by human beings 45 centuries ago and were awed, humbled and astounded by the enormity of the task and the perfect balance and tension that can be felt in the placement of the stones. If we can imagine the grasslands around the site, the long avenue that led to its entrance, which can still be seen in winter, when the snow creates shadows in the walkway, and the small stone and beaten earth walls, wood and leather doors of the huts built to protect against the intemperate weather and the experience of these early human beings approaching the monument and its overwhelming presence, then at least the experience of the site, if not its purpose, can be imagined. Here is a monument built for the ages that is still wrapped in mystery but that has not ceased to astonish since its creation. We leave with a heavy heart and a joyful one as well, profoundly influenced by the visit and spiritually fulfilled by the overwhelming power of the mind and the will of creation.

THE LARGEST COLLECTION OF NEOLITHIC GOLD was the tag line that took us to the Wiltshire Museum in Devizes, a little town near Stonehenge. We were sorely disappointed, because of the scarcity of the gold objects. We saw a couple of plates with some geometric design, no bigger than half the size of a $20 bill, some round knobs about the size of a thimble and one or two pins. That was it. Most likely our Neolithic ancestors did not have much gold, but we were expecting something more spectacular than what we saw. Perception is the mother of imagination. Or maybe the other way around? We left disappointed except for a great chart that Xavier found with all the Kings and Queens of England and how they are related. It settled once and for all the fact that the Prince of Wales, who later became the Prince of Wallis (Simpson) was the grandson of Queen Victoria. Or was he the great grandson? I must check the chart again…

GRAHAM HILL EAT YOUR HEART OUT, XAVIER IS ON THE ROAD. Our driving adventure has been enhanced by the superb driving skills that Xavier modestly displays in navigating the left-hand drive, the clockwise turnabouts and the crazy left turns into the left side of the road, that require absolute mastery of descriptive geometry. For those of you not familiar with Mr. Hill, suffice it to say that he is the only driver in the world, British, by the way, to have won the Triple Crown of Motorsports: the 24 Hours of Le Mans, the Indianapolis 500 and the Monaco Formula One Grand Prix. So, I am in good company with Xavier. He does like to drive very fast and, in secret, I call him Monsieur TGV, because he is really flying on the roads! But his skill prevails and he brought us safely into Bath, where we arrived around noon and after some detective work found a Parking Lot near where we wanted to have lunch. The pedestrian area is full of noisy, happy people because the weather is sunny and warm (for England) and our walk took us to see the Roman Baths (hence the name of the city. Get it?) which is truly a very large building complex of ancient times, where the Romans, who made their presence felt in Britain around 40 BCE, immediately took to the warm waters of the spring that gushes hundreds of thousands of gallons every day and, being Romans, started rapidly building a bathing complex, complete with Temple, to relax their bodies and minds from the travails of conquest. Apart from the Spring Pool, where the water arrives to the surface, there is a large natatorium, a smaller caldarium and a good sized frigidarium, the names given by the Romans to the different uses of the halls and their temperature. None of these halls are in use; rather they are flooded by rowdy, large crowds of tourists, which makes the visit a nightmare. The museum is splendid, if you could only see the exhibits from behind the masses of humanity. This made our trip to the pub, where we had chicken and pesto sandwiches, an even better, real joy.

WHAT AN ASTOUNDING SITE AWAITED US AS WE WALKED around the pedestrian mall and went into the Bath Abbey. It truly was a beautiful discovery of light, space, dignity and celebration. The skill of the builders is evident everywhere, particularly in the ribbed ceiling of which I had never seen such an example of mastery of form and engineering. There was truly very little we could say except Oohs! and Aahs! Usually we walk into a religious space of the gothic time with an expectation of what we are about to see but I must say that in the last three days, Winchester, Salisbury and Bath have surprised us in a big way. Perhaps because we had no preconceived ideas; or maybe because we did have preconceived ideas that were proven wrong! This is the last church in our trip but they all have given us tremendous esthetic and spiritual experience and a new respect for the builders of these eternal sites. We left feeling renewed end invigorated to continue our Great Journey.

THE QUEST FOR GROUSE HAS TAKEN US TO HUNT for a place where we can find this much sought after Fall fowl. The grouse, much like the pheasant, are birds sought after for their flavor of meat. In Britain, the season starts in August and much like the Beaujolais Nouveau, it is loudly and stridently proclaimed (in a subdued British manner) in menus, advertisements and posters, as being available. Grouse Season! shout the displays. Once the furore is over, it proves a harder hunt to succeed. Xavier was able to find a restaurant in Bath where it is served as a potted meat, meaning cold, in a fluffy, stringy terrine platter with raisin bread. We were not impressed. The rest of the meal with lamb and steak and cheeses was very nice. So, the hunt will continue in the next few days with the hope of finding a place where we can discover what the craziness is about. Fortunately, the restaurant is a few steps from the Circus, a large, harmonious, circular plaza surrounded by colonnaded buildings, all uniform and all in a continuous Georgian style so typical of this city, and of some areas of Chelsea in London, that are iconic of Bath. So, our quest for a bird led us to an architectural gem as well. Not bad for an evening’s work!

Wednesday

SERENDIPITY HAS BEEN THE ORDER OF THE DAY since we started our trip out of Bath this morning. While having breakfast, we were looking for a restaurant in Marlborough, our next destination and had been wondering what would be a place to find something special, maybe in Oxford, maybe in London. And we hit on Harrow at Little Berwyn, a tiny hamlet outside Marlborough that has, strangely enough, a one star Michelin restaurant. Serendipity is finding, unexpectedly and surprisingly, something you have been looking for. As we read the menu online we discover that one of the dishes in the tasting menu is grouse! Later in the day, as we had become quite irritated because our navigation systems could not locate the B&B where we are staying the night, it turned out that the B&B is not in Marlborough, but way outside the village and just five minutes from the restaurant!

So, how many different serendipities can you have in one day? You would be wrong if you answered “Three” because, as we drive to Marlborough we come suddenly upon our fourth one, through a sign with Avebury World Monument Site on it. We immediately decide that it is worth our time to see what this is about. Another serendipitous event, indeed. We fall into another extraordinary Neolithic site with a ditch one kilometer in circumference, aligned with megaliths (= large stones) and an inner circle, 90 meters in circumference with astonishing monoliths (= single stones). As if this is not enough, we also discover that this is a site where we may walk on and explore at will, which we promptly do. It is a very different experience when you are within the inner space of this site. Xavier and I felt an intense energy that was focused in that space and speculated that perhaps this was one of the ways these ancient people could gather energy to survive the difficult ordeals of life at that time. In the same way that the practitioners of martial arts in the East use their hand, focused with energy, to break several planks of wood in one fell swoop, without breaking their fingers, perhaps these Neolithic inhabitants could focus energy trough constructions that were “energy mirrors.” This sounds farfetched, maybe it’s the air, maybe it’s the elation, maybe it’s the intense excitement. But so does the idea of a tsunami, when a few minutes before it arrives the sea is calm. And since anyone is free to speculate, we did. And we feel good about it.

IF YOU DON’T LIKE THE WEATHER, WAIT A MINUTE say the people when talking about what happens in England. This may not be totally true in all cases but we have had a delightful variety of weather although mostly humid, gray, overcast and cold (for our internal thermometers.) What never ceases to amaze us is that the Brits take it all in stride. As we explore outside of the museum at Avebury, protected by our pullovers, our wind jackets, our scarves and our caps, and as we walk briskly, several groups of young children, aged 7 or 8 are sitting on the ground having their picnic, opening their juice bottles and conversing with great animation. Their dress? Short sleeve cotton shirts and shorts. Later, when we go for lunch at a pub near the archaeological site, there is a terrace and an inside seating area. We go inside, of course. Through the window we can see a young mother with her girlfriend and her baby, all sitting at a wooden table, dressed in shirt sleeves and open necks, drinking cold beer and cold Coke, while the wind is not yet howling, but close to it. Astounding Brits!

THE NATIONAL LOTTERY IN BRITAIN HELPS SUPPORT THE NATIONAL TRUST, which is a brilliant initiative. In the years since the former Prime Minister, John Major, established it, the National Lottery had raised by 2007 over $32 billions of which 20% had gone to Heritage. The figures today are double that number. This does not stop National Heritage from seeking contributions or raising funds in every way possible. For instance, the fee for parking on a field near the Avebury site was GBP7. And for entering Stonehenge GBP19. I believe all this is good practice since it allows the Trust to allocate its resources for the protection of Heritage in ways that are seldom seen on other countries. We are most likely done with visiting Heritage sites in this part of the trip and we have found i an exceptional level of pride and care at all levels, particularly among the locals, and very specially the older people whom we can see in large numbers, either in groups, by couples or alone, some with light backpacks, all with sturdy shoes, some with walking or trekking canes, but all with great enthusiasm exploring avidly the sites, listening to the audio guides, reading the information booklets, commenting and exchanging opinions and showing respect for the sites. We have also seen, in every site, groups of school children led by their teachers, taking notes, looking at displays, drawing or stamping their treasure booklets. Some are first graders, some more advanced, but all participating in this great adventure of discovery of their heritage. This is nation building at its best, just as we have seen similar systems applied in other countries but, unfortunately, very seldom in the US. The National Trust welcomes and informs visitors with care and courtesy, truly guiding the visitors to the starting point of the trails, for instance or to the coffee stand. It is on top of everything and seeks to relate to its audience. For instance, recently, through press releases and social media, the National Trust announced that, “since the Avebury site had been used by their Neolithic creators to determine the solstices and seasons, the Trust Rangers, in their quest for updating information, are preparing to move one of the huge 35 ton monoliths in Avebury to critically realign it in the Circle of Monoliths. This will finally upgrade the site to British Summer Time.”

Puzzlement and commotion followed, as well as some harsh protests. The key to this story? The announcement was made on April Fool’s Day.

THE HARROW AT LITTLE BEDWYN IS IN A SMALL TWO STORY building, two miles from the main road, hidden in the back country, on a narrow, county lane, with no other commerce in sight, eight tables at odd angles in two rooms, chef serves a Michelin star meal. Talk about serendipity. We went the whole nine yards, or should I say, the whole Eight Courses Tasting Menu with Wine Pairings? It was all visually dazzling and extravagantly delicious, from the sweet macaron with foie gras and salt, past the beef carpaccio with beetroot sorbet; the curried scallop and fish and shrimp miniburger; the sensational lobster tail with chili; the superb brill with cep cream sauce; the delicate grouse (Yes!) with corn mash; the boiled egg passion fruit ice with whipped cream and salt with shortbread soldier; to the rhubarb sorbet with cream cup and English berries. A marvelous evening in the middle of the English countryside! The Michelin starred restaurant has held it 10 years in a row, a 900-bin wine list, smooth and elegant service, a chef that puts salt and pepper on the table of his patrons and a van that took us there and back to the hotel with some slight rain to brand it as a true English Countryside Experience. What a marvelous Evening with Xavier to wrap up a serendipitous day!

Thursday

THE DOWNSTARIS WASN’T READY FOR THE UPSTAIRS when we arrived at Highclere Castle, otherwise known as Downton Abbey in the now defunct but once famous television series. After meticulously planning our trip to Highclere - and driving all the way there - we were greeted (at the entrance!) by a sign indicating that the visit to the castle was closed and that prebooking arrangements had to be made. This was news to me, since neither the website for the region nor the one for the castle indicated that need at any time. Bad site and worse management. So, not crestfallen but upset because of the lack of advance information, we left for Oxford and had time for a conversation about our recent Neolithic era experiences.

The conversation arose because one of the big questions in our minds relates to the history of the sites we have been visiting. There is no record of why they were created nor a record of what happened, several centuries later, to the peoples who created them. It is a fact that around 1800 BCE the Neolithic period was becoming the Bronze Age as there are some engravings and etching in the megaliths. But there is no written record (therefore no history) of what happened to the inhabitants. When the Romans arrive in Britain around 46 BCE, the island is inhabited by the Britons who do not have any inkling of what the sites like Stonehenge or Avebury meant. They knew the sites existed, but they had no idea why they were created. So, the mystery will remain. This is not unusual for other civilizations. The example of Teotihuacan is a good one since this city was probably founded around 100 BCE and reached its peak around 250CE and was probably destroyed by the 6th or 7th century CE. The Aztecs arrived in the central Highland a couple of centuries later and did not flourish until the early 14th century. They had no clue who were the people that had lived in Teotihuacan on whence they came, although they were fast to claim direct descent because of the extraordinary urban structure of the City, its extent and the magnitude of its pyramids. But just like the Britons in the first century BCE regarding the Neolithic settlers, the Aztec also had no idea who the creators of Teotihuacan had been. Certainly, the archaeological record of Teotihuacan is very rich and extensive, providing copious information on the origins and development of that site, but that is not the case of Stonehenge or the other henges. The mystery of these sites will remain, perhaps for many more centuries.

OXFORD UNIVERSITY CLAIMS TO BE THE OLDEST UNIVERSITY in Europe. The French, évidemment, disagree, since they posit that it was La Sorbonne who was founded first. The University of Oxford did not start out as such; it encompasses a series of Colleges that have been integrated into the Oxford University system, each contributing its own values and academics and all sharing many common facilities and services. In the last 40 years, the city has been growing steadily, as have the number of tourists that visit here. It has become necessary for the colleges and the libraries to restrict the presence of visitors. We were able to walk to the entrance of the grounds, past the porters’ lodge but only to where the threshold begins, being lucky enough to admire some of the beautiful green - grassed courtyards and the flower pots around them. No students were visible, perhaps because they are in exams as the term is about to start. When we walked past the porter’s lodge, I was reminded that in the 1600s the roll of the College was kept by the porter who would write the name of the student followed by the annotation nobilis or sine nobilitatis, meaning that the student had a noble (aristocratic) origin or did not have the noble origin. This was later condensed into nob. and s.nob, hence the term “snob” meaning someone who aspires to be what he or she is not. The Oxford dictionary is quick to deny this, of course, further pointing out that the correct expression in Latin would be sine nobilitate, which in my view is the ultimate expression of snobbishness!

We walked into the University Chapel, a nice quiet space for meditation, particularly in the bustling city that Oxford now is; then we went to the Bodleian Library but did not enter, since we needed to wait about an hour for a tour. The Library is the second biggest in the United Kingdom, after the National Library, and holds around 12 million books. A copy of every book printed in the UK must be deposited there. The Library also holds many important manuscripts from the 5ty and 6th centuries as well as the Códice Mendoza, a post conquest codex prepared in Mexico with Aztec glyphs to be shown to Charles V, as well as other Mexican codices. Perhaps some of the famous Oxford alumni visited the Library? People such as Stephen Hawking, Boris Johnson, Amal Clooney, Andrew Lloyd Weber, Richard Burton, Richard Hooke (of Hooke’s Law fame), Graham Greene, Sir Walter Raleigh, Adam Smith, Lewis Carrol, T. E. Lawrence, Dr. Seuss, Rowan Atkinson, John LeCarré (hopefully under his real name of David Cornwell) T. S, Eliot, Margaret Thatcher, Indira Gandhi, Rupert Murdoch, Tony Blair, Hugh Grant and, of course, our very own Teresa May!

VICTORIA AND ABDUL WERE GOOD FRIENDS AND SHARED a common bond of respect. We found all this out when we went to see the film now showing at the Odeon Theater in Oxford. The title refers to Queen Victoria and her handsome, young Indian attendant Abdul Karim, who happened to be Muslim as well. Their relationship caused a scandal in the Royal Household and the film deals with their relationship and its consequences. The future Edward VII does come out looking very racist, boorish, bigoted and horrible; so do the other members of the Royal Family, including the servants. But it is a marvelous film inasmuch as it gives us a great insight into Queen Victoria, as portrayed by the superb and extraordinary actor Judy Dench. The film also pushes into our own consciousness about race and prejudice, particularly now against Muslims, especially as it prevails in the US and man European countries.

Friday

MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH A SHOWER TELEPHONE WAS at the Platzl Hotel in Munich, where I arrived as a teenager and faced a bathroom without a shower stall and a tub without curtains. The shower telephone was such a novelty to me that I took a photo of it and sent it to my parents in Mexico for them to see the extraordinary difficulties I was facing all alone, by myself, in the winter, in Germany (violins, please.) And since those long-ago days, my globe-trotting life has been one of constant encounters in the bathrooms with mysterious devices, particularly in Europe, that are really “undercover” shower controls. I purposefully call then “undercover” because they are secret agents disguised with all types of knobs, levers, handles, buttons, push-pull devices and whatever other instruments of torture can be imagined. I am convinced that these so-called “shower controls” are created by individuals with huge eyebrows, enormous warts and peaky noses, in black robes, cackling over their drawing tables as they figure how to make it always almost impossible to take a shower without spending at least 10 minutes figuring out how to turn the water on and usually always getting first a full blast and hard spray of hot /cold water directly in your face or into the towel you intended to use to dry yourself.

This past week has been a perfect example of this experience of “showerology”. One of them had a socket that slipped up and down, after great effort and fingers rubbed raw to change the water from the tub faucet to the telephone faucet; another had hot and cold faucets that turned in opposite directions; yet another had two controls but when you turned the lever to red (i.e. hot) the water came out instead in little ice cubes; a fourth one had a plunger that did not work when you pushed it unless the water was flowing and then it flowed in beautiful drops that created an umbrella of water…all over the bathroom floor; and this morning the controls were very scary. It was a large panel with an illuminated button similar to the on/off switch on appliances, and two knobs, one with red and blue on opposite sides and the other with diagrams of one cloud (blue) two clouds (red red) and three clouds (red red red). No matter which knobs I twirled nothing happened. Then, with great hesitation I pushed the on/off button (that has electricity to light the bulb) and the water whooshed violently out very cold, directly in my chest. Why? Why can we not have one system that everyone understands and that becomes the norm for the whole world? I can hear the cackle in the design studio as I write this.

YOU HAVE TO GO BACK SOMETIME AND THAT TIME IS NOW. Feeling happy to be going back to London, Emma and Sabǎ, and somewhat down because the countryside part of the journey is coming to an end, we slowly made our way back. The road computer was programmed initially to use no motorways, no toll roads, no fast shortcuts, because we wanted to see the beautiful English countryside, gliding along as in a canal that has little current. The computer was not programmed to ask this every day, so it assumed that the original instruction was valid. When we realized that the trip back was taking us through small country roads we had to change the instructions to be able to get on a Motorway, and fast. The result was a slight delay in our plans and a better understanding that artificial intelligence is just that, artificial, and does not replace a thinking mind. After the expected joyful encounter, Sabǎ and Emma continued with their plan and Xavier and I decided that one more tray of Irish and English oysters was the right way to star our long goodbye.

IN THE WESTERN VIEW OF CIVILIZATION, HISTORY BEGINS when actual events can be written down. Several systems of writing were developed in ancient times but only two seem to have been developed independently: Sumerian, in ancient (Mesopotamia) around 3100 BCE with Cuneiform; and Mesoamerican, in Central Mexico, around 300 BC with Maya hieroglyphs. The Chinese developed their writing starting in 1200 BCE. Scholars believe that the Egyptian hieroglyphs started around 3000 BCE and were based, or at least influenced, by the Sumerian system. In the Indus Valley, similar things were happening around 3000 BCE. During the Dark Ages the monks in the monasteries were secretive about their knowledge, wrote and illuminated beautiful manuscripts that only other monks could read, and exercised their power (information is power, says the popular dictum) by not allowing the masses to be literate. It’s interesting to think that computer codes are now called computer languages, they are written and have their own grammar and are known by only a relative few. Such were some of the thoughts during the conversations around Stonehenge and Avebury and they continued at the British Museum where Xavier and I went on a quest to see how many ancient original languages we could see in the original. We did all right: cuneiform tablets in the Mesopotamia exhibit, made by indenting clay surfaces with a bone stylus; a 14th century Aztec codex in the Mexico exhibit; and the Rosetta stone with the Pharaonic hieroglyphs, the Demotic and the Greek in the Egyptian exhibit. A survey of the invention of writing, in the original documents that served to decipher the ancient scripts, in one place!

We took advantage of our visit to take a look at the Elgin marbles and learned more about the battle of the centaurs in the metopes and the absolutely stunning composition of the statues in the pediments. Xavier remarked insightfully that each one of these statues, which could barely be seen from below the Parthenon, is in itself a unique and marvelous work of art.

We ended the day having dinner with Sabǎ and Emma, Xavier and I and Nilly and Kaan, as we prepared to say goodbye to these voyages of discovery. It has been an incredible Journey that has taken us to some remarkable sites and monuments, that has given us a better understanding of history - and of each other; that has taught us to appreciate the value of the cultural heritage and the respect that it gets form the British people of all origins and of all ages. But perhaps, most of all, it has provided a unique opportunity for Xavier and I to bond even stronger as son and father.

REFLEXIONES UPON THE END OF THIS GREAT JOURNEY. It may be the end of this great journey, but it is also the beginning of another one. Xavier and I have spent six complete days together. We walked, drove (well, Xavier drove), explored and discovered a wide array of places, sites, experiences, and moments, some intense, some mellow, some joyful, some wistful, all beautiful. There were many moments of awe and elation, of understanding and celebration. There were also some difficult moments, but no harsh words, boring pauses or looming conflicts and we felt the better for learning to deal with them. We talked about many subjects, explored each other’s moods, asked difficult questions and mostly, laughed a lot. I mean: A Lot! What an extraordinary experience, to be with my grown son, reminiscing about past trips, special moments of life, dreams and ambitions, joys and successes, love and comfort and sharing this great journey, a symbol of all the other great journeys that we have had together throughout life. It is truly a very special honor to be a parent and it brings with it a very special responsibility which goes beyond the generations. I am very lucky to have the privilege of being Xavier’s father. And I love him dearly, as I know he loves me. And if Emma and Nina get to read this far, I know that this is exactly how your Dad feels about you both.

Vale