Weds-Thurs, 21-22 May: Summer Abroad, Days 19-20: Scrivelsby

These days ended up following a pattern, in which only a couple parts could be changed, so I am writing about them together.

1) The bed was very comfortable, and therefore difficult to leave when my alarm went off at 7:30. (I have been keeping my daily routine as much as possible.) I wrote my morning pages in a deep armchair, showered and dressed, and went down to the kitchen as previously directed.

Stanley!

2) There I met my new friend Stanley, a springer spaniel Gail described as “a tart,” who does love attention and is very sweet.

3) After a hearty breakfast, we drove into Lincoln on Wednesday at midday so that I could see Lincoln Cathedral. We parked in the garage she prefers and then walked up Steep Hill, which is sort of the Newbury Street of Lincoln, but at a 45 degree angle. We stopped for a lemon-and-lime at the pub between the cathedral and the castle. Of course I could not help but think of Nellie in Alfred Hitchcock’s Stage Fright at the pub ordering “Gin and lemon, Mrs. Tippett — not to much lemon, dear.”

4) We had some time before a 1 PM tour to stroll about, and Gail pointed out a couple of the sights, including a) a well down which one of the Dymokes had been thrown, and b) the only remaining Roman-built arch anyone could still walk under.

Lincoln Cathedral, from the west wall at the front facing east.

5) Our volunteer tour guide, David, had his work cut out for him; the west end of the church was overrun with children as part of a Church Schools Summer Festival or something, and they made a lot of noise. I won’t try to share any of the church history (aside from the fact that I had trouble hearing him, others have already done better), but I specially noticed the new marker in memory of William Byrd “who in this place steered the course of English Sacred Music,” and the grave marker of one Robert Dymoke, King’s Champion, who appears to have died in 1735. (It didn’t indicate that he was thrown down a well, but then it was also in Latin, so . . . who knows?)

5a) I should point out quickly that I am not his namesake (though I have been nicknamed Sir Robert on occasion). I was named Robert for my mother’s uncle, Bob Houska.

5b) The big surprise, completely unimagined and unexpected, was the Duncan Grant Chantry in the back of the cathedral, dedicated to St. Blaise and first unveiled in 1959. Apparently no one in Lincoln liked it, and one of the priests said “I will not sing the mass before those legs!” So it was used for storage for decades, and only used as a chantry again in 1990. I thought it was brilliant.

St. Blaise by Duncan Grant.

6) After our tour — Gail obviously knows the cathedral better than I and told the guide he had pointed out things she had never noticed, so you can imagine how overwhelmed I felt — we adjourned to the café behind the church for a sandwich and soda. The museum and the art gallery both being closed, we headed back to the Grange, talking history and politics.

6a) Turning into the drive, I saw an actual pheasant!

Picture this church swagged with ropes of flowers and vines, including around the chandeliers. This is my dream.

7) Back at the Grange, we combined taking Stanley for a walk with a visit to Scrivelsby Church, where we found a couple preparing for their coming wedding there. To see all the Dymoke memorials and stained glass made me think so much of my cousin Hal (who had visited there in the early 1970s), and of Nancy Mitford’s description of Louisa’s wedding in The Pursuit of Love, with the church “flowery and bunchy and full of the Holy Spirit.”

The walled garden from a far corner. At far left is barely visible the small tent for civil services. At far right, you can see a bit of the large reception tent.

7a) But then came what might have been the highest of high points in this little visit, the walled garden. On my first visit in 2013, Gail brought us into this large walled enclosure containing only tall grass and six gnarled low apple trees. I could see the marks of the old glass houses on the white-painted brick walls. Gail noted that the estate workers were building a wellhead between the apple trees because they were thinking about hosting events there.

The wellhead now.

7a.i) Twelve years later, the Scrivelsby Walled Garden is winning awards for the weddings and events held there. The garden is beautifully landscaped, the walls dripping with white-flowering vines, and many likely-looking spots for picturesque portraits. A small tent for civil services, a much larger one for the reception, and well-planned service areas. Gail also pointed out the camping ground in the back, and the new restrooms. It’s a fantastic venture. I really could not have been more thrilled!

So many picturesque views.

8) It turns out that Gail is interested in both politics and black-and-white movies. Put those together and you get Seven Days in May and Advise and Consent. We set up in the sitting room and watched the first on my laptop with dinner on a tray (sausages with sautéed grapes and onions, most excellent). Daddy introduced me to Seven Days in May years ago because he admired Frederic March. And this is, in fact, one of his greatest performances. Gail loved it.

9) Thursday morning after breakfast I got a taste of country life accompanying Gail to get more chicken feed. She offered me Stanley’s lead as we ran errands in Horncastle, and then stopped at a coffee shop where Stanley is the idol of the staff. He was lying on his back with his ears spread out like Rita Hayworth’s hair in Gilda, loving all the attention.

Chickens!

9a) Later I got to help feed the chickens by hauling three nine-pound sacks of chicken feed to the chicken coop. And no sooner had they come out of the truck than the chickens manifested from wherever they were hanging out.

And more chickens! It didn’t take long for them to get back into the chicken run.

10) We also visited the small local history museum, which featured the area’s connection to Sir Joseph Banks as well as WWII civilian life. And we ducked into Horncastle Church, too, where Paul and I had visited in 2013. Then he and I were besieged by three very enthusiastic tour guides who would have been glad to keep us all day sharing the church history. Today the church was empty and cold — it was a gray morning — but I was surprised how much I remembered it.

11) The main event of the day was lunch at the home of a friend of the family, Bill, who lives surrounded by well-maintained gardens (he does the gardening). Gramma always said “No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best,” and we had a lovely lunch in his cozy kitchen as a spacious blue table — so lovely that we didn’t end up leaving until after 5 PM.

12) In the evening we sat in the kitchen with my laptop and Advise and Consent. If you haven’t seen this, it’s a political thriller from the early 1960s, and it is a movie for our Current Moment. Charles Laughton’s last film, and one of his greatest performances.

12a) But (no surprise) I tend to focus on Gene Tierney as society hostess Dolly Harrison: “Somebody said once — a friend of mine, I’m sure — that any bitch with a million bucks, and a big house, and a good caterer, could be a social success in Washington. Do you think I’m a bitch?”

13) I’m getting introduced to a lot of British television this trip. Paul and Christian showed me Who Do You Think You Are? and Treasures of the National Trust, not to mention Eurovision (this has changed my life), and now Gail has brought me to News Night, which has an impact.

14) By quarter to midnight I needed to head to bed. Friday would involve some packing and a train to my next destination.

Look at that one, clever splash of pink. Genius.

Tuesday, 20 May: Summer Abroad, Day 18: Mostly London

1) I brought my coffee and sausage roll back up to bed with me, and then commenced with the Great Repacking, which took less time than I thought. Thankfully I can stash one suitcase at the hotel while I travel with the other.

2) Deliberately taking my time about getting to lunch gave me the opportunity for a relaxing stroll through and around Russell Square. During the noon hour it was actively used by Londoners spread out of the grass in circles eating lunch, sunbathing solo, sitting on the benches talking.

Observe the bee of Russell Square.

2a) The little garden beds were both delightful and a bit ragged. But I loved most the beds of roses at one corner, pink and orange-yellow, smelling as a rose ought.

2b) I noticed the “Please do not feed the birds” sign, and the evidence why: pigeons actively using the statue of the Duke of Bedford as a roost.

Pigeons perched and in flight!

3) I continued to the outside of the British Museum, a very active spot, including on one corner a shop of Scottish woolen goods. The last thing I need on this journey is a wool hat, but there were some garishly tempting ones . . .

4) I found the restaurant early, but then I found the Road to Temptation . . . a bookstore. The London Review Bookshop, to be exact. And it wasn’t too long in there before I found something in the extensive history section (they’ve been making history for so long over here already, it was organized by century): Queen James: The Life and Loves of Britain’s First King by Gareth Russell. We read so much about the six wives of Henry VIII, the author suggests, why not the six lovers of James VI and I as well? This seems entirely sensible.

4a) The only problem with this is that I literally do not have one cubic inch to spare in my bags.

5) How lovely to spend lunch with my friends Ernie and Kevin, who landed in London the day before, but are leaving Friday. This turned out to be the perfect time and place to catch up again, and a little Italian restaurant steps from the British Museum, equidistant between our hotels. Tomato sauce and seersucker don’t make a good combination, but since gnocchi are less a risk than spaghetti or tagliatelle, I took a gamble, and won.

5a) If you feel like you need “a bitter herb in your bouquet,” try a Campari spritz instead of an Aperol spritz.

6) Then I managed to worm my way into the British Museum. (Protip: don’t bring anything, especially anything in a bag; travel light to travel quickly.) Frankly, it overwhelmed me — so much so I forgot to look for the Elgin Marbles. But there were still things to delight at almost every point: the Waddesden collection, an African cape, cameos. beetle jewelry, and amazing statuary of all kinds.

7) When I felt myself flagging, I walked back to my hotel to catch up on my laptop before ankling over to King’s Cross Station. If you’re approaching from St. Pancras, keep walking until you see the big arches. The station interior is enormous.

8) Gail and her stepson Henry were in London for the day, and we were all taking the same train back to Scrivelsby. When Gail texted, I found them in a nearby pub and we sat and chatted until train time. Henry guided me through the turnstiles (I was putting my QR code on the wrong sensor), but he was not in the same car Gail and I were — and then she and I were not seated together anyway, alas.

9) The ride up was uneventful, England looking very English in the sunset (as it is wont to do). I was offered a chicken brioche and rosé by the Nice Attendant. And before we knew it, we were disembarking in Grantham.

10) “It’s about an hour’s drive, Robert,” Gail told me, and Henry deftly sped us through Lincolnshire through the twilight, with some good catch-up chatter.

11) At the Grange, Gail showed me to what the 19th-century novelists would have called a “large white-painted front chamber,” decorated with 12"x12" portraits of kings and queens painted by schoolchildren in bright colors, hung in careful rows. And so began a stay at Scrivelsby, Home of the Champions.

Monday, 19 May, Summer Abroad, Day 17: Coventry to London

1) I woke up earlier than I wanted to and lingered in bed until about 7. Then I came downstairs for my coffee and to write my morning pages. Not long after I was done, hey presto, it was time for breakfast.

2) The best thing for me to do after that was pack up (not wanting to leave anything behind accidentally and be a nuisance), and clean up for the day. British bathtubs are narrower than I.

2a) That took me back to my Last Stage Appearance (1982, Lago di Carlo’s Little Theatre Shakespeare in the Park production of Twelfth Night; I played Sir Andrew Aguecheek), and the director. She had been through some sort of graduate theatre program in England, and talked about floating in a high narrow bathtub in her hotel with rose petals scattered over the surface of the water.

2b) (I was 18 and so naive in the ways of the world. I think back to a particular rehearsal where something was wrong with a member of the cast, a middle-aged man; he was unable to remember his lines and very hesitant in his speech. I was shushed whenever I tried to find out what was going on. Only years later did I realize that he was blind drunk and the director was trying to assess what was really going on with him.)

3) The morning was spent alternately doing travel research, writing, and talking with Paul about many different subjects, from the heartfelt to art, photography, and travel. If a chocolate panetonne was involved over tea, so much the better. It’s nice to have a day just to BE and not have an itinerary.

4) For Paul, the secret ingredient of tuna salad is chopped gherkin. (For me, it is white pepper.)

5) In the late afternoon, I confided my troubles to Dr. Bettina Bettlemann on the dining room settee (see above; reasonable rates). She was very helpful. I wish I had color-coordinated my outfit before the appointment.

6) We three (minus Dr. Bettlemann, she doesn’t leave the office) enjoyed an early dinner in the nearby pub — the Coventry equivalent of the late Doyle’s, and with a menu darn near as American to my eyes.

7) My hosts kindly insisted on accompanying me to the train station (to be sure I actually left — the old joke). We ended up on the platform longer than expected as my train was delayed, this time due to “a fire near the track.” At least it was a different excuse than last week’s “animal on the track.”

Ready to board.

8) And then finalmente, that telltale headlight appeared in the distance, we three hugged farewell, last instructions were barked (“Let other people off first,” “NOT NOW!”) 🙄, and I was on my way back to Old Blighty.

9) The train felt crowded, possibly because of the delay. I stowed my bags and alternately texted a friend and contemplated the night. The train got crowded after Northampton, possibly because of the various delays.

10) But when I walked back into my hotel, the Nice Man at the Desk greeted me very happily and made things easy for me. I stowed my bag, returned to the lobby for a whiskey, and then returned to my room (with the whiskey; I didn’t just snort it back at the little bar) to settle down for the night.

11) Tomorrow morning will be the Great Repacking, lunch with a couple friends near the British Museum, and then an evening train to another, very special destination.

Sunday, 18 May: Summer Abroad, Day 16: Mostly Lunch

1) My hosts are very fond of the Telegraph Hotel and its wonderful restaurant, Forme and Chase, housed in an old newspaper headquarters. Its midcentury interiors have been lovingly maintained and adapted to be elegant and unassuming. Before going in to lunch we sat at a large low table of dark green marble and I had my first Pimm’s of the season.

2) I started with the celeriac soup, which was served in gray crockery edged in tan, with a bit of bread. The whole thing reminded me of the Non-Extremists for Moderate Social Change from Finland, the group of Ignitaries that appeared at the Ig Nobel Prize Ceremony back in the 1990s, all wearing neutral colors.

3) We three had a genuinely nice time together, and that included banter with the staff, who they know well.

4) In the evening, continuing with the Eurovision theme, we tuned into Doctor Who, which was an episode that took place at a very similar song festival. This is quite possibly the first Doctor Who episode I have ever seen in its entirety.

5) And after that and an episode of Treasures of the National Trust, it was off to bed for me! I’d had barely any sleep at all the night before, and I would have to be prepared for packing and other travel plans on the next day.

Saturday, 17 May: Summer Abroad, Day 15: Pubs, Death, and Song

1) Today’s plan of action featured a bit of a pub crawl, an informal and intimate tour of the London Road Cemetery, and my very first viewing of the Eurovision Song Contest. It’s a lot to take in!

2) Unsolicited, Paul provided me with a comfortable teal cashmere sweater. The day was beginning gray and shivery.

3) We rode into the town at the top front of a double decker bus into Coventry. Riding high up and near the front, one is unsure just how an intersection will be cleared. This didn’t keep me from enjoying the views of houses ornamented with roses, azaelas, and rhododendrons.

4) Our first stop was the Old Windmill, dating from 1451, for a pint of cider in a tiny front room that could barely squeeze four into it. And four we became, as we were joined by Elizabeth, a friend of my hosts, charming both for her knowledge of Coventry and, most importantly, for herself.

5) From there we headed to the Golden Cross for lunch, where I enjoyed the rhubarb cider and black pudding and gammon hash as directed in the front room. It was hearty and quite good. The rhubarb cider I would describe as delicate. On the other hand, something stiffer at midday would not have been a good choice for me.

6) For someone interested in history the way I am, the afternoon was particularly fortunate in providing me with three companions who knew a lot about what I was seeing, and enjoyed sharing it. En route to the cemetery, bits of the original Coventry wall were pointed out, and other things, including a marvelous medieval ruin discovered after the bombing of Coventry. Other buildings had been built around it, making it sort of the center of an architectural onion.

7) But the London Road Cemetery yielded incredible wonders to me in its state of dilapidated, overgrown charm. Elizabeth, it turns out, had done a great deal of research on prominent permanent residents, which was evident on plaques throughout.

7a) Walter Wright went down with the Lusitania. There were also quite a few young men throughout the cemetery who died at the Battle of Ypres, as well as elsewhere in France.

7b) Other notable forms of death included someone who was attacked by an elephant, that person’s cousin who was later attacked by a tiger, and one man who was scalded to death by a vat of beer he was brewing at home.

7c) Elizabeth pointed out to us a new gravestone, shaped like a book, erected by the descendants of a woman buried there believed to be the child of George IV and Mrs. Fitzherbert.

8) From the cemetery, we walked to our last pub, Triumph Brewery, where we drank cider outside on the blazing sun. I had to go Zouave and hang a handkerchief behind my cap to protect my neck. We all broke out laughing when a young woman at the next table took a sip of something and blurted out “This is disgusting!”

9) We parted from Elizabeth at her bus stop and continued on our way back to ours, passing interesting buildings both ancient and modern, the statue of Lady Godiva, and the market cross of Edward VI.

10) And in the evening, I had my first-ever viewing of the Eurovision Song Contest, a sparkling panoply of high-energy showmanship and more than a little camp. I had been tired and wrung out the previous two evenings, but this really kept me going until the voting ended about midnight. I was sorry the UK didn’t do better; “What the Hell Just Happened?” was the only number that gave me goosebumps, but not the only number I loved.

10a) Throughout I kept thinking of this from a production standpoint: allocation of backstage space, scheduling tech rehearsals, transportation, etc.

11) I was so hyped up afteward I couldn’t get to sleep until after 3 AM. I had to pass some of the time reading Chasing Beauty to bring myself down.

In fact, Askew in every way.

Friday, 16 May: Summer Abroad, Day 14: Birmingham

Recalled and written two days later.

1) My hosts prepared me for a day trip to Birmingham by showing me the last episode of Joe Lycett’s United States of Birmingham the night before. This turned out to be rather helpful.

2) Bad Train Karma has followed me on this leg of the journey, unfortunately, and we ended up passing a lot of time on the platform at Tile Hill. But eventually the next train came, and we found four seats together for a quick trip to Birmingham New Street.

Sauciness!

2a) On arrival, it was decided that a pint was in order — it was just about noon — and we repaired to the Bacchus Bar, a subterranean location decorated with some saucy murals, for liquid refreshment and good conversation.

3) Next stop, the cathedral, with its stunning stained glass by Edward Burne-Jones. The windows survived WWII because they’d been prudently removed. Masterpieces.

4) The Birmingham Museum is in the last half of a major restoration/renovation/reimagination, so not everything we wanted to see was on view. One very thoughtful exhibition covered the sometimes uncomfortable issue of provenance of things in the museum’s collection. Again, sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know until you see it.

Queen Victoria reimagined.

4a) Birmingham has indeed had a very interesting and lively history. For me it was fun to see troops of young schoolchildren marched through to learn about where they live.

4b) The second-floor galleries, right out of the 19th century with enormous ceilings and wonderful file floors, featured art of all centuries, but I was particuarly drawn to a Pisarro landscape and a bust by Gordon Herickx, of whom I had never heard.

This is not T.E. Lawrence, but a novelist named John Hampson.

5) By then it was time for lunch, for which we chose a nearby Indian restaurant called Dishoom where my hosts had been before. I loved the atmosphere of the place just walking in and, while the menu was a lot of information to process, the resulting lunch was lively and delicious.

The rooftop secret garden of the Birmingham Library.

6) After that we drifted, first up to the secret garden atop the large and lacy Birmingham Library (my old acrophobia kept me from venturing near the edge), the war memorial, a street carnival complete with roller coaster and carousel, and then a stroll down the canals to an old stable and a nearby al fresco pub. Under a shaded picnic table I enjoyed a gin and lemon slush, perfect under the circumstances.

7) Refreshed, we continued along the canals. Birmingham is an architectural jumble of all periods and styles, with its successes and failures like other cities.

8) Our ramble ended in the Wellington Hotel pub, and then a train back home. After so much walking, we enjoyed a light dinner and a very interesting program about conservation work at National Trust properties. This episode was about work done on the homes of three writers, including Lamb House of Henry James; that pleased me so much since he appears in Chasing Beauty, which I still haven’t finished.

Part of the War Memorial.

Thursday, 15 May: Summer Abroad, Day 13: To Coventry

1) I slept very well, until just after 5 AM. I accepted this with complaceny, and then decided to start the day just before 6. Morning pages written on the windowsill and my knees, shower, and downstairs for a large latte and a small sausage roll. Savory.

1a) The day began with many harsh words to myself —it happens — and I had to give myself a little pep talk in the bathroom mirror.

2) The night before I brought my large suitcase to the front desk to be stored. It feels like every cubic inch of every bag is full this trip. Organization is helped somewhat by a handy Christmas gift of luggage cubes, but it’s quite a squash. The Coventry boys told me not to bring dress clothes — “The days of trying to impress us two are long gone” — but I had to wear my navy blazer because a) there was just no room for it in my big suitcase, and b) it turns out it’s the only jacket I have and it was quite chilly and gray outside.

3) I checked out early — helpful to the housekeepers, I’m sure, to get started on some rooms early — and wrote in the lobby until it was time to go to Euston Station to catch my train. The time passed more quickly than expected.

4) Dragging my bags along, my train was called earlier than I imagined at Euston. My QR code ticket worked, and I boarded the correct train. Delays had been forecast via the app, so that I was prepared for. I was not, after the train pulled out quite early, expecting to hear I would need to move forward a couple cars, as the back four were being decoupled after Northampton. And then, writing, and the announcement that, because of the delays, the train would no longer be calling at my stop, and I would need to disembark at Coventry and wait 20 minutes for another train.

4a) Stepping onto the platform in Coventry, I’d forgotten that I remembered it exactly.

5) Before long I was on the platform at Tile Hill, a true country station, but with two exits. I went to the side with the waiting room. After ten minutes or so I saw Paul through the fence pickets on the other platform and called to him. “Stay there!” he responded with Biblical Authority, and before long I was greeting a dear friend unseen for two years. We hopped on the 14 bus to stow my bags at home.

5a) When I was here two years ago, they hadn’t moved into their snug new house. Paul was eager to show me everything, and he has really made it a colorful jewel of a home, from his choice of colors to the design of the garden.

5b) Paul then pointed out the sights as we made our way to another bus stop to join Christian on campus for a late lunch. Delay seems to have been in the air for all British transportation this day, but we made good conversation.

6) I knew Christian had written law books, but I didn’t fully realize the scope of his eminence until I saw the shelf of books he’d authored in his office.

6a) We then repaired to the campus arts centre for a late lunch in a restaurant hung with many plants and tubes of lighting, which gave off a 1970s bookstore vibe (without the books). Chicken caesar salad and white wine for me.

6b) And then a turn through the art galleries, including the sometimes disturbing photographs of Okinawa photographer Mao Ishikawa. Sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know until it’s put right in your face.

7) While Christian finished up at his office, Paul took me on a ramble through the campus forest (!) which was filled with bluebells. Inevitably I was reminded of a) the bit in Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca in which the Second Mrs. De Winter describes seeing bluebells, already withering, strapped on to the bicycles of picnickers, and b) bluebonnet time in Texas and its attendant photography industry. There were a few, but not many, people about. Paul would occasionally stop and investigate plant and birdsong on an app he has on his phone.

8) We had just missed a bus when we rejoined Christian, and made the vigorous decision to walk the 55 minutes home. Which is how I made my first foray into one of the surviving bits of the honest-to-God made-famous-by-Shakespeare-to-Americans Forest of Arden.

9) After dinner I was introduced to Who Do You Think You Are? Since I know nothing of 21st-century television, this was quite an eye-opener, particularly the Judi Dench episode.

Wednesday, 14 May: Summer Abroad, Day 12: Mostly Kensington Palace

1) After three or four hours of heavy sleep, I endured wakefulness for about three more hours, conscious of my pedal extremities and the world. And a low-grade headache, which I diagnosed from having toted my heavy laptop bag on my shoulder through much of disembarkation — the kind of headache I know from experience no pill can tame. I gave the day a grudging start and, how very rare, didn’t complete my morning pages.

2) A large latte (no, not a flat white) and an almond croissant helped set me up a bit. My alter ego has said more than once that, if you’re going to be fussy about your sweetener, you need to bring your own. So I’m traveling with a box of Sweet ’n’ Low packets, since they never seem to have it here. Oddly enough, a bond I have with my dad and my granny.

3) Euston to Oxford Circus to Queensway brought me to sun-saturated Kensington. Its wide straight path brought me to the front of Kensington Palace, my principal destination for the day. I had so much enjoyed my visit two years ago, and I was looking forward to this year’s special exhibition Dress Codes, which included gowns of Princess Diana.

3a) The approach to the palace is dominated by a white statue of Queen Victoria executed by her daughter Princess Louise. I wandered past its left down one of the paths, and by the time I got to the front, lines were beginning to form for the first two entry times. So I ended up fourth in line, which will surprise no one. I stood and read Chasing Beauty for the intervening 25 minutes.

3b) The palace staff were so gracious and understanding but professional in answering questions and approaching passersby about their needs.

Princess Diana at the entrance to Dress Codes.

4) Came time to enter, and I bolted up immediately to Dress Codes, and had the unbelievable luxury of having the exhibition almost all to myself! Which was a very handy way to view it. I should probably write about this as my alter ego, but suffice it to say that a) they included clothes from the 18th century forward to this one, b) formal, ceremonial, casual all have dress codes, c) clothes not just of the royal family, but also courtiers and staff, and d) commentary and fashion designs created by “Young Producers,” teenagers of remarkable perception. I enjoyed it all very much.

This white and mauve Ascot dress of Queen Alexandra’s is royal mourning.

5) The palace’s stone hall has a double staircase (on which young Princess Victoria met young Prince Albert for the first time), and I went up the side I remembered mounting when I was there two years ago. And wouldn’t you know it, a friendly-faced white-bearded volunteer at the top of the stairs told me I was on the wrong side. But he kindly let me past the velvet rope to the other, apparently correct side, and on I went. I was puzzled, because I knew I remembered correctly. What had changed?

The Fife tiara.

6) All unawares, I entered the Jewel Room, where I was face to face with Dahling’s equivalent of the Precious, the Fife Tiara. A parure of emeralds and diamonds designed by Prince Albert for Queen Victoria, it is truly beautiful. Then there’s that other tiara with the diamond drops. I hope I am remembering correctly which one is Dahling’s favorite!

7) From here one proceeds to the apartments that were Queen Victoria’s childhood home. These rooms were decorated to approximate their appearance based on old documents, etc., as none of the furnishings or hangings had survived. This also gave the curators the freedom to tell the story of Princess Victoria’s upbringing and desire for independence in a novel way, with the use of china dolls in every room. Everyone is a little doll! Princess Victoria, her mother the Duchess of Kent, the evil comptroller Sir John Conroy, her half-sister Feodora, her governess Baroness Lehzen. I found it enchanting two years ago, and remained enchanted.

A doll tableau of Princess Victoria on her progress in Ramsgate being hectored by evil Sir John Conroy.

7a) In the ballroom (which seemed small) where Victoria’s 17th birthday ball was held, the friendly-faced white-bearded volunteer approached me and we fell into conversation. By this time I had remembered that in 2023, the side of the staircase I went up was the entrance to that year’s special exhibition, Court and Couture. He remembered it, too, and we chatted for quite awhile.

7b) This time I noticed specially a white lace dress the princess wore as a girl, shown together with a portrait of her with her dog. This made me think happily of my little great niece in the Old Hometown.

A doll tableau of the young queen’s first Privy Council, in the room in which it took place.

7c) Crowding was not really an issue here except in the bedroom where the princess was born. And here the crowd seemed to be a family group or two all listening doggedly to the audio guide.

On the King’s Staircase with its remarkable murals.

8) From there it was up the King’s Staircase with its extravagant murals depicting Hanoverian courtiers and servants to the King’s and Queen’s Apartments. I had to wonder what they were used for when Victoria was growing up there, and if she ever snuck in as a little girl to wonder at the abandoned murals and paintings.

Paper clothes!

8a) The apartments are decorated for the time of George II and his wife Queen Caroline of Ansbach. One interesting curatorial addition is figures of male and female court dress of the period made out of white paper — down to the ruffles!

8b) In one of the public apartments one of the guides was giving a talk, with tourists seated at the period card tables, going into symptoms of diseases you could have caught from rats in the 18th century. It was going on a bit long and gruesome for me, so I squeezed through and proceeded to the long room hung with red damask and many beautiful paintings.

9) Two modern design notes on the ground floor: the restroom peds all had crowns, and b) a very modern wallpaper design of the many moods of Princess Diana.

10) After a glimpse at the Princess Diana Memorial Garden, I decided to treat myself to lunch in the Orangery restaurant a few steps away. Very swish, and I have a lovely chicken caesar salad, which they serve with a soft-boiled egg. Simple and lovely — until, that is, both my credit cards were declined by two of those device scanner thingies three times each. Thank goodness I had sufficient local currency.

11) Then I sallied forth through the gardens, on a quest for an ATM, in the general direction of Harrod’s. I passed Prince’s Gate, where the Mitfords lived, but was more generally anxious about my cards suddenly being declined everywhere.

11a) If I made a test purchase at Harrod’s, that’s my business.

12) Smartphones are wonderful . . . when they work. But for when they don’t, I’ve learned to map out where I’m going before I leave the hotel and take screenshots of the resulting maps. Which is exactly what I needed to rely on to get where I was going, because I couldn’t get a network connection.

13) I passed 20 minutes in a pretty neighborhood park, with a lavender garden and wide grassy spaces for sunbathing. On entering, I was surprised to see walking toward me a policeman escorting a man out of the park. I could not tell if handcuffs were involved or not, or the condition of the apprehended man, indigent or criminal. Later my masseur, who lives a block away, explained that there is an area of park that attracts drug use, so it might have been that.

14) If I was brick building, my masseur found the weak points in the plaster of my shoulder blades to topple the edifice. My shoulders, I hope, will never be the same.

15) So, feeling like the weight of the world had been quite literally lifted from my shoulders, I entered the Underground . . . to have my credit card declined at the ticket machine. This resulted in a Discussion About Technology and Feelings with a Tenaciously Helpful Underground Employee, who would not stop asking me if I had a “contactless card,” which of course I don’t. He then had to explain that it was a bank card, and I had to explain to him that the last time I used my bank card that way back home my bank starting treating it like a credit card and not a debit card, and may I please just get a ticket to Euston? Again, thank goodness I had local currency.

15a) Craig, God bless him, sorted me out later via text. That man is the soul of patience.

15b) This put me on the Underground during rush hour, escalators and platforms torrents of humanity. Among other London Types, I spotted a young dandy seated near the center of the car: panama hat with a hatband of blue and green stripes, bow tie, navy blazer — sharp. The negotiation for space was typical of subways the world over. I felt relatively undisturbed reading my book, even though I was near the door.

16) At Euston, I picked up a couple sandwiches — not in the mood to go out. But after those sandwiches I went downstairs to the lobby bar and began a lengthy process of ordering a negroni. This involved going down to the cellar for an ingredient, looking up the recipe, and then questioning my room number. In the words of the late Eve Harrington “I only asked a simple question.”

17) And then I hunkered down and caught up on my travel blog. To my astonishment, I did catch up by bedtime!

Tuesday, 13 May: Summer Abroad, Day 11: Mostly V&A

“We could always move into the hall. There’s no use crowding the trunks.” — Ginger Rogers to Katharine Hepburn (and her trunks) in Stage Door.

1) One has to be agile to stay in a room that is 85% bed. How the housekeepers manage here I have no idea.

1a) My snore score was off the charts, proof that I’m not traveling with my wedge pillow. I requested extra pillows so as not to deafen anyone else on this floor.

2) The hotel lobby conveniently adjoins a Caffé Nero, so I was able to stumble in and barely remembered to order a “flat white” rather than just say “coffee, please,” and a croissant.

Russell Square Underground station. As in “exit,” not as in “Far out!”

3) The morning was chillier than I dressed for, especially in the shade, but I knew it would warm up. Then it was time to negotiate the Underground, destination the Victoria and Albert Museum. The Piccadilly line would get me there, but first I had to disable a ticket machine by pulling my card out before it had been authorized. Oopsie.

3a) Then for some reason my ticket wouldn’t work in the turnstile. And when I showed it to the man he looked at me with That Look and said “That’s the receipt.”

4) You really move down into the bowels of the earth, but at Russell Square you get there in an elevator. And the train showed up almost at once, and whoosh, I was at South Kensington.

4a) Once through the turnstile, the quickest way to the V&A was through a large underground tunnel paved and paneled with sand-colored tile from about 120 years ago. Plodding along with the commuters, I noticed an exit directly to the natural history museum. Soon thereafter, an identical entrance for my destination! But it felt dicey to wait down there, so I headed to the front entrance anyway, and stood in the sun reading Chasing Beauty until 10 AM.

The showstopper. No photograph can do it justice. Must be seen to be believed.

5) The Cartier exhibition was magnificent, as expected. My English friends had just seen it and complained about a) the crowds, and b) the tiny type on the placards, which were set so low everyone had their bums out. My experience with the crowds was less bothersome (except in the first gallery), but then I was there on a weekday first thing in the morning. As to the placards, they had a point. Everyone should spend a week on an intense gluteus workout before seeing this show.

5a) Aside from the jewels, the names of the owners (previous or current) added to the fun: Consuelo, Duchess of Marlborough; Freddie Mercury, the Duchess of Manchester, Barbara Hutton, Edwina Mountbatten, Queen Alexandra, Doris Duke, Phyllis Brand, and of course That Woman. I know I’m missing some names that made me go “Ah!” A few pieces were “Lent by His Majesty the King,” but a surprising number came from the Cartier Collection itself.

In the words of the late Aunt Alycia, “It is a yellow diamond of the first quality.” In my words, “What a rock to hock!”

5b) But the jewels! Ravishing. The unquestioned showstopper for me was the ceremonial necklace and choker of the Maharajah Bhupinder Singh of Patiala. Rows and rows of gigantic diamonds. Impossible to look anywhere else. I could really understand someone being blinded by the light.

The Duchess of Manchester tiara with its special light.

5c) I am getting ahead of myself. The exhibition opened with the Duchess of Manchester’s tiara all by itself in a glass cylinder. Because diamonds sparkle in the light, the tiara was orbited by a tiny satellite light (a sattellight? Haw!) which made a beautiful effect. And it’s nice to know that the Duchess was just a Louisiana girl, Consuelo Yznaga of Ravenswood Plantation, Concordia Parish. (It’s not my fault she was born in New York; she was totally raised in Louisiana.)

The gasp-inducing snake necklace, exhibited alone in its own room.

5d) Blah blah jewels, blah blah jewels. I could go on and on saying “Gee don’t it sparkle?” like that chorus girl in The Great Ziegfeld. Surprises? A few: That Woman’s panther lorgnette, a suite of peridot jewels, an unbelievably lifelike snake necklace commissioned by a Mexican actress (diamonds on top, rubies and sapphires below), and a pair of diamond wisteria brooches.

Phyllis Brand’s exquisite tiara of carved turquoise.

5e) Quite possibly my favorite piece was the carved turquoise tiara the economist Bob Brand gave to his wife Phyllis, née Langhorne, one of the famous Langhorne sisters of Virginia. Phyllis’s favorite sister was also the most famous, Lady Nancy Astor. I remembered it from the 2000 tiara exhibition at home. This would have suited her blonde good looks superbly.

6) Dazzled by all that jewelry, of course nothing in the shop could satisfy me the way a tuna sandwich and a bottle of water could in the courtyard. There’s a wide shallow pool there, which is just begging for children to frolic in it. I noticed two little girls, perhaps three or four years of age. They could have been little Frida Kahlos shrunk in the wash, with their long dark hair caught into what might have been French braids, and their high-necked long-sleeved dressed. One little girl’s dress appeared to be gold lamé — how could her mother have allowed this before 5 PM?

7) The next several hours I walked my legs off in an orgy of art appreciation. Sculpture, bits of architecture, a Korean moon jar (God, I would love a Korean moon jar, but I’m trying to get things out of my house, not in), the Bed of Ware, embroidery of my beloved Mary Queen of Scots, color, light, beauty, and occasionally pulchritude.

Pulchritude can show up anywhere in a museum, including what Daniel would call the Housewares Department.

8) Wearily plodding up the stairs, I realized I’d almost missed the most important thing: more jewelry! The V&A’s own jewelry collection is pretty darn impressive, and I drank it all in.

9) Another surprise: an exhibition of theatre costumes, including — you will never believe it — Ginger Rogers’ mink dress from Lady in the Dark! (Just nod and say “Yes, dear.”) (It’s a sin and shame that Gertrude Lawrence didn’t make this movie, otherwise we’d still be taking about it.) An Edith Head design, it was the most expensive costume ever made for a Hollywood film.

The famous mink dress designed by Edith Head for Ginger Rogers in Lady in the Dark.

10) Then I reached sort of the Exhausted Magpie stage of my visit: fascinated and distracted by every Shiny New Thing — old stained glass, monumental pieces of silver — but my legs and feet kept telling me “Enough!” So back I plodded through that yellow-paved tunnel to the Tube, and my hotel.

This kind of expresses my energy at the end of my museum visit.

11) Later, I wandered into a pub for dinner, and had my first fish and chips. I feel like I could use a tutorial on how to eat them properly.

12) Retracing my steps, I paused to enjoy Tavistock Square, famous as a former home of Virginia Woolf. A statue of Gandhi takes pride of place at the center. Around the periphery it looks like they have elevated vines of . . . who knows what, grapes, wisteria. Summer will tell. It was beautiful at that time of evening.

13) I spent the evening very aware of my legs and lower back, pretenting to write.

Monday, 12 May: Summer Abroad, Day 10: London!

1) My wakeup call at 5:15 AM gave me time to write my pages, shower, dress, and go to the dining room for breakfast. Disembarkation is always involved and a little fraught. I don’t know how the crew manage it.

2) Like embarkation, there are lots of lines involved. And they are full of confused people carrying far too much luggage. I overheard one man say “This is not well organized,” but the only people who didn’t know what to do were the passengers who did not read the instructions sent to them. Don’t blame Cunard, honey!

2a) One woman clearly thought she was too important to have to queue with everyone else, expressed in her voice, demeanor, and plastic surgery. A crew member firmly explained that she needed to get in the queue, and that was that.

2b) I was toting my laptop bag over one shoulder, my valise, and a suit bag — and there were moments when I didn’t think we’d ever get moving. But soon enough I was walking across the gangway, recycling my key cards, and finding my suitcases in Customs. My goodness, I was off the ship! Farewell, Queen Mary? I hope we meet again.

3) Departure for London was delayed because (I gather) one of the motorcoaches was delayed getting there from London. I was seated in an increasingly stuffy motorcoach, alternately reading Chasing Beauty and fanning myself like Sidney Greenstreet in Across the Pacific. Oh, did I mention I had on my seersucker suit? That’s where Sidney comes in. Daddy’s figure is getting a little bulky.

4) After about an hour, finalmente, we were off! This gray day brought out the green of Southampton’s parks as we drove by.

5) After . . . after forever, we were in London, and I was getting glimpses of the river and Mrs. Pankhurst’s house, and then recognizing Earl’s Court and parts of Kensington (where I had stayed in 2023). And then it felt like we circled Victoria Bus Station for ten minutes until at last, we pulled into the terminal. I was seated near the back, and I let everyone go ahead of me so I could wrestle my book into my valise.

6) London’s weather was hot and steamy as late spring can be. Several of us stood with our piles of luggage at the taxi stand, wondering how much the traffic up the street was keeping taxis from getting to us. One gent was asking me about books I’d referred to on board; it made me realize how much in the past the crossing already was.

7) After about ten minutes, a taxi showed up for me, and I wrestled my bags into it. And off we went through a busy international city. The cabbie and I had some good talk about all sorts of things for the first half. After awhile, all the twisting and turning was starting to frustrate me. Just when I thought I would snap, there at last was my hotel.

8) My room was ready — just about as tiny as my room at the Jane, but with a full-size bed surrounded on 3.5 sides by wall. At least all my bags fit in here! Out the window is a view of an old-fashioned slate roof with the Union Jack fluttering away at left; it makes me think happily of The Scarlet Pimpernel with Leslie Howard and Merle Oberon.

9) After I got settled and zonked out for a couple hours, I had to sally forth in search of some dinner. Setting off with some vague ideas from ye Gyygle, after a couple blocks I let out a little squeal when I realized I was walking by the Warburg Institute! “Now Robert,” you are probably saying to yourself, “what the hell is that, and why would you care?” A research library established by one of the Warburg shipping family in Hamburg, it was spirited out of Germany in only six months in 1934, and completely reestablished here in London. I read about it in The Exiles, and it’s a gripping tale.

I can just hear Dame Sybil Thorndike in Stage Fright saying “You know, the Ah Wray Dee Ay.” ❤️

9a) Not too long after, I squealed again to recognize the façade of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts — where a scene was filmed in Hitchcock’s Stage Fright!

10) I never did find the Italian restaurant I set out to find, but I found The Spaghetti Club (?) (no, not the chain with a similar name), which was fine. When you order what you think is pasta and end up getting a pizza, you eat the pizza and resolve to look at the menu more closely next time.

11) Somehow I ended up at Kings Cross station trying to make it back to my hotel. Beforehand I noticed homeless people sleeping in pup tents in front of very swish interior design showrooms.

12) So, Stage One of this summer adventure is now complete. Stage Two includes London, Coventry, Scrivelsby, and Manchester. Stage Three will be a further week in London. And after that . . . I have yet to determine.

Sunday, 11 May: Summer Abroad, Day 9: Final Day at Sea

1) I hurried through lunch in order the make the choral concert in the Grand Lobby. Why is it that the service always seems slower when you have something scheduled immediately afterward? I had five minutes to chomp down my morsel of orange cake, but it was still good.

2) I had promised that nice man from Palm Springs that I would go to the concert of the guest choir (read: passenger choir) because they had been rehearsing all week and because the repertoire had personal meaning for him. As luck would have it, I found a spot on the grand staircase by the bannister directly in his sight lines, so we got to bow and smile before the concert began.

3) They began with the Elvis song “Can’t Help Falling in Love With You,” and then “Hakuna Matata,” “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” “Shine,” and — oh mercy, I’ve already forgotten the last song! All presented with heart, warmth, and skill. I recognized the two music directors as singers from “Symphony.” Turns out this was the last performance of their contract, and they would be leaving the ship the next day.

4) The final afternoon tea of the crossing featured the ship’s big band, making it a true thé dansant. And wouldn’t you know it, my banquette table in a front corner was joined by two couples who hadn’t yet been to tea, but were enthusiastic ballroom dancers. One (I recognized them from the dance floor the night before) were off to the famous Tower Ballroom in Blackpool for two weeks of dancing!

The final tea.

4a) Everyone crosses for their own likes and dislikes: afternoon tea, ballroom dancing, dressing up, all-you-can-eat buffets, love of ships, fear of flying, you name it.

5) The last social hour was full of animated talk, farewells, and exchanges of contact information. After which I had to complete my packing PDQ so I could put my two suitcases out before dinner to be collected. And I managed this while drinking my second small bottle of complimentary prosecco.

6) Finalmente, on the last night of the voyage I was seated at a table of gentlemen for dinner. And having been the only person at my table not to have dined away during the entire week, I had no compunction at all bidding that nice elderly couple farewell. (Which I was unexpectedly able to do when we passed each other at the entrance.)

6a) Remember the two gentlemen who took tea with me? Turns out they had space at their table, to which someone else at that table invited me. We were six overall, including a very nice younger gentleman from the north of England who’s read many of the same books I have, which is always encouraging. I could only have wished this party had come together earlier in the voyage.

7) I spent the rest of the evening in my cabin fretting a little about the next day and packing and repacking my valise and laptop bag. To my surprise, I didn’t get to bed until 12:30!

Saturday, 10 May: Summer Abroad, Day 8: Gala Night

Written in London after the fact, with perspective. I realize how much is lost when I don’t write at the end of the day, or on the next!

1) In fact, this day, Saturday, was my total letharg-a-thon day. I slept through the morning, after breakfast and my four laps, and in the afternoon after lunch. But I still pulled myself together for social hour, which I spent talking to that nice gentleman from Palm Springs.

Who doesn’t want a table with a view?

2) The Secret Royals kept me company at lunch; I would have to return it to the ship’s library by 2 PM the next day. I knew I wouldn’t finish it, but my goodness — what a great read.

2a) Lunch bonus: getting seated at a window table at last.

3) I looked wonderful for the gala, after my fourth and final nap of the day. The theme was Roaring Twenties, which I acknowledged by adding Mother’s chain of silver hearts to my black tie. That nice elderly gentleman at my table observed “You’re wearing your chain of office,” which I thought was clever.

3a) We were actually six this evening, as the single lady at our table reappeared with two pals from the Solo Voyagers group that gathers in the morning, a man and a woman who at first I thought were a couple. Everyone at our table showed up in all black and white. We could have had our own Black and White Ball! Except for a heavy play from the Solo Voyagers to get me to join them, the conversation was light and fun. Overall, a lovely evening.

3b) And chocolate soufflé for dessert!

Queen Mary presides over her eponymous room.

4) After dinner I roamed the ship to see what was really happening on this gala night. The big band was big-banding in the Queen’s Room, with a lot of dancers on the floor, and the G32 disco was discoing. The Chart Room and the Champagne Lounge didn’t have a free table.

5) So three other gentlemen from social hour and I ended up sipping Negronis in the Commodore Club, a fitting end to the day. Relaxed conversation. Two of whom were continuing on to Hamburg after the boat docked in Southampton.

Thurs-Fri, 8-9 May: Summer Abroad, Days 6-7: At Sea

Written in London after the fact, with perspective.

1) Thursday must have been my “lost day,” in which I did almost nothing but sleep, eat, and read. At least I got in my four laps on the promenade deck, but that was it. I don’t suffer from seasickness as a rule, but honestly, I think the motion of the ship just made me feel sleeeeeeeeepy.

1a) That morning I did a reading for myself — I brought my tarot cards this trip — which indicate confusion to come, but some happy conclusions? I can only hope.

1b) After dinner, I did join a group of men from social hour in the front row of the theatre for Symphony, a musical salute to London’s various music halls with the songs of Aretha Franklin, Elton John, Beyoncé, Shirley Bassey, and others — and the orchestral sounds of John Williams. Why this should all be themed around the phrase “Symphony of Life” I will not attempt to fathom. The four singers — two men, two women — put on a show. Polished, slick with just the right amount of grit — and sweat. All the ship’s musicians were part of the program, and everyone up there delivered.

2) Friday I asked room service just for coffee and croissants, as passport inspection was taking place for passengers on my deck in the morning on the dining room’s mezzanine, and I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone. My one chance to have eggs Benedict on board!

2a) I thought it was mighty efficient for them to conduct passport inspection on board, rather than complicate disembarking even more. But rather than show up with a book about British espionage, I left The Secret Royals in my cabin and started Chasing Beauty over my breakfast, the new biography of Isabella Stewart Gardner.

3) And then four laps on the promenade deck, followed eventually by lunch with chocolate orange mousse, the most exquisite thing I ate on board.

4) At 2:30 the ship’s classical pianist gave a recital in the theatre. I stayed only half an hour (more on that in a moment), but was able to enjoy her Scarlatti and Brahms.

The parade of waiters.

5) I left the recital early to scout out a good table for tea, as I had a couple gentlemen joining me from social hour. And they had not yet been to tea! Lucky me, I found a table for three at the end of the Queen’s Room mezzanine, ideal for watching the parade of waiters. And wouldn’t you know it, we had such good talk over the teacups I actually stayed until the very end of tea for the first, and only, time.

6) Practically dashed from there to social hour at the opposite end of the ship; anyone wearing one of those Fitty Bitty things would definitely be getting their steps in! The Commodore Club is set up with these ponderous velvet armchairs (not uncomfortable, just solid). This time I defied my own conventions to pick one up and move it into a group. One of the guys said “I never expected to see you do anything so butch!”

6a) Anxiety about the current administration was generally felt all week, and today I heard from one gentleman who lost his gov’t job and is now going to retire overseas with his husband.

7) I had a long nap before dinner — one friend at home would say I had Bad Sleep Hygiene — and dressed me up in one of my larger bow ties for dinner. Walking through the lobby, I ran into that guy who was surprised I could lift an armchair. He said “You always seem to be wearing something completely different!” And that kind of is the secret, isn’t it?

8) We were only three at our table for seven this night, and almost witnessed a choking incident. Happily everything resolved without having to resort to the Heimlich.

Wednesday, 7 May: Summer Abroad, Day Five: Routine at Sea

Written in London after the fact, with perspective.

1) My days at sea fell into a rhythm: 7:15 AM wakeup call, morning pages, room service breakfast, dawdling, walking four laps on the promenade deck, dining room lunch with a book, more dawdling (not always a NAP), afternoon tea, gay social hour, reading or more dawdling, and dinner. Sometimes after dinner I’d see whatever was on offer in the theatre, or have a nightcap in the Commodore Club.

2) The Secret Royals: Spying and the Crown, from Victoria to Diana, turned out to be quite page turner from the beginning. I got quite far along at lunch, which featured a crab and avocado salad.

3) As mentioned, afternoon tea tables fill well before the 3:30 start of tea; it’s practically a sweepstakes. I got ringside table on the dais facing the stage this time. Before long a young woman in a floppy hat and a gauzy white dress of flowered with roses took the table next to mine. “We’ve got the best seats in the house,” she said to me. “And got here early enough to get ’em,” I replied happily.

The valiant harpist during the Parade of Waiters.

3a) The ship musicians all take turns playing at tea, and today it was the harpist. Poor thing, she could barely be heard over the din.

4) But the big event of the day was not tea, or the social hour, but the reception with the captain (to which I was invited because this was my third Cunard voyage). Which also made this the debut of my new suit, which looks, feels, and fits wonderfully.

4a) First impressions last, and the first impression the Self-Important Couple who cut into the receiving line for a photo with the captain — it will last. More proof that money can’t buy you class (as if we didn’t need more proof of that already).

The captain’s speech.

4b) Rows of waiters held out trays of drinks. I lifted off a glass of prosecco and strode about surveying the room in which I knew no one. Until I settled on a banquette and was spotted by one of those nice gentlemen from social hour. He and I had a bracing chat about Cunard, Palm Springs, and travel plans.

5) For dinner that night, I enjoyed one of the Luxury Proteins. At this point I can’t remember if it was lamb, guinea fowl, venison, pheasant, trout, or haddock, but whenever I had them, I chose them because I wouldn’t be making them at home. And they were all done flawlessly.

Tuesday, 6 May: Summer Abroad, Day Four: First Day at Sea

1) Slept like a champ in a wide and soft bed, with vivid dreams I can no longer recall. But not wanting to miss anything (for instance, my 9 AM haircut), I set a wakeup call for 7 AM. Morning pages at the little desk, followed by a quick shower, because, as the sign says in the bathroom, “Water is precious.”

2) The room service menu card said that breakfast could be brought from 7-7:30, 8-8:30, and 9-9:30. So imagine my surprise when, just getting out of the shower, there was a knock on the door at 7:36 with my 8:00 AM breakfast. I managed to struggle into a robe and take the tray as it was handed to me by the smiling steward, a tray just a bit too wide for the doorway.

2a) But laden with good things: a pot of coffee, a small pot of skim milk, rounds of banana cut into a little bowl, smoked salmon scrambled eggs on toast rounds, one chicken sausage, and one tiny chocolate croissant — just like those found in Marriotts all over Europe. I could live off them. I settled the tray on my coffee table, and myself onto the settee and into my day.

3) Turns out I’m on the same deck as the ship’s library, a space illuminated by the Atlantic sun and the fluorescent interiors of the bookshelves. At 8:30 many of the chairs were already filled with contemplative readers. The day before I’d spotted a book in the Royalties section (because of course a Cunard library would have a section on Royalties). The attendant kindly unlocked it for me, and The Secret Royals: Spying and the Crown, from Victoria to Diana, by Richard J. Aldrich and Rory Cormac is mine until 2 PM the day before we dock. It’s thick enough to stun and ox and I’ll never get through it in time, but it’s already giving me ideas about places to visit near London.

4) The library is conveniently next to the spa, where I had my 9 AM haircut. I felt like there was a lot of unnecessary stroking and arranging of my hair throughout, but the results were admirable.

4a) In the chair next to me was an elderly lady observing to her stylist how her hair was falling out. Her doctor has suggested that it might be anxiety. The stylist asked was anything making her anxious. She said she replied to him, “Do you live in the same world as I do?”

5) With that out of the way, and not wanting to while away my time in my cabin, I put on my cap and blazer and neckerchief and took a brisk promenade on the open deck just below mine. Each time you circumnavigate the ship it’s 1.1 km. I thought of that woman with the monocle in the overlooked Sherlock Holmes comedy Pursuit to Algiers who, making a play for Dr. Watson, declared “A brisk three-mile hike before each meal!” And it was a brisk day for it, too! I was far from the only person walking, and as everyone was walking at different paces, a few traffic jams clogged the way sometimes.

Pursuit to Algiers. Rosalind Ivan as Agatha Dunham second from right, with monocle (of course).

5a) Now I know how to get to the pool! There were a couple hardy souls swimming laps in there, but it’s far too chilly for that for me.

6) The motion of the ship is hitting me more obviously this time. While not really seasick, it just seems to be making me really tired. I slept a solid hour before lunch.

7) I was shown to a table alone in the dining room while the captain’s noon announcement was blaring over the speakers. I can’t concentrate on everything, dahling!

8) For lunch I had these artfully seasoned chickpea cakes, tagliatelle pasta with chicken and walnuts, and a berry crumble.

9) And then another nap.

10) But I remembered the scrum for tea tables on my first crossing, which I wanted to avoid. Bringing my new book, I got into the Queen’s Room 20 minutes before tea, and the tables bordering the dance floor were already fully occupied. I found a cozy banquette in the back and delved into my new book until the string trio launched into Eine Kleine Nachtmusick and the parade of waiters entered from both kitchen entrances bearing their teapots and their platters of sandwiches, scones, and pastries. To applause. It’s what Cunard does best.

11) That said, they were all pronouncing “scone” to rhyme with “bone,” which it’s supposed to rhyme with “gone.” Or “HAHnsel.” Or “ponce,” or something.

12) After my first cup and halfway through my sandwiches I was joined by a party of three, a male couple with one sister, all roughly my age, and we made pleasant conversation over the din of the tea drinkers and the string orchestra. It’s really not the Done Thing to decline to have people sit with you at afternoon tea, and I actually did welcome having some company.

13) Returning to my cabin, the horrifying discovery that I did not have my key card. Nor was it in my place at tea, so I had to stand in line at the purser’s office (where there is always a line), for a new one.

14) That meant I couldn’t have a third nap before the gay social hour at 5. This time I got there while there were still seats. It was quite populated, about 20 gentlemen, and I had some good conversations.

15) This was the night of the Red and Gold Gala, the first of two gala nights on board. To honor the theme without excess I wore Daddy’s red-and-gold cufflinks and studs, my citrine on a long chain (that needs polishing), and red socks.

16) At dinner the single lady did not appear, but another elderly couple joined we three who remained. They seem to be connected with economics education in Central Asia or something, and we spent a lot of dinner discussing travel in that region and Europe.

16a) We had yet to have a full table.

Summer Abroad, Day Three: Embarkation Day

Written from London after disembarking, but still, I hope, vivid in the right ways.

1) Returning to Maman for breakfast, I enjoyed the most wonderful breakfast bowl, with avocado and potatoes and bacon and an egg. Very satisfying.

Om nom nom.

2) The embarkation instructions said not to arrive before 3:00 PM, but I just could not sit around at the Jane until then, even after getting my checkout time extended to 1:00 PM. So I wrestled all my luggage down in the elevator (it was working again . . . ), called a Lyft, and was en route to Pier 12 in the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

2a) I didn’t mention that I actually got locked out of my little room when my fob deactivated at noon. At least I was fully dressed when I went down to the lobby . . .

2b) My driver knew some of the hidden streets of Brooklyn to beat the traffic and get to the pier.

3) When I got there, I understood why they said not to come until 3:00 PM. The line was so long; everyone was probably just as excited/anxious to get on board as I was! Forty minutes of stop and go, and then through the metal detectors (at least we didn’t have to take off our shoes), and then another long line for the Cunard agents. I was definitely one of the youngest people in line. And it was interesting to watch People Older Than I try to maneuver themselves not to have to wait in the line to get checked in.

3a) The closer I got to the end of the line, the more anxious and fretful I became about having all the documents I would need. They do put the fear of God into you when they write “otherwise we not be able to permit you to sail.” With two or three bends left in the line, I heard a staffer call out “Be sure to have your UK ETA visa out.” The email from the UK specifically said you didn’t have to print it, but I had anyway. Would it really be necessary? What else might I be missing?!

3b) Finalmente, I approach the desk, provide my passport, and everything but my heart, which I kept in my mouth. “And you have your UK ETA?” “Right here.” “Great, you’re cleared to board!” “Wonderful! But you know, they said you didn’t have to print this.” “That’s OK, we’d’ve asked to see it on your phone.” “But I don’t have email on my phone . . .” Catastrophe: averted.

4) More lines, this time involving ramps, crossing the final gangway and checkpoint, and hey presto, one is on board! I finally made it to my little cabin with a beautiful balcony view of the lifeboats and started unpacking my trunks.

I gambled that they would upgrade me, and lost.

5) On my first crossing in 2019, I waited until mid-voyage to go to the LGBTQ cocktail hour at 5. Then my high school friend Hilary (also on board by happy coincidence), practically had to push me into the Commodore Club. And when I finally did, at least two men said “Finally! What kept you?” So I made a point of appearing right at 5, and . . . and about 18 men had clearly been there at least 15 minutes already. This gathering became the punctuation mark of my day, even more than afternoon tea or dinner.

5a) The weather was gray and bleak as we sailed out of New York, and through the windows of the Commodore Club I noticed the approach of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge — an event! An event that went nearly unremarked with all the vigorous conversation going on.

6) Then dinner at 8:30. I thought the second seating was at 8, but nevertheless . . . I hope I’m never too old for the second seating. I had requested a table of eight, thinking . . . thinking a) more conversation, and b) more gentlemen. On this first night I was eventually joined by one kindly elderly couple and, later, a lady traveling alone on her first cruise of any kind. We had a table that allowed an expansive view of the dining room, and the dinner and service were on point.

7) The events of the day meant that it was best for me to have an early night, and I was glad to snuggle into my soft, expansive bed and feel the motion of the ship carrying me toward . . . what?

Summer Abroad, Day Two: New York Day Two

Today’s big events brought me through the range of New York culture: the newly-reopened Frick Collection in the morning and the Tony-nominated Oh, Mary! written by and starring Cole Escola.

1) People have asked how I like staying at a hotel with a shared bathroom. To be honest, it’s OK for two nights, but I wouldn’t want to stay longer. My room is quite close to the bathroom, privacy is possible, but I was a little startled to pass a bathrobe-clad young lady in the hall this morning.

2) Dressing to go out, I put on my brand-new navy blazer from J. Press — and the center button just fell off to the floor! Brand-new jacket! Would they have sold this to a Hahvahd man?

3) Instead of writing my pages this morning, I showered, dressed, and went off to a little breakfasty place called Maman a couple short blocks away. If you are going to put up a sign for customers that says “Please Wait to Be Seated,” it’s best not to respond “Oh, sit anywhere” when you see them waiting. That said, I had the most savory breakfast sandwich served me on an antique white plate thinly ornamented in blue. The chef must have known that the egg yolk and spicy ketchup would look wonderful on that plate.

4) I reached the Frick about half an hour before my timed entry via the L and 6 trains to Hunter College. Standing looking at the garden (also restored), I fell into conversation with a woman not too much younger than I, wearing a white-and-blue denim toile jacket and jeans and a lot of turquoise jewelry. Even her nails were lacquered turquoise (when they weren’t gold). She and her husband (and at least one other person) were up for a few days from the middle of the country, and we ended up having a very intelligent conversation about the Frick family, London (they are also going), Aida, opera in general, and New York. Unexpected, and refreshing!

4a) If you go to the Frick (which you should), 11 AM is when it opens, and long lines form to get in. One for ticket holders, one for members, and a third for stand-bys. First the members are admitted, about 20 at a time; then the ticket holders. I crossed the threshold about 11:08, and I got there about 10:30.

4b) When the member line was almost completely inside, I saw a woman approach the staff member with a question. It transpired she had an 11:30 entry ticket and didn’t want to walk all the way to the end of the line to get in. Unhappy with the answer she got from the staff, she asked several of us near the front “Are you 11 AM? Are you 11 AM?” We all were, of course.

4c) So also, wear shoes that are good for standing, and bring a shade umbrella. The tree pits have been planted with white and purple pansies, which are very beautiful, but provide no shade.

5) The first thing I wanted to do was dash up the grand staircase to see the second-floor residence, open for the first time to the public. The rooms have been arranged sensitively and harmoniously overall, especially one room hung in a silvery dark green damask. All the paintings were French landscapes by Corot, Daubigny, and artists I didn’t recognize, with one Millet of a girl. The landscapes all brought out the colors of the walls, which in turn accepted the bright white clouds or spots of sunshine in the paintings. Masterful.

5a) A window in this room overlooked the roof, which was planted with low ground cover. And I thought — how forward thinking, a green roof!

5b) My “Aha!” moment on this floor came when I walked into a wood-paneled room and saw at the far end George Romney’s portrait of Emma Hamilton with her auburn hair, flashing eyes, and her little dog. About 25 years ago I heard Frick’s great-granddaughter Martha Frick Symington Sanger talk about her family and its collection. Lady Hamilton is shown in this painting at age 22, and Frick bought it in the year that his oldest daughter Martha would have been 22, had she not died at age six after a long illness. The author thought that perhaps Frick bought it because his Martha would have looked like that.

5c) Downstairs in the main galleries, I was reassured to see my favorite Bronzino boy again, and looked as if for the first time at Whistler’s Harmony in Gray and Pink (Lady Meux). The way he painted the light reflecting off the pink satin in her gown — masterful. But to see Veronese’s Allegory of Wisdom and Strength again — that is a painting and a message for our times. We must have both!

5d) Placed throughout all the galleries were exuberant displays of porcelain flowers, part of a special exhibition. I cast a wether eye at this type of exhibition as a rule (e.g. de Kooning at Versailles), but this I found enhanced the collection and was charming in itself. There were some especially realistic branches of white roses cascading down a pair of French tables in one room, and a wide-branching bouquet of lilacs that nearly filled a gallery upstairs.

5e) If you go to the Frick (which you should), please note that the grand staircase is Up Only, and you should see the first floor first before going upstairs, the exact opposite of what I did.

5f) The gift shop is on the second floor, and when I was finally ready to leave, there was a line to get into the gift shop. They will probably have to expand it! Also, the new café was not yet open.

6) Departing the Frick in a light rain, I was glad I hadn’t worn my panama hat. No use it warping in the rain so early in my trip! My imagination dried up, and I took the 6 train to Union Square for a burger at Max Brenner’s.

6a) The answer to the rarely asked question “Would you like bacon and cheese on your fries?” is probably why I’ve regained all the weight I lost since 2023.

7) Unusually, I did not have a NAP, but caught up on a few travel things in my room before heading through Times Square to the Lyceum Theatre. Arriving early is a good idea, and I was interested to see all the audience excitement on West 45th. Nobody just walks up to and through a theatre lobby any more. You get in long lines quite early before the doors open, and then pass through barriers, etc. I noticed a woman crossing the street in a white baby-doll dress, which made me recall that I’d seen another woman wearing the same dress the day before, while walking to dinner. There was no question what kind of underwear they had on; mother would have wanted them to wear a slip.

7.1a) Probably because it was my first Broadway show in a long time, I stopped immediately at the lobby bar and ordered a double champagne. My eyes widened twice: first when he began pouring it into a go cup with a lid (which is actually a great idea, so practical), and second when I heard the price.

7a) Why is it that the people with the most difficult to reach seats arrive as or after the curtain rises? One advantage to the Lyceum is that the aisles are deep enough for you to stand up to let people pass. Colonial Theatre, Boston, please take note.

7b) Oh, Mary! makes you laugh, makes you gasp, makes you pause at the sheer audacity of its historic revisions. As Noel Coward famously said, “I couldn’t have liked it more!” Cole Escola rewrote history in an exercise of self-indulgence — Cole Escola IS Mary Told Lincoln AS Cole Escola! — and what his next act after this will be interests me greatly.

7c) All that said, the ending was a COMPLETE surprise to me, and I really have to hand it to previous audiences for not giving it away. (Or maybe they did and I wasn’t paying attention.)

8) Again, my imagination deserted me, and I found a Mexican joint near Times Square for a tortilla salad and a glass of rosé. Only while walking back to my hotel from the 14th Street subway stop did I realize, “You doofus, you could have gone to one of this quiet bistros down here!”

9) Daddy’s gettin’ old, and it was pleasant just to lie in bed and write at the end of the day.

Summer Abroad 2025, Day One: New York

1) Earlier in the week one of my closest friends said that I was “sitting on his shoulder” as he was writing a series of thank-you notes. Between 6-10 AM, while I was cleaning house between final bouts of packing, he was sitting on mine. He may be staying at my place here and there while I’m away, and since he’s well known for his tidiness and organization — and I am, um, not — I wanted to be sure that the study was cleaned out and the rest of the house in reasonable order for him. I’m afraid the dining room was sacrificed to the effort, as it’s now full of everything I had to take out of the study, mostly books.

2) While packing I kept remembering a story from Missie Vassiltchikov’s diaries about her escape from Vienna at the end of WWII with her friend Sisi Wilczek (and other friends). People kept discarding things as the journey got more tedious and treacherous, but Sisi would take them on herself: topless thermoses, costume jewelry, even an accordion! And here I was like a magpie wanting to back every shiny thing in an increasingly finite space.

3) My large suitcase (not Daddy’s enormous “anvil”) had been picked up earlier in the week. But as I walked to the T with my smaller suitcase, valise, and laptop bag, their weight brought home to me the extent I’d be away.

4) The train down to New York allowed me to catch up with a few people via the socials. At one point, perhaps around Stamford, the big bearded conductor was looking out my window for a woodchuck on a hill. They served me a lovely Statler chicken for lunch.

5) The train was late — again — but I had acres of time to catch a taxi to J. Press by Grand Central Station to pick up a new navy blue blazer (classic for shipboard), and then to my tailor for my amazing new suit (my first since 2018). It was hot in the city, and hotter inside both those taxis.

5a) Back when I was still working Reunions, our team was put through an exercise to help us understand how the elderly comprehend things in different environments. We had to complete tasks explained quickly while wearing headphones broadcasting white noise or something. That came to mind with the impossibility of understanding a cabbie speaking with a pronounced accent through a plastic barrier in a construction zone. File under: Traveling While Old.

6) As Mary Astor so memorably said in Across the Pacific, “I’ll have to find someplace where they have a bath at the end of the hall and a forty cent lunch.” For these two nights in the city I chose the Jane Hotel way down south on the island; once the Seamans Rest House, surviving Titanic crew stayed here during the American inquiry after the sinking; eventually it was a YMCA, and last night I was told that RuPaul lived here for awhile. Now it’s a hotel, but the rooms are the size of Pullman compartments, and the shared bath is indeed at the end of the hall. With my love of train travel and the Titanic, I think it’s charming.

6a) As luck would have it, it’s next to another hotel/nightclub, which I entered by mistake. Why I don’t know, but they thought I was the DJ! Perhaps it was my struggle with the luggage.

7) With the city so hot, I was eager to change clothes, after which I strolled half an hour at a leisurely pace to Mamo, for dinner with my friend A_____. An excellent Italian restaurant decorated in creamy white and hung with Italian posters of American movies, they serve a succulent manhattan. We split fried artichokes and burrata with tomatoes, and then each got the pappardelle brisket for dinner. I think the pappardelle won in the battle with my fork. It wore me out, all that slippery twirling, but my goodness, how tasty.

7a) For awhile it felt like we might be the only men in the place. Strong Girl Energy filled the room, which seemed to be mostly young women celebrating birthdays (with some industrial strength sparklers in desserts from the kitchen) in groups of three to six.

8) After dinner we strolled awhile, A_____ pointing out the sights, including his office. Eventually we ended up in Sheridan Square, site of the Stonewall Inn and its National Monument, improbably full of young heterosexuals enjoying a warm Saturday night al fresco. The energy was bubbly, as A_____ steered me into a club called The Monster.

9) We sat at the bar nursing gin and tonics and chatting, observing our community on a Saturday night, before heading downstairs to observe the go-go boys go and go and go-go-go. Where is Tura Satana when you need her?

9a) In other news, I’d accidentally locked myself in the restroom for about ten seconds. Yikes!

10) It was after 11 before we parted company, and I had a very easy walk back to the Jane from there. Because it was so late, I didn’t think anyone would be in the bathroom, and I was wrong.

11) It feels a little unreal that this is actually happening now, and that I won’t be returning to what is familiar for several weeks.

Mon-Tues, 3-4 March -- Overnight on the Crescent to New York

1) The 6 AM alarm surprised me, because I had been sure at 3:51 that I would not get back to sleep. I was on top of my routine: coffee, pages, shower, checkout, breakfast, taxi to the train station.

1a) All my usual anxieties — will there be a line at the front desk? Will they take too long with my omelette? How long will it take to get a cab? -- simply were not problems. It is ever thus.

2) The Union Passenger Terminal of New Orleans is one of those late 1940s no-nonsense post-Art Deco public buildings with an absence of excessive detail, terrazzo floors, and polished granite. The Magnolia Room was the Metropolitan Lounge equivalent for passengers with sleeping car tickets, accessible by numeric code from the ticket agent. Not one magnolia present inside, sad to say. I got the impression of walking into a container of orange sherbet. But it was very nice to have a space off the main floor, and while I didn’t partake of coffee or snacks, it was good to know I could have.

3) There were about five passengers for the Crescent, and the ticket agent came to direct us first before the gate was announced for general boarding, just as in New York. And so I got my bags up the steps of the car, maneuvered down a very narrow corridor, and entered a snug two-seat roomette, my delightful home for the next 36 hours or so.

4) And was even served breakfast! Because I had just had an omelette for first breakfast at the hotel, I chose the bourbon crepes . . . the start of two days of microwaved meals.

Lake Ponchartrain in its winter livery.

5) The train has its own bridge crossing Lake Ponchartrain parallel to the famous causeway. I kept looking out my window thinking the causeway must be very far away — whereas, when I turned and looked across the narrow corridor — it was on the other side of the train all along.

Aha, there’s the causeway!

5a) Certainly I saw a long row of brown pelicans along one outcropping of the bridge.

6) The winter colors of Louisiana -- gray, brown, pine green, with a dash of bleached-gold grass — were much in evidence after we crossed the lake. My problem is that every time I see a vista worth photographing from a moving train, by the time I have my camera ready, the view is obscured by trees or bridge supports or something else.

7) So I turned fairly soon to my book, Patriotic Fire: Andrew Jackson and Jean Laffite at the Battle of New Orleans, and proceeded to the end. Spoiler alert: they all die at some point. Very much a story of British hubris, American good luck, and how people don’t always judge accurately by appearances, this is the kind of American history that should not be neglected in school.

7a) The one part of the book that has stayed with me (almost a week later, as I write this) is from the battle’s aftermath. The British were allowed to bury their own, and there were exclamations of surprise and grief as they recognized the faces and bodies of friends and comrades among the dead.

8) Several times during the day I just paused to feel happy in my little roomette, the perfect kind of tiny bedroom, as though it was under a flight of stairs. There I sat, snug as a bug with two fluffy pillows on my little banquette, stretching my feet out as the countryside went zipping by. Perfect!

9) At 1 PM I stumbled carefully through the other sleeping car to the dining car, called Nashville, for my lunch. Spacious booths, etched glass, fresh red and white roses in the bud vases -- lovely! My beef paprikash, however, was clearly from the microwave. But the chocolate brownie was amazing.

10) A little after 5 PM we stopped at a station where we could stretch our legs for a few minutes. I don’t know why I should have been so surprised that the difference in atmospheres between the train and the outside world — perhaps it’s because everything is so contained and confined inside the train — but I enjoyed that little promenade in the light of the setting sun, and seeing two little boys, brothers, running off some excess energy by racing around a couple benches. Train travel is wonderful for people like me who love to sit and read, but it has challenges for those who need to be active.

Outside my window.

11) After that station stop, I headed to the café car to start the cocktail hour with a drink. The attendant had to go back to the dining car to get some bourbon, which seemed inauspicious. I carried my drink back to my roomette successfully, despite the shaking of the train cars.

12) At 7 I returned to the dining car for butter chicken, which is the Amtrak version of chicken tikka masala. Patriotic Fire and another bourbon kept me going.

13) About 10 PM the attendant made up my roomette for the night. The advantage of the upper berth was that my large suitcase could fit there! But I myself would probably have fit better. The lower berth — the two seats are folded flat and a mattress with sheets goes on top of them — is narrower at one end than the other. And since I am certainly not as narrow as I used to be, I confess I had trouble finding a comfortable position.

14) Comes 1 AM and the Angry Ounce compels me to visit one of the two lavatories at the other end of the sleeping car. Alas for me, both of them were occupied! At 1 AM! I began to become concerned and went back through the other sleeper to the dining car. While brightly lit, its door would not open. The other sleeper only had compartments that contained their own facilities. I was about to become desperate when one of the lavatories opened and another passenger left.

14a) It’s worth noting that the first lavatory remained occupied throughout most of the journey; that little yellow light was always on.

15) Twisting and turning in my berth, I could certainly understand why trains are so often described as “hurtling through space.” Hurtling was definitely the sensation I felt lying there, feeling the speed of the train through the dark woods.

16) Came the dawn, at last, and I brought my notebook and pen to the dining car so I could write my pages and have an early cup of coffee (by prearrangement with Cooper, the attendant). I had ordered breakfast for 9 AM, thinking I would sleep late — ha! — so I ate early and fairly well.

17) When the sleeping car attendant tried to make up my roomette for the day, apparently the upper berth could not be elevated again. “My God!” I said. “I hope I didn’t break it,” thinking of my suitcase. “Did you sleep in it?” she asked? “No.” “Then you didn’t break it!” she laughed, and I joined in. I was moved to an identical roomette across the narrow corridor, which I ornamented with my Queen’s Entourage beads from the ball.

18) By this time I had finished Patriotic Fire, and I spent the rest of the journey snugly content, napping and thinking and daydreaming. I always think I can use a train journey productively and then it just doesn’t always happen that way.

19) Night began falling, New York inevitably becoming closer. And suddenly, there it was, as the sunset was ending!

20) All my luggage was ready to go, I tipped the attendants and thanked them, and then whoosh, upstairs into the Moynihan Train Hall, effortlessly into a taxi — how rare! — and before too long I was being buzzed into my friends’ 21st-floor apartment near First Avenue.

Glamorous Gotham from Anthony and Pedro’s.

21) They popped open a bottle of bubbles to celebrate my arrival, and enjoyed the first glass outside on their balcony in the brisk early night.

22) Then it was off to dinner at a great little place a few blocks away. Bacon mac and cheese — I mean, as long as they’re calling it an appetizer it’s OK, right? — and Cobb salad.

23) But it was an early bedtime for me after a wonderful journey north.

Sunday, 2 March -- New Orleans, Day Four: Mostly Brunch

“These are some high end gays.” — Jennifer Coolidge, The White Lotus

1) The main event of the day was what Lindsay described as “one of my favorite things of the year,” a private Sunday brunch at the Royal Windsor Hotel that I gather has been going on for years and years. Given the limitations of my travel wardrobe, I had to have a fashion consult via text so I wouldn’t embarrass my host. He ended up choosing what I’ll call Beaded Safari Casual, khaki jacket and pants with pink accents and a silk scarf.

2) Lindsay asked me to meet him at the brunch, so off I went like a baby duck into the sunny and pleasantly cool streets of New Orleans, observing the sizeable midday crowd and trying unsuccessfully not to get lost. The Royal Windsor was only two blocks away, and yet . . .

3) And my goodness, it is fancy. Light wood paneling, tapestries, highly polished brass. If you want to elevate the tone of any given situation, just add a live harpist delicately plucking away somewhere in the corner. Now Mardi Gras is an Ostentatiously Excessive Occasion, but I must say, walking into that hotel lobby I felt like the only person wearing beads in the place.

4) Lindsay’s friend came downstairs for me to escort me into the function, sleek and chic in a pinstripe pantsuit and the kind of brooch described as Important in auction catalogs, very much evoking Shelley Hack and Lauren Hutton and the Manhattan Transfer. He brought me into this luscious little suite of function rooms bustling with brightly clad ladies and gentlemen, piano music, prosecco and other drinkables, and a sumptuous brunch. I was introduced to a table full of Lindsay’s friends, most of whom I missed seeing at the ball on Friday — including the marvelous Fatsy Cline in a to-die-for red caftan heavily spangled in gold. Like me, Lindsay knows only the Very Best People.

5) And about ten minutes later Her Majesty arrived with Wontonya Dumpling, and we really got down to the serious business of brunch and partying. What followed was a great deal of prosecco, vivacious chatter, and parade viewing from the two balconies.

6) As mentioned, Mardi Gras was just not part of my childhood at all; I don’t think Lago di Carlo even had a parade until I was in junior high school. But it was integral to Lindsay’s, and I enjoyed hearing how he grew up with it, and how it’s become so vital for him now.

7) We had a marvelous view of the parade below from the second-floor balcony, and I certainly appreciated being “above it all.” I was surprised by the number of beads that had landed on the roofs of vehicles in the parade, one of which actually had a 12-foot long tail of beads running behind it.

8) The only person I knew coming into this event was Lindsay, so imagine my surprise when someone vaguely familiar approached me on the balcony to say “What on earth are you doing here?” This turned out to be a delightful young interior designer I know from Provincetown, who is also a Louisiana boy. “Well, what are YOU doing here?!” followed by happy exclamations. We had a good catchup and compared Cape Cod vs. NoLa social life.

Religious exhibitionists.

9) The time came for us to promenade through the French Quarter, but not before meeting the hostess of the hotel bar (delightful) and hanging out there for about 15 minutes. The joint was jumpin’!

10) Then off we went, beads and caftans flying, through the Quarter, through Jackson Square, talking a mile a minute. Our ultimate destination: a little bar they nicknamed Acquaintances on or near Dauphine Street. If we had been drinking tea in the parlor earlier, this was the transition to sippin’ whiskey on the back porch with your belt undone.

10a) I was reminded of a passage from Edward Swift’s novel Splendora when the main character, Timothy John, finally took the advice of his mentor, a drag queen named Magnolia, about his persona Miss Jessie. Magnolia said “Don’t try to be so made-up all the time. Let your hair down once in awhile and it’ll be a breather for you. Who told you you had to take yourself so seriously anyway?” And the result: “On a warm spring evening not long after Miss Jessie’s birth, Magnolia . . . was sitting on the corner stool, her stool, in a bar downstairs from her apartment, when Timothy John — wearing Miss Jessie’s hairstyle and tight-legged jeans together with a camisole top flaring out around his waist, a string of pearls, and silver lamé heels — came strolling into the bar and took a seat on the next stool just like she owned it. Magnolia took one look. It was all she needed. ‘You don’t seem so much like a cartoon no more, honey,’ she said. ‘You been taking lessons from the right person is all I can say, and there ain’t nothing left for me to do but pronounce you “graduated with honors.”’”

10b) Standing on the bar balcony overlooking the intersection does indeed give one a different perspective of the Quarter — and I rather like it.

11 Eventually the time came for us to part, and I picked my way through the revelers back to my hotel and a bit of shuteye before stepping back out for some dinner. When I did, a perceptible chill had come into the air to remind us all that it really isn’t spring yet.

12 Oysters Rockefeller for dinner, and a small steak.

13 And then packing! I had a train to catch first thing in the morning . . .