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Published: September 20th 2006
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6th and 7th November 2005
Brighton, England.
The Morning... er, Afternoon... After Awakening well after seven for the first time in many, many months (ah, the luxury!), it was a little worrying to discover that the skies had started to drizzle. But, knowing the capriciousness of English weather, I washed as per usual - it should be mentioned that despite the lack of a shower, I
have been keeping clean - and set off for a visit to the Brighton Pavillion.
In the 1780's the Prince Regent, under advice from his doctor, visited Brighton to 'take the waters' of the healing hot-springs there, a fashionable undertaking of the English Gentry at the time. He apparently became enamoured of the area, and decided to build a residence there. The result is the Royal Pavillion, the height of extravagance from an outrageously flamboyant man, and perhaps the most exotic and grandoise property in the entire British Isles.
It's exterior was created in the style of Indian palaces such as the Taj Mahal, complete with onion domes, minarets and intricate decorations, and looks like something out of an exotic fairytale. By the time the project was completed, however -
roughly 30 years -, the English fascination with all things Indian had palled and the new haute couture was the even more foreign and brilliantly opulent style of the Chinese. So the interior was furnished, irrespective of original intentions, in an overwhelming blend of jewelled colours, dragons, chinese tassles, mythological beasts and interwoven patterns. The final result is an ultimate oriental pleasure palace, enough to steal your breath with its decadence.
The expense of the Royal Pavillion, along with his other exhorbitant undertakings, left the crown deeply in debt, and Queen Victoria sold the property to the people of Brighton upon her succession to the throne. Thus it became the Brighton Pavillion.
Anyho, the rain had not eased, so after a rapid surveillance of the lovely outer facade I talked my way into a reduced ticket - it is, after all practically still my birthday. I began the tour, rather predictably, in the initial entry rooms, which are intentionally furnished in a simple, almost spartan style in order to leave you unprepared for the assualt of the senses which lies beyond.
The first of the grand rooms is the Long Gallery, with the vivid pink and lime-green
of typically Chinese decor, bamboo furniture, and apparently famous cast-iron stairwells at either end of the very long area. The sheer confusion of colour is enough to mke your breath hitch.
Superseding, however, the shock of the Long Hall is the Banqueting Room, an enormous, echoing, overwhelming delight to the senses. The outer wall consists of a series of enormous, ceiling-to-floor windows draped in swathes of red and gold fabric. The remaining walls are covered in large oriental portraitures and colourful silk wallpaper. In the centre and running the length of the room is a banqueting table large enough to comfortably sit twenty-two diners; an estimation garnered from the twenty-two place settings, all laid with exquisite Regency silver-gilt cutlery and golden cups and crystal goblets.
But the
'pièce de la resistance' of the room (I'll not go into all the other details) is the mammoth silver dragon suspended beneath the apex of the domed ceiling, and the even larger lotus-and-serpent chandelier dangling from his malevolent claws. It is a truly awesome sight, this one-ton creation of glass and silver and gold, presided over by the outsretched wings and hissing, forked-tongued, serpentine creature.
The next noteworthy room on
the tour is the Great Kitchen, which, surpisingly for its time, was also given a significant deal of attention, and occasionally would even be included in the guest's tour of the palace. I won't go into the structural details, but suffice to say that it was surprisingly modern for its time, and even the supporting poles are decorated, by disguising them as iron palm trees.
Passing through several saloons and brilliantly decorated rooms which served as areas for music, dance, card games and so forth, you come upon the Music Room, which apparently moved the Prince Regent to tears of joy upon his first sighting of it. And, indeed, it is a truly magnificent assualt upon the senses. Though still under restoration from the last of two extreme fires since it was first built, and fading around some of the edges, the incredible craftmanship and minutness of a million details - as with the rest of the Pavillion - is enough to keep one occupied for days.
Every surface, every inch of wall or ceiling or floor, is patterned or painted or gilded or crafted in an orgy of colour and symbols and movement and the ongoing theme
of the Oriental mystique. The overall effect of the room is of a starburst, from the opulent lotus chandelier with its smaller hanging miniatures to the starred ceiling to the orbed dragon design in the centre of the carpet. The faded images of a fiery tropical jungle are still painted upon the walls, and everywhere there are yet more dragons, contorting and writhing and snarling.
By contrast, the private and guests' living quarters (held mostly on the second floor), while still fit for a the King that he would become, are quite constrained and absent of the overpowering decor of Prince George's entertainment rooms. No doubt a clever move, for who could sleep amongst the clamor of such spaces? At any rate, most of the bedrooms and sitting rooms and so forth are surprisingly modest, with calming, cheery colours and those queerly short Regency four-poster beds (however did they fit comfortably in them?) with acres of heavy velvet draperies. The theme, of course, remained constant, but much more subtly so, with pleasant, foreign-flowered wallpaper or Chinese-patterned carpets or bamboo furniture.
As cameras were prohibited, I very nervously and surreptitiously squeezed off a few shots but eventually gave in
and bought an illustrated guide, not wanting to be cheated of the memory of such opulence. (It is from this that one or two of the accompanying photos are borrowed). Then it was time to rush off to see some of the famous English coast along the South Downs Way, a famous hiking trail, before dusk settled in. I spent too long wandering some fairly tame cliff paths and experienced a few unnappreciated thrills while driving in a low-visibility fog through the backs roads to Beach Head, my destination for the night, but finally arrived near midnight and parked behind the shelter of a dinky little summer roadhouse along the cliffs.
Day 4 I awoke before dawn, shivered my way into as many layers as possible, and headed out on foot toward the cliffs of Beachy Head to watch the sunrise. The wind was fierce and freezing, so rather than wait, I walked along the cliff for about three kilometres, loving the crisp air and the green, green hills and the dramatically plunging white cliffs. The sun slowly began to rise behind the sea, thrusting its rays into the waters to form a dazzling highway stretching
from the horizon to the shoreline. When it finally left its watery bower to soar unnaccompanied into the brightening sky, the full force of its radiance hit the chalky cliffsides, turning them into milky gold. It was an exuberant sight.
Realising I'd wandered further than was prudent, as I had only the morning to drive to Guildford, return the car and report back to work, I hurriedly retraced my path. A coastguard or some such authority caught up with me midway, having seen me earlier and become worried that I'd jumped.....an apparently regular occurance. So, carefully escorted back to the car and safely away from temptation, I turned up the volume of my happy-hippie music, turned on the motor, and sang my way back to civilisation.
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