Take to the water for the best excursions in Antigua

Every Caribbean island has its own vibe. A region that seems homogenous on first glance has a surprising variety of culture, landscape and tourism opportunities. Exploring that diversity is one of the strong points of a cruise, where you might get to five or eight different islands during one trip.

But sometimes, you just want to chill. My husband and I had worked all the hours we could in 2018 and by mid-summer could already anticipate total exhaustion by Christmas. We didn't want sightseeing. We didn't want to socialise with others. We just wanted a warm, picturesque place to recover. If we were doing the Caribbean, we wanted to settle into just one island, and we wanted it to be easy.

We'd visited Antigua on our 2016 cruise, and a great sightseeing tour across the island had softened us up for a return. It ultimately won our 2018 holiday investment because of:

• Direct flights from London that make travel convenient
• Well-priced package holidays at a range of resorts
• The much publicised 365 beaches (one for every day of the year...)
• An English legacy that skews toward British and Europeans tourists (sorry, Americans), and shapes the attitudes of the locals (the French islands can be hard work)
• It's suffered far less from recent hurricanes than other islands

Once settled at Ocean Point Resort, we admittedly didn't go out enough to offer any expert insight into the island. Our three excursions, however, gave us a good taste of a relatively small place. They were all fun and worth booking as packages, in our case all departing from and returning to our hotel. (Everyone we spoke to who'd rented a car regretted it; let the locals drive.)

CIRCUMNAVIGATION

My favourite day out involved circumnavigating the island aboard the Excellence. This is the middle option,  speed-wise, of three boats that do the same clockwise journey in and out of the capital and cruise port of St. John. You can go faster on a speedboat, or slow down on a catamaran, with length and number of stops adjusted accordingly. The Excellence is a big motorboat with an upper and lower deck and a good amount of shady seats on the lower for people with sensitive skin. If you are sitting outside, you'll go starboard to see Antigua's coastline, which is the main point of this sightseeing excursion. 

One of the crew gives commentary throughout. There's a bit of history, a bit of geology, and a lot of ogling the various resorts and neighbourhoods of the rich and famous. The more you cross the island's interior, with its shabby shacks and dubious infrastructure, the more you'll scratch your head at these Architectural Digest-worthy mansions overlooking the sea. Someone should study Antigua to refute the trickle-down theory of economics, because no public area we spotted matched the sleek prosperity of those private homes and resorts. Where do these wealthy residents shop and dine out? I never saw likely options.

The circumnavigation also teaches you the importance of offshore islands and island positioning for your holiday destination. On the Atlantic-facing eastern shore: strong winds, choppy waters. North (where we stayed) and south: not as rough but still subject to strong winds and tides sweeping through the channels that separate Antigua from neighbouring islands. (Barbuda to the North, Guadeloupe to the South.) It's the eastern, Caribbean-facing shore that offers the gentlest tides and the longest, most placid beaches. 

Offshore islands and deep bays can counter the Atlantic effect. We stopped for lunch and snorkelling half-way around Antigua at Green Island, a natural barrier between the Atlantic and Nonsuch Bay. The snorkelling wasn't very good ... a lot of dead coral and perhaps a dozen varieties of tropical fish, few bigger than a hand's length. But the small beach we'd edged into was exquisite.  After lunch, the Excellence continues around the island, making a short detour into Falmouth Harbour where you'll see how the other 1% lives. Yachts here rival anything in Monte Carlo. Mansions on the hills above are the domains of the super-rich. We briefly overshot St. John's to drop passengers at the Sandals Resort (we'd picked up there on our way out) and got back to St. John's at about 3:30.

ISLAND SAFARI

Our Island Safari showed us more of the interior of this 108-square-mile island. It left me with three enduring impressions. One: Antigua's roads are in deplorable shape. Even the main ones have potholes and undulations so severe it's like off-roading. I'm appalled that with all the port fees they must collect from cruise ships, nothing's been spent on such basic infrastructure. Two: Even though there hasn't been a major hurricane in years, it looks like one just came through. A third of properties seem abandoned, another third seem under construction. Our guide explained that property taxes are very high but are only assessed on completed buildings, so many locals live in places with derelict or unfinished bits. The result, sadly, makes much of the island look like a third-world charity appeal zone. Three: The stone towers of the old sugar mills are the most enduring things on the island. You'll see scores of them. Some are integrated into new buildings, one that we saw (at Betty's Hope Plantation) has been restored, and many stand as overgrown, roofless ruins around the island. Sugar is no longer produced here but its architectural legacy is strong. 

And maybe there is a fourth: Hell is other people. John Paul Sartre would have found copious illustration for his philosophy in the two children on our eight-person tour. About nine and seven, New York-raised daughters of English expats who seemed unfamiliar with concepts like "boundaries" and "discipline", these two took the stereotype of "spoiled brat" to new heights and could slip from happiness to screaming rage in a nanosecond if displeased. We waited for our tour driver for more than half an hour at the farmers' market from which we started and through it all, the younger shrieked at a pitch and decibel level I didn't think a human voice could sustain for that long. They were, quite simply, the most awful children I have ever been exposed to throughout my life. Fortunately they improved a bit once we were under way, but there were still traumatic explosions throughout the day.

Our remarkably patient guide and driver, Sherwin, carried on with aplomb. We crossed through several small towns, saw some of the island's earliest churches, skirted around Antigua's impressive cricket ground and paused above Falmouth Harbour for a gorgeous view, with a much needed rum punch. We stopped at the donkey sanctuary, which ... inexplicably to me ... is one of the island's big tourist attractions. There's a wild community here who often get into trouble, so they're brought to the sanctuary to recover. It's basically a muddy yard about the size of a football pitch occupied by 20 or so donkeys who nudge against you to request attention from the brush you've been given on entry. Perhaps exciting for city kids who like the idea of animals but never get close to them? Not the case for our little new New York fiends, who whined vociferously at the mud and flies.

Lunch saw us at the high ground of Betty's Hope Plantation, a partially restored sugar mill.  You'll see one restored mill (top photo) and the foundations of the barracks where British army officers once lived. There's an old barn with a small museum inside featuring a diorama of the place as it would have looked when functioning and display boards explaining the history of sugar and slavery in Antigua. The stop was too short to consume all the content and it's a shame that the displays are so basic. This is important history. But Betty's Hope is really just a pretty picnic spot for a variety of tour companies, who all converge here to dish up barbecued chicken, salad and beans and rice (the inevitable Caribbean excursion lunch) to picnic tables arranged under the trees. No culinary satisfaction for the little demons; the family were staunchly vegan. No wonder they were so bad-tempered.

Next was the departure point for Stingray City, which also fed our snorkelling and mangrove swamp tour.

The speedboat zipping us past promontories and offshore isles was great fun, and ended up at tiny, uninhabited Bird Island. Here you'll find a small, pristine beach within easy swimming distance of plenty of reefs. Even with changeable weather and lots of chop, this was the best snorkelling I did in Antigua and probably the best I've had in the Caribbean in the past two trips. The fish weren't large and there's still a lot of dead coral, but variety was wide and fish were swimming in big schools. I would have happily stayed here for the afternoon but part two of the aquatic bit of the safari was kayaking through mangroves.

I had anticipated the problems long before we arrived. Balance. I don't have any. Simply sitting still in the damned kayak and keeping it from tilting over was terrifying. Adding movement was infinitely worse. We made it about one hundred metres, with me constantly wobbling and desperately trying to adjust my weight to balance the boat's precarious rocking, before I tipped the damned thing over. I didn't have enough upper body strength to haul myself back on board, especially when there's nothing to push off from. (If you step on the "bottom" of a mangrove swamp, you immediately sink up to mid-calf in soft mud.) I swam to the dock, while Piers managed to get into the kayak and paddle back. We prepared to sit it out and enjoy the view while the others explored the swamp. Unfortunately, the beastly children didn't like kayaking either, so we had to share our dock with them and their parents for half an hour. If I'd spotted anything carnivorous I would have thrown the little shits off without a moment's remorse. No such luck.

It is no surprise that Sherwin dropped the Anglo-New Yorkers off first, making the last half hour delightfully quiet as he brought the rest of us back to our hotels. Safari verdict: if you like both kayaking and snorkelling, this is a fun day. We should have gone straight for Stingray City, combined the rays with snorkelling and skipped the land-based exploration.

MIGUEL'S MAGIC

Our third excursion might have been the best, had the weather been better. Calling the destination Prickly Pear Island is being generous. It's more accurately Prickly Pear Rock, stuck in the middle of a fine stretch of reef, with a small beach and a wooden shack providing bar and shade. It was clearly visible from our hotel, and hard to ignore as visitors shuffled past us every morning on their way to the beach where the boat to ferry them over would pick them up. 

Though Prickly Pear is owned by the government and open to all (as are all beaches in Antigua), local legend Miguel and multiple generations of his family run the excursion and own the shack. They are wonderful hosts, giving us the warmest and most authentic experience we had on the whole trip. Our bargain package, just US$36 per person, included transport to the island, a cooler with snacks and drinks, and access once we were there to Miguel's open bar, with cheerful and well-behaved grandchildren (the antithesis of the New York brats) passing around trays of snacks. You can buy a different trip that includes lunch provided by Miguel's family. The hook-shaped beach is an idyllic stretch of powdery white sand, the view back towards the main island is fine and the reef is a 100-foot swim away.

Sadly, this was the worst weather day of our trip. Clouds and squalls didn't pass, but resolutely hovered in the area. Winds were strong and water choppy. I'm a confident swimmer and an experienced snorkeller. These conditions make snorkelling hard work, but you can see things. If they bother to come out. The fish were too smart for that. It was a bare reef. And the swells were big enough that you risked getting slammed onto the coral just below the surface. If you've ever had a coral cut, you won't risk getting another. So I let wisdom prevail and returned to Miguel's shack, wishing I hadn't waited until the last day of our trip to discover this little piece of magic. It's the only memory in Antigua that's really calling me back.

Overall, the island delivered the R&R we were looking for, but nothing extraordinary enough to cast a spell. Bonaire, the BVI or even a return to Puerto Rico would beat it on a list for the next Caribbean trip. Unless, of course, I happened to win a break at a little place called Hermitage Bay. For that extraordinary tale, check out my next post.

A perfect setting for Caribbean R&R, but Ocean Point's Italian soul can wear a bit

Companies talk a lot about exceeding expectations. The older I get, the more I'm convinced that the secret to success lies in setting them properly in the first place.

For exhibit A, I give you Ocean Point, Antigua.

The 69-room resort hotel on the North coast of this Caribbean island provokes a variety of reactions (both on Trip Advisor and during chats at the bar) ranging from delight to disappointment. Our expectations were modest. We were looking for a quiet place that offered complete relaxation. We were operating on a budget big enough to get us some winter sun, but not luxurious enough to reach 5 star. (Given that our beach holidays since marriage have been a Viking Cruise, the Maldives and Mauritius, we were tightening our belts significantly.) Given all of the options that fell out of my spreadsheet as too expensive, I thought Ocean Point looked the best for our budget at offering the R&R we wanted, but I expected it to fall below those other beach holiday experiences. And that's pretty much what we got.

Ocean Point is a small, adults-only property with pretty gardens, an enormous pool and two small, essentially private beaches. (Technically, all beaches in Antigua are public. But because access to both of these is through private property, you're unlikely to see anyone but your fellow guests here.) It's owned and run by an Italian family; in this lies both strength and weakness. The constant presence of the owners and their drive for quality ensures that the place is spotless, the service is cheerful and the whole experience has a cozy, personal feel. But Italian-run also translates to 50% or more Italian guests who are organised, Butlin's style, by perky and ever-present tour operators. Insipid Italian pop blares too loudly and too often from the bar's audio system, English is definitely the second language and the buffet is unremittingly Italian ... which may sound great but gets boring quickly.

If you believe, as I do, that a perfect beach holiday is built around working your way through a large stack of paperbacks, alternating your reading location from pool to beach to the porch of your room, with opportunities for view-filled swims between chapters, a source of rum-based cocktails nearby and ... of critical importance ... minimal noise to interrupt your contemplation, you will be happy here. Even though they were operating at full capacity throughout our stay, you could always find empty sun loungers (though the five umbrellas near the pool were always snapped up by 9am). Two beaches, neither more than 50 metres long, each curve behind breakwaters that calm the sea. There's no snorkelling off the beach and the sand gives way to see grass pretty quickly, but these are nice areas if you want a quick dip. I preferred the smaller crescent to the West of the bar and restaurant, its

20(ish) loungers rarely more than half full.

I was often one of only three or four people on the beach, and got into the habit of pulling a lounger right into the surf to let the waves lap at me while I read. Bliss. There's a third beach area that juts out into the water like a small peninsula between the two, amusingly decorated with three cannon facing out to sea. Given that the name of the bar behind is The Black Pearl, topped by a skull and crossbones and a cheerful statue of Long John Silver, one suspects they're meant to keep authorities away rather than pirates. The restaurant is also on this beach level, two of its sides open to the air.

Climbing a ramp, or taking a staircase through the open-air spa, brings you to the pool deck at the heart of the hotel, with an arched bridge across the water. The main hotel buildings curve around this space, recessed balconies gazing down like boxes in an old-style European opera house. The buildings wear bright Caribbean colours and are fronted by climbing bougainvillea, rambling hibiscus bushes, palms and other tropical delights. The gardens are exceptionally well maintained, with the crew amongst them constantly to trim aggressive ramblers and remove dead leaves and branches.

The main check-in area, rising once again to road level, is built around an old sugar mill. These round stone towers are a constant in Antigua. Most have been left to go to ruin but some, like this one, have been given a new life. The ample lobby behind this is full of comfortable bamboo furniture with beautiful tropical fabric-covered cushions; it's almost a shame that it sees so little use. People wait here for taxis or excursion pick-ups, but the real focus is the water, bar and restaurant beyond.

The rooms are basic, in a pleasant beach style. Tile floors, double bed, desk and chair of traditional style in pale wood, TV. Nothing special but the bed is comfortable, the air conditioning works well and the wi-fi, though not great, was good enough to stream Netflix for after-dinner entertainment. Most importantly is a balcony with a table, two chairs, a drying rack and a lovely view of the pool and the sea beyond. Unless there was a live band or a big party (which only happened once or twice a week), our room didn't pick up any sound from the restaurant or bar below. Prohibiting children helps to keep things quiet, but I think having the only bar next to the beach ensures it. The noise stays with the alcohol.

Our biggest frustration was probably the food. Which we expected. "All inclusive" often means low-end mass catering, and buffets naturally limit the quality of what you can serve. Trip Advisor reviews indicated Ocean Point's buffet would be better than average, and it was. But it could have been so much better. I had two main issues.

First, very little variety. Every lunch and dinner had the same range of make-your-own-salad components on one side, mixed cold salads on the other, two "pasta of the day" options prepared fresh at a hatch that led to the kitchen and a couple of steam trays full of protein and hot veg options. One was always a white fish fillet (though toppings would change), another a thinly-sliced meat in some sort of sauce. With the exception of one day of our 12, when someone went wild with some sweet and sour pork, there was no budging from Italian classics with some Caribbean additions. In frugal Italian style, one day's rice, vegetables or pasta ended up as the next day's arancini, fritters or salad. I love roast aubergine (eggplant), but if I don't see any for a month I'll be content. My husband, who can't see the point of cooking veg and then allowing them to go cold, found at least 20% of the offerings to be unappealing. (Though, happily, his tomato allergy proved much less of a problem than I'd feared.)

We've been on holidays where we've enjoyed buffets (admittedly at a higher price point) but they've alternated cuisines to keep things exciting. Indian night, Mexican, Southeast Asian, etc. Without that mix, by day 7 we'd tried everything in the chef's repertoire and by day 10 were bored silly. I understand that Italian is Ocean Point's "thing", and perhaps the Italian guests want the regularity, but the lack of variety is the main reason we wouldn't return to this resort.

New Year's Eve buffet

Getting really picky, I'd also point out that once you get past the cold salads, Italian isn't a cuisine that works naturally with buffets. The best Italian food is cooked quickly and goes from preparation to plate in seconds. It doesn't sit around. So while they tried their best, the reality is that mass-cooked pasta re-heated before serving is never going to taste as it should, and scallopini cuts of meat with sauce, while delicious straight out of the pan, turn into shoe leather when lingering on a steam table all night. The latter, sadly, meant that most of the meat and fish was pretty tasteless. Our first meal upon returning home will be a rare steak.

The irony of these culinary quirks is that I probably ate more healthily here than on any holiday inyears, with a daily diet heavy on roast aubergine, roast courgette and heart of palm salads. Whatever benefit I gained there, however, I suspect I lost at the bar. The all-inclusive wine was average and unmemorable (again, to be expected at this price point), but easily quaffable and the bartenders soon came to anticipate our nightly request of two plastic pint glasses of white wine to take to our room fridge, along with our full dinner glasses, to libate our evening's in-room entertainment. More notable for its flavour profile was a wide-ranging cocktail menu, all made fresh with generous pours from the alcohol bottles.

And what was the price point for this experience? Approximately £500 per day per couple. (It's hard to break out exactly, since we bought a package and Ocean Point doesn't publish a standard "rack rate".) Seeing that in cold print makes me wince, as that seems a lot for what we got. A Viking Cruise, however, is more like £750, while five-star resorts like those in Mauritius and the Maldives hover around £1000. We probably could have found more various food and a more central location but, at least on Antigua, that means being in enormous resorts that lack the quiet intimacy so essential to getting rest. Hiring a holiday home would no doubt be cheaper (and was an excellent option for us two years ago in Puerto Rico), but Antigua's not a great island for that and daily cooking and cleaning takes away from the R&R. There's always skipping the all-inclusive for restaurants, but ... again ... Antigua doesn't appear to be a great island for this and Mr. B and I can quickly destroy budgets when menus and wine lists get into our hands.

In summary: Sun, quiet, attractive surroundings, decent if unremarkable food, free flowing alcohol. For Brits, it also features the convenience of direct flights from London. If you're looking for a lazy retreat, Ocean Point is a decent option for Christmas sun and relaxation at a moderate price point.

A more pertinent question is probably: would we return to Antigua. Thoughts on that in my next article.

London has become one of Europe's great Christmas cities

London decorations have come a long way

My first Christmas season in London was a bitter disappointment. It was 1994, and like most Americans I'd grown up on a diet of English Christmas fantasies. Carolers, wassail, Victorian Christmas villages, Ebeneezer Scrooge and Tiny Tim ... it was as if all that was best at Christmas time came to us direct from Britain. I could hardly contain my excitement as the end of the year approached. If Christmas was a big deal in the USA, how much better would it be in the Mother Country?

Reality was crushing. Nobody decorated the exterior of their homes. No tradition of Christmas baking or cookie exchange. People swapped Christmas cards but only signed their names. No Christmas letters with chatty updates and no return addresses on envelopes. (How the hell was one supposed to do the annual address book update?) Christmas panto was inexplicable and in total contrast to the historic elegance I'd been expected of my English friends, though did get more amusing once one learned the routines and learned that it was all better when drunk.

Fortnum & Mason: Once and present store window champs

My first "Christmas Dinner" was a shock. The Brits lay on what Americans think of as Thanksgiving dinner for Christmas and most of the parties leading up to it. But because they only prepare turkey once a year they tend to overcook it; then wrap themselves in a masochistic pride as they exclaim how they hate the bird but suffer it once a year in order to be festive. What passed for stuffing was a strange amalgamation of finely-ground bread crumbs squashed into a ball; it was masticating cardboard. Even worse was some sort of gluey, oddly-spiced paste called bread sauce. Overall, food had already come a long way in England in the 1990s, but Christmas dinner was (and often still is) a throwback to days of culinary embarrassment.

The office party

Mayfair

London's Christmas store windows made an effort, but generally they were just advertising what was on sale: none of the dramatic, story-telling scenes that made windows at Marshall Field's or Saks Fifth Avenue reason for a road trip. Municipal decorations could only be called average in the American mind. Oxford Street was the only place in London that seemed to make a real effort, but the commercial sponsorship (often by someone launching a holiday film) seemed horribly tacky to me. And yet that adjective was most often used by the English in reaction to my Christmas jumpers. Spectacularly down-market! How horribly American! By the turn of the century I'd given them all to charity, including a rather magnificent cardigan embroidered with sledding polar bears dressed in Santa suits.

Giving it the "full American"

Certain things were better. Choirs performing the classical repertoire in church services delivered to a standard, and within architectural settings, that made Americans drool with envy. There was a surprising tradition of company-funded Christmas parties, often involving formalwear and glamorous venues. Mince pies can be tasty. (Though if, as most Americans do, you think fruit cake is disgusting, you may find English Christmas pudding even worse.) Mummers' plays and morris dancers in the English countryside delivered the old-world tradition I was looking for. But generally, as the last century drew to its end, I was relieved to get on a plane as December waned so I could return to proper celebrations Stateside.

Elegant Piccadilly Arcade

How things have changed. Christmas jumpers are de rigueur. European-style Christmas markets have swept across the country, while every town centre seems to have its own pop-up ice rink with festive music and hot drinks. Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park has its own carnival midway and draws visitors from abroad. Cards remain anodyne and address-less, and the horror of
the Christmas dinner hasn't improved much, but Christmas lights now adorn a hefty percentage of homes. Most striking are the municipal decorations. London, once at the bottom of the league tables for decking its December halls, is now one of the best of the European capitals to drink in festive cheer.

It's not just stores that have upped their game. Various shopping districts have gone for their own looks to differentiate areas. From peacock features and chandeliers along Bond Street to the snowflakes of Seven Dials to the remarkable flying angels flying to and from Piccadilly Circus, walking around central London on a December evening has become a joy.

The now famous flying angels

In most cases, I regret how American the UK is becoming with each passing year. But when it comes to Christmas, I'm glad my homeland has corrupted local tradition. Christmas 2018 runs rings around those gloomy days of 1994. Now, if only we could get people to start brining their turkeys...

Covent Garden

Covent garden

A street of birds

Market in Leicester Square

Shakespeare seems happy

Starry night

Leadenhall Market

The Royal Exchange

Seven Dials

Seven Dials

Covent Garden

Covent Garden

The Strand

Two thought-provoking shows conjure delight from the British Museum's existing collections

I thought I knew the British Museum's collections from the ancient Near East well. And yet, almost every time I looked at the provenance of artefacts in the current I am Ashurbanipal exhibition, I was surprised. The label said it was owned by the British Museum, but I couldn't remember seeing it. Where had it come from?

The basement.

Turns out the British bought so much of what archeologists dug up of the ancient capitals of Assyria
and Babylon (thanks to disinterested Ottoman Turkish sultans happy to sell) that even the expansive, then-new British Museum building couldn't hold it all. The museum created additional galleries and excavated a vast basement to hold the treasures. Throughout the late 19th and early 20th century, when the cultures of the Ancient Near East were a popular source of design inspiration, these galleries were well-patronised. But public interest has drifted to other cultures in recent times, while museum funding plummeted. In 2006 they quietly closed the basement rooms. While some artefacts have occasionally been loaned out for other exhibits, this is the first time they've been on general view on their home turf since those galleries closed.

The time is right for a re-discovery of these glories. Ashurbanipal was the last and most powerful king of an imperial line that had held sway for 300 years over what was then the largest empire the world had known. By the time he was running things in the middle of the 7th century BC, he controlled all of what we now know as Iraq, Iran, Egypt, Turkey and Cyprus. He directly ruled the whole Eastern coast of the Mediterranean and exerted significant influence on the other cultures starting to flourish around its shores. His empire was famed for its efficient administration and its brutal army. But Ashurbanipal also revelled in his reputation as a scholar and built a famous library. A towering display of its clay tablets is a moving centre piece of the show, and many sculptural representations show him with a pen in his belt along with his weapons. He was also fabulously wealthy, building a palace-cum-capital at Nineveh that was a wonder of the world.

Nineveh goes by a different name these days. Mosul. In the 170 or so years since ancient Assyria's wonders here were excavated, they've been caught in a lot of crossfire, but nothing so damaging as the past decade. Contemporary estimates say that 80% of what was left in situ at Ninevah was destroyed by ISIL during their occupation. Almost all of what's left of this ancient capital is in the British Museum. Anyone who doesn't understand why that's a tragedy, and why we must do whatever is necessary to save what's left, needs to spend some time in this show.
The Assyrians left behind images of staggering beauty. The fluidity of their lines and their ability to breathe life into their figures is exceptional for their time period.  If you have any doubt about that, just look at the second part of the exhibit that includes artefacts from Assyria's vassal states and partners. There are some beautiful objects there, too, but most of them look positively primitive beside the triumphal artwork of their overlords.

The Assyrians are at their best when depicting animals. Their lions are exceptional and there's a pair of hunting dogs here so real you expect them to leap from the stone that imprisons them. It's no wonder that the feline heads that once covered chair arms have been worn to a high sheen; they are eminently strokeable.

Most of what we have left of the Assyrians are shallow relief sculptures on giant gypsum slabs that once decorated palace walls. Some scenes are practically life-sized, like the jolly servants carrying in platters of easily-recognisable fruits and treats for a banquet, but most take place in strips like high-action comics. Today most are a sandy cream colour, but when people lived amongst them they were plastered and coloured. In several places the curators have done a dramatic job of using light to "paint" the walls to their original forms. Much more unusual, and precious, are fragments of furniture and jewellery. These, with the extraordinary decorative detail still clearly visible in the reliefs, give us a clear view into a culture obsessed with  tiny, nuanced detail. Even their cuneiform script has an exquisite symmetry to it, whether on clay tablets or large, multi-sided cylinders that were buried beneath building foundations to record the circumstances of construction.

You're looking at 2,600-year-old design innovations that have lasted. There's a carving of a rug that could easily be a CAD design for a modern weaver. You wouldn't have to look far in modern fabrics and wallpapers to find many of the designs that show up on the belts and borders of the people striding through those reliefs. This is a world of beauty.

At the same time, you can't avoid the reality that these were also brutal people. Ashurbanipal revels in killing lions and other beasts to demonstrate his authority. Death scenes are both gruesome and poignant, as if the artists are acknowledging the natural nobility of the animals dying beneath Assyrian blades and arrows.

There's no such empathy for enemies of the state. Here are some getting their tongues cut out. Others crushed under chariot wheels. Body parts get severed and stacked up like firewood. In one of the most perverse scenes here, Ashurbanipal and his queen sit in an exquisite garden, surrounded by beautifully detailed flora and dressed in ornate costumes. It's a vision of calming bliss. Until you realise that the ornaments hanging from the trees are the severed heads of enemies. It is one of the great paradoxes of the Assyrians that a people with such an eye for beauty and an intense respect for the written word were also savagely violent.

One suspects that Ashurbanipal didn't have to deal with much protest around Nineveh, given all the lavish public art leaving no aspect of its horrific punishments unimagined. For a look at those who did rebel, you can head upstairs for the British Museum's other special exhibition at the moment. I Object: Ian Hislop's Search for Dissent pulls a remarkable range of objects from across the museum's collections together to look at how people have used various creative arts to protest the establishment throughout history.

Given Hislop's long-time editorship of Britain's great satirical magazine, Private Eye, I had imagined that this show would be primarily about the British tradition of satirical cartooning, from Hogarth and Gillray down to Gerald Scarfe. While there's a nice selection of classic Georgian establishment-bashing, this show is much broader and at times surprising. There are defaced coins, subversive clothes and jewellery and messages of revolution designed into tableware. Some items ... like the collection of election buttons ... are blatantly public, while others stayed hidden for years. Most notable amongst the last was a medal designed to reward communist patriotism; only when she neared death did the artist reveal that the woman portraying a virtue on the medal's face was a portrait  of a girl who'd been unfairly killed by Stalin's regime.

There are times where you feel Hislop and the curators are working a bit too hard to make their point. Is an ancient Egyptian tomb artist's pornographic scribble really a protest against the pharaonic hierarchy, or just a bit of laddish fun? Is the word "sex" hidden in the engraved palm leaves on this bank note, or are people imagining things? Would the printer of a 17th century bible really risk his career (and maybe his life) for the puerile joke of leaving "not" out of the commandment about committing adultery, or was it just a particularly painful typo?

Like Hislop's magazine and Have I Got News for You appearances, this show works best when it makes you smile. There are plenty of such moments; we never lose track of the idea that humour is subversive. The best item of all is the show's parting shot. Seeming to be a fragment of neolithic cave painting, it's a modern hoax featuring a stick man pushing a shopping cart. British artist Banksy managed to hang it in the ancient British galleries here in the museum, complete with an accession number and a glorious label that sends up the pomposity of traditional descriptions. It was three days before anyone noticed it didn't belong there. That's British satire at its best.

Both Ashurbanipal and I Object rely on the museum's existing collections. In past reviews of major exhibitions I've had an issue when curators do this. When you're paying £12 and up to get into a show, you expect to see something new. Both of these are exceptions. With I Object, Hislop and the other curators are pointing out things you wouldn't normally notice, and are telling a story you simply wouldn't put together yourself ... especially since many of these items are quite unexceptional on their own. Ashurbanipal liberates treasures from long storage and with the help of dramatic lighting, powerful storytelling and a link to modern events gives us a visual feast.

In using their collections to illuminate the past, and then getting us to ask relevant questions about our present, the British Museum is once again delivering on what it does best.