This is going to be short because I'm way behind but...
Krakow was lovely!!! On the way there we stopped off to see my great aunt Sabina who smelled like jasmine, and my mother's cousin Basha and family, who live in southern Poland and whose children speak excellent English. Southern Poland, near the German border, is clearly more wealthy and -not surprisingly - more German than other parts of Poland, from architecture to general living conditions. There are also a few castles, and quite a bit of industry.
Then, Krakow. Krakow felt less Polish, more European than Warsaw. Again, not surprising given its situation in the South, and the large amount of non-Polish tourists there, much more than any other place we had been. The Old Town is beautiful, left untouched by most wars and distinctly medieval; the old Jewish quarter is now the hip part of town, trendy and filled with cafes and antiques and synagogues that must feel filled with ghosts instead of people during services. As far as I know, there is hardly any actual Jewish people left in Krakow, and Poland generally, having either been killed during or left after the Holocaust.
But Krakow. Its much smaller than Warsaw, and its easy to get out of the city into the surrounding countryside; Kim and I biked to a (relatively) nearby Benedictine monastery, and the ride was lovely, all along the river and past rural houses. On a side note, shops selling Benedictine products are quite common; not sure if they're very good or not, although the fizzy lemon honey drink we tried was, while their chocolate was not (should have seen that coming).
In general, Krakow is smaller, trendier, more European and younger than Warsaw, home to the oldest university in Poland, Jagellonian University. As the old capital, its an emblem of the more glorious Polish past, and the old town is truly lovely. I don't know which one I would prefer to live in; but Warsaw really feels more Polish.
From Krakow we took a 10 hour train to Berlin. Amazingly, you can tell immediately when the train crosses into Germany; suddenly everything is more neat, industrial, grey. Berlin hadn't changed much from when I went to it last (see Adventures Far North). Still quite cool, very big, and very, very Western. And English is spoken everywhere. It really was a bit too Western for me; although the city has a fascinating past, its present doesn't really seem all that different from America, or any other big Western city in a lot of ways. Although it has truly excellent transportation.
And now I'm in Sweden! But more about that later; for now I have to go experience it.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Warsaw!
We entered Warsaw at golden hour, the setting sun firing up the bricks of the Old Town buildings glimpsed from the bridge we were crossing. Arriving without a place to stay, we ended up in an old (late 1800s?) apartment building downtown that had been transformed into a hotel in the distant past. According to my mother, it looked like one of the hotels that had been fancy during Soviet times, now fallen on harder times. Regardless, the marble and granite stairs, the slightly narrow halls, and most of all the strangely tilted yellow corner room in which Kim and I stayed were all very charming. Stepping out for a late walk, we encountered Polish nightlife on the Nowy Swiat (or 'New World') street, closed to cars on the weekend, before grabbing a light and long-awaited bite to eat, then stumbled back to bed.
Warsaw is a big city. The biggest in Poland, and perhaps the most strongly Polish. It feels distinctive, and a little hard, and not too young. They were at the end of a Gay Pride week while we were there, so it might also be the most liberal Polish city (although my mother says that Polish Catholics, while religious, don't hold much with conservative views; for example, they support the right to abortion) During our two days in Warsaw in the mornings we awoke to find our street and the car scattered with ads for sex services like the erotic leaves of some strange tree. Some were even stuck tenaciously into the window cracks and under the windshield wipers of the parked cars. We set off through Warsaw to an outdoor market. Quickly leaving the older and more architecturally charming center, we quickly enter an area of the city occupied by buildings that remind me of Russia; grey, blocky, sometimes decorated with graffiti and occasionally with murals.
The market, set in a residential neighborhood under impromptu shelters and no blankets, had experienced a hard rain earlier in the morning, failing to dampen the spirits of anyone involved but leaving teacups still filled with water.
We also saw the Warsaw Uprising museum, an incredible museum laid out in a large bunker, creatively and effectively using the space to pay tribute to Warsaw during WWII; the invasion, occupation, resistance, devastation and finally rebuilding of a city purposefully destroyed by the Nazis even as they departed, stranded by the Allies despite their need and yet rebuilt by the Polish people. Its hard to explain the power of a museum so visual in writing; suffice to say I did not previously realize the extent of Warsaw's destruction and it made me cry.
The Poster Museum had posters, although sadly none from the Soviet times since they were all contemporary. The famous Lakientovich (thatis surely spelled wrong) gardens were also beautiful, the Old City (resurrected from the ashes of WWII) beautifully painted and ornate, an abrupt contrast to newer, especially Soviet Era buildings. The large pedestrian boulevards filled with street performers in the evening, some spinning fire, many playing instruments, one blowing fire out of a tuba as it played in an inventive combination fo the two. In Warsaw, tired of Polish food from our days of being fed in the country, we tried the Polish take on Mexican food (interesting, although dill is not the same as cilantro), Turkish food (again, dill in with the cabbage in the kebabs, and served in a tortilla of all things) and Asian food (of indeterminate origin and 'spring rolls' that were almost entirely meat but the best of the lot, no dill in sight and seemingly authentic although what do I know).
In short, Warsaw a very interesting, quite big city. It has a large university, a seemingly large liberal and international community and, in short, is a large European capitol. That said, there is something very Polish about Warsaw. Maybe a determination to keep building and moving forward, from a past when there was no Poland. An entrepeneural but also nationalistic spirit.
Warsaw is a big city. The biggest in Poland, and perhaps the most strongly Polish. It feels distinctive, and a little hard, and not too young. They were at the end of a Gay Pride week while we were there, so it might also be the most liberal Polish city (although my mother says that Polish Catholics, while religious, don't hold much with conservative views; for example, they support the right to abortion) During our two days in Warsaw in the mornings we awoke to find our street and the car scattered with ads for sex services like the erotic leaves of some strange tree. Some were even stuck tenaciously into the window cracks and under the windshield wipers of the parked cars. We set off through Warsaw to an outdoor market. Quickly leaving the older and more architecturally charming center, we quickly enter an area of the city occupied by buildings that remind me of Russia; grey, blocky, sometimes decorated with graffiti and occasionally with murals.
The market, set in a residential neighborhood under impromptu shelters and no blankets, had experienced a hard rain earlier in the morning, failing to dampen the spirits of anyone involved but leaving teacups still filled with water.
We also saw the Warsaw Uprising museum, an incredible museum laid out in a large bunker, creatively and effectively using the space to pay tribute to Warsaw during WWII; the invasion, occupation, resistance, devastation and finally rebuilding of a city purposefully destroyed by the Nazis even as they departed, stranded by the Allies despite their need and yet rebuilt by the Polish people. Its hard to explain the power of a museum so visual in writing; suffice to say I did not previously realize the extent of Warsaw's destruction and it made me cry.
The Poster Museum had posters, although sadly none from the Soviet times since they were all contemporary. The famous Lakientovich (thatis surely spelled wrong) gardens were also beautiful, the Old City (resurrected from the ashes of WWII) beautifully painted and ornate, an abrupt contrast to newer, especially Soviet Era buildings. The large pedestrian boulevards filled with street performers in the evening, some spinning fire, many playing instruments, one blowing fire out of a tuba as it played in an inventive combination fo the two. In Warsaw, tired of Polish food from our days of being fed in the country, we tried the Polish take on Mexican food (interesting, although dill is not the same as cilantro), Turkish food (again, dill in with the cabbage in the kebabs, and served in a tortilla of all things) and Asian food (of indeterminate origin and 'spring rolls' that were almost entirely meat but the best of the lot, no dill in sight and seemingly authentic although what do I know).
In short, Warsaw a very interesting, quite big city. It has a large university, a seemingly large liberal and international community and, in short, is a large European capitol. That said, there is something very Polish about Warsaw. Maybe a determination to keep building and moving forward, from a past when there was no Poland. An entrepeneural but also nationalistic spirit.
Poland: Beginnings
First, a few general notes about Poland. Poland is a land of cruiser bikes, riden by many many people all over the flat, flat countryside and towns. It has reimerging traditional style visible in newer buildings and restaurants lining the roads. It is surprisingly hot during the summer, especially as we arrived during a heat wave. It is lush and surprisingly colorful. Left over from the Soviet Era it has grey blocky buildings and wariness lurking at the very corners of the older generations' eyes. It has member status in the EU, and is attempting to meet the criteria for full inclusion. It is a country with a long memory.
Now, Poland. We landed in Warsaw and immediately left, driving out to the country to see our/mmy mother's relatives. What followed was days of being dined, conversated and generally cared for by the relatives for a few lovely days. We first stayed with my mother's cousin Valdek's family, consisting for his wife Eva, daughter Paulina and in-laws. They took us to the local castle, the graveyard where many older generations of the family are buried, on a lovely bikeride through the country. And, of course, they fed us. My gosh, the Polish can feed a girl! Tomates, potatoes, cucumbers, cheese, more cheese, meat, more meat, even more dairy products, tea, coffee, bread, a number of deserts (gelatine is very popular, it being summer). Dill, of course, is a very popular flavoring. Eva is a wonderful cook (Valdek joked that it was the reason that he married her; which was actually the reason that my babsha told my mother to marry my father), and the whole family were incredibly generous hosts. My Polish family are so nice! Its really a pity that I can't talk to them, although we hashed out a language of smiles, nods, gestures and bemusement.
We took a sidetrip to the Baltic Sea, taking Paulina - eager for English practice, and improving every day - with us. The "Sea" strangely resembles a bath in both its relatively warm temperature and placid nature, with a color recalling a sort of green version of amber (its most famous product). The swimming may not have been ideal, but there were thousands of people on that beach, some swimming but many just lounging. To be tan is to be cool, perhaps difficult for a people not known for the swarthiness of their complexions. We stayed on a wonderful farm, complete with kittens, a kitchen for us to use, and even bikes. We ate creamy curled ice cream spires on the beach and debated going to the Polish-Kalingrad border "just to see Russia". On the way back we stopped at Malbork castle, the largest castle complex in Europe and an example of the Polish Gothic, which is interesting given that they built with mainly brick and the Gothic seemed to apply mainly to flat facades. But beautiful, and impressive.
Back in Chechanow, we headed over to meet more relatives, Valdek's sister Gryjina (that is almost certainly spelled wrong), her husband and son. Their farm is large and prosperous, with new equipment and very healthy cows who at one point we helped herd. Again, more friendliness, communication outside of speaking, and food. Particularly what kim and I came to call The Slab. Note; if your hosts don't eat much at dinner, its probably because dessert is waiting. And what dessert! A slab of 'Polish Cheesecake', gelatin, cream cheese and fruit all mixed and layered together, refrigerated, than cut into portions that can only be called giant. I estimate its size as approximately 2 to 2.5 inches tall, 3" in one direction and 4" in the other. Delicious, but my god!
In addition to a farm, cows, a nice house, and lots of dessert, Gryjina's family also had a stream on their property that was dammed slightly to allow for swimming, of which opportunity Kim and I availed ourselves of three times during our 24h stay. But then it was time to leave the countryside and head to the big city; Warsaw.
Now, Poland. We landed in Warsaw and immediately left, driving out to the country to see our/mmy mother's relatives. What followed was days of being dined, conversated and generally cared for by the relatives for a few lovely days. We first stayed with my mother's cousin Valdek's family, consisting for his wife Eva, daughter Paulina and in-laws. They took us to the local castle, the graveyard where many older generations of the family are buried, on a lovely bikeride through the country. And, of course, they fed us. My gosh, the Polish can feed a girl! Tomates, potatoes, cucumbers, cheese, more cheese, meat, more meat, even more dairy products, tea, coffee, bread, a number of deserts (gelatine is very popular, it being summer). Dill, of course, is a very popular flavoring. Eva is a wonderful cook (Valdek joked that it was the reason that he married her; which was actually the reason that my babsha told my mother to marry my father), and the whole family were incredibly generous hosts. My Polish family are so nice! Its really a pity that I can't talk to them, although we hashed out a language of smiles, nods, gestures and bemusement.
We took a sidetrip to the Baltic Sea, taking Paulina - eager for English practice, and improving every day - with us. The "Sea" strangely resembles a bath in both its relatively warm temperature and placid nature, with a color recalling a sort of green version of amber (its most famous product). The swimming may not have been ideal, but there were thousands of people on that beach, some swimming but many just lounging. To be tan is to be cool, perhaps difficult for a people not known for the swarthiness of their complexions. We stayed on a wonderful farm, complete with kittens, a kitchen for us to use, and even bikes. We ate creamy curled ice cream spires on the beach and debated going to the Polish-Kalingrad border "just to see Russia". On the way back we stopped at Malbork castle, the largest castle complex in Europe and an example of the Polish Gothic, which is interesting given that they built with mainly brick and the Gothic seemed to apply mainly to flat facades. But beautiful, and impressive.
Back in Chechanow, we headed over to meet more relatives, Valdek's sister Gryjina (that is almost certainly spelled wrong), her husband and son. Their farm is large and prosperous, with new equipment and very healthy cows who at one point we helped herd. Again, more friendliness, communication outside of speaking, and food. Particularly what kim and I came to call The Slab. Note; if your hosts don't eat much at dinner, its probably because dessert is waiting. And what dessert! A slab of 'Polish Cheesecake', gelatin, cream cheese and fruit all mixed and layered together, refrigerated, than cut into portions that can only be called giant. I estimate its size as approximately 2 to 2.5 inches tall, 3" in one direction and 4" in the other. Delicious, but my god!
In addition to a farm, cows, a nice house, and lots of dessert, Gryjina's family also had a stream on their property that was dammed slightly to allow for swimming, of which opportunity Kim and I availed ourselves of three times during our 24h stay. But then it was time to leave the countryside and head to the big city; Warsaw.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Rome! Rome! Rome! or Eternal City of My Heart
Rome. Rome charmed me inutterably. How could it not? Ruins that pop up around corners, parks,
activity, even bicycles, and energy that is palpable. Rome is a historically important city, like
Venice, but unlike Venice it doesn't lose itself to the past. While the untouchable nature of
Venice is part of its charm, Rome vibrates, and grows, and changes, and is perfect. And, okay,
being a classics nerd helps. It also helps if you have a Classical Archaeology student to show
you around, which we had in the shape of my friend Jacob (Jacob, I owe you a thousand thank-
yous).
The apartment was nothing to write home about, but its owner was a hilarious pizza man who owns
a place called 'Pizza Europa' nearby, gave us free pizza the first day we were there AND the
second day, just dropping by, and left DVDs about his business around the apartment. Adorable.
Some of the things we saw in Rome: The Colosseum (hard not to); the Forum, full of vague
intruiging shadows of what stood there before; the 'Sacred Steps', imported by Constantine's
mother Anna from Pontius Pilates' house in Jerusaleum, complete with drops of Jesus' blood under
glass from his last day on earth, aka the holiest place on the planet - or they were when the
popes used the building as their private chapel, anyway - and the beautiful church next door, San
Giovanni, that has the old bronze doors from the Roman Senate building and the Pope as its
Bishop; a lot of obelisks, including one dating from the 16th century BC; manyVaticn , many
churches, the most hidden of them my favorite; pizza everywhere; more people of different
ethnicities than anywhere else in Italy; thousands of people; of course, many ruins.
Things I have learned while in Rome: Romans are constantly stealing from ruins and using them to
build other things, the best example probably being the Arch of Constantine, made up entirely of
older sculptures that were pasted on. The Catholic Church was particularly good at this. They
stole things from Roman buildings or built over them, and rearranged the obelisks by churches and
in other key places that gave their glory - first Egyptian, later Roman - to the Church rather
than the heathens that had held them before.
Speaking of the Church, Josh and I also went to the Vatican; an impressive church, although
noticeably similar to *coughacopyofcough* San Giovanni's, which I believe was the first public
church in Rome, on the spot where Constantine declared, after having won the fight for Rome. The
crypt of the Vatican was really more interesting, Popes and queens, including the (guarded) tomb
of John Paul II, a very popular Pope. One Pope, the one before JPII, only reigned for 33 days
before dying, which may have had something to do with them electing such a young Pope as his
successor.
We also had the best pizza in Rome, for which it is famous. My father knows an old friend from
grad school whose family lives just outside of Rome, so we went to their favorite pizza place our
second night there. How delicious! Light crust, perfect sauce, beautiful ingredients and just
lovely flavors. Bellissimo!!!!
In short, Rome was fabulous. Glittering, glorious, fabulous. The thing I admire most is that the
Romans LIVE in their ancient city; use its ruins, work around them, aren't afraid of building, or
trying new things. No wonder they call it the Eternal City.
activity, even bicycles, and energy that is palpable. Rome is a historically important city, like
Venice, but unlike Venice it doesn't lose itself to the past. While the untouchable nature of
Venice is part of its charm, Rome vibrates, and grows, and changes, and is perfect. And, okay,
being a classics nerd helps. It also helps if you have a Classical Archaeology student to show
you around, which we had in the shape of my friend Jacob (Jacob, I owe you a thousand thank-
yous).
The apartment was nothing to write home about, but its owner was a hilarious pizza man who owns
a place called 'Pizza Europa' nearby, gave us free pizza the first day we were there AND the
second day, just dropping by, and left DVDs about his business around the apartment. Adorable.
Some of the things we saw in Rome: The Colosseum (hard not to); the Forum, full of vague
intruiging shadows of what stood there before; the 'Sacred Steps', imported by Constantine's
mother Anna from Pontius Pilates' house in Jerusaleum, complete with drops of Jesus' blood under
glass from his last day on earth, aka the holiest place on the planet - or they were when the
popes used the building as their private chapel, anyway - and the beautiful church next door, San
Giovanni, that has the old bronze doors from the Roman Senate building and the Pope as its
Bishop; a lot of obelisks, including one dating from the 16th century BC; manyVaticn , many
churches, the most hidden of them my favorite; pizza everywhere; more people of different
ethnicities than anywhere else in Italy; thousands of people; of course, many ruins.
Things I have learned while in Rome: Romans are constantly stealing from ruins and using them to
build other things, the best example probably being the Arch of Constantine, made up entirely of
older sculptures that were pasted on. The Catholic Church was particularly good at this. They
stole things from Roman buildings or built over them, and rearranged the obelisks by churches and
in other key places that gave their glory - first Egyptian, later Roman - to the Church rather
than the heathens that had held them before.
Speaking of the Church, Josh and I also went to the Vatican; an impressive church, although
noticeably similar to *coughacopyofcough* San Giovanni's, which I believe was the first public
church in Rome, on the spot where Constantine declared, after having won the fight for Rome. The
crypt of the Vatican was really more interesting, Popes and queens, including the (guarded) tomb
of John Paul II, a very popular Pope. One Pope, the one before JPII, only reigned for 33 days
before dying, which may have had something to do with them electing such a young Pope as his
successor.
We also had the best pizza in Rome, for which it is famous. My father knows an old friend from
grad school whose family lives just outside of Rome, so we went to their favorite pizza place our
second night there. How delicious! Light crust, perfect sauce, beautiful ingredients and just
lovely flavors. Bellissimo!!!!
In short, Rome was fabulous. Glittering, glorious, fabulous. The thing I admire most is that the
Romans LIVE in their ancient city; use its ruins, work around them, aren't afraid of building, or
trying new things. No wonder they call it the Eternal City.
Florence, the 'Flower' of Italy
So, Florence! A beautiful city, and as hoped, much more relaxed than Venice. The apartment we
stayed in was very --tastefully - girly; pink walls and flowered wallpaper and curtains, white
furniture, and best of all a circular bed covered in cushions (my parents slept on the couch). It
was in central Florence, in an apartment whose shutters overlooked the street, caked with layers
of paint covered with the newest dark green layer. The apartment was in central Florence, a short
walk to everywhere we wanted to go, and close enough to the Duomo, the huge central cathedral,
that we kept stumbling over it, catching it out of the corners of our eyes down winding cobbled
streets. Also the mostlaidback place that we stayed, doinng only the most imperative museums, the
Accademia to see the David and the Offizi (sp?) to see everything else. It must be said, the
David is a beautiful piece of sculpture; huge, and intensely detailed. It muse be one of the most
beautiful sculptures in the world, deserving of all the hype. My question, though, is why
photograph it only from that one angle? It seems that every time it is reproduced is always from
the front. But walking around the statue, and looking into David's eyes from different angles,
you experience the range of emotion that you can imagine would have filled the eyes of a real
David. Confidence of the young, calculation, anxiety, fear, hopelessness. The biggest advantage
to sculpture must be its 3D nature, because every I felt like I discovered something in every
inch of that sculpture as I walked around David.
The rest of Florence melted into cafe and dulce in the mornings at our neighborhood cafe, a long
afternoon bikeride around and through the city and its surrounding hills (the feel of real
Italian countryside), walks, the gorgeous food market and slightly sketchy souvenir market,
watching the World Cup, being very warm since the apartment had not air conditioning, gelato, and
one of the best meals I have ever had in my life at a little restaurant called Aquacella, family
-owned and with a waitress married to the chef, who joked, served us extra olive oil, and
convinced us into a dessert that we didn't mean to get. It was a truly fantastic meal.
The bicycle riding was perhaps my favorite part, because I miss my bike terribly. And may I say,
Italian drivers may be crazy, but it is a cool and calculated craziness that actually made me
feel safer than biking in Texas. Because Italian drivers - get this - RESPECT bikes as vehicles
of transportation. I know, crazy. So even if you're going through a round about and you're
convinced that any second you will be smooshed, if you claim a spot in a land and follow it
around, Italian drivers will give you that space and respect it, even if you are going slower
than they are. If you can take the space, you have it! Wonderful.
But wait, did I just throughtlessly skip over the GELATO??? Florence claims to have invented
gelato, and the gelato we had in that city was certainly the best that I have ever had in my
life. Especially the grapefruit gelato from a little place around our corner. Imagine the most
juicy, delicious grapefruit you have ever had, take its essence, make it icy and three times as
refreshing, and you have that gelato. My god, it was good.
Essentially, Florence entirely made up for anything we were missing from Venice that we had been
expecting from Italy. Art, gelato and great food, beauty, and a certain measure of serenity. The
perfect rest before a visit to the Eternal City.
stayed in was very --tastefully - girly; pink walls and flowered wallpaper and curtains, white
furniture, and best of all a circular bed covered in cushions (my parents slept on the couch). It
was in central Florence, in an apartment whose shutters overlooked the street, caked with layers
of paint covered with the newest dark green layer. The apartment was in central Florence, a short
walk to everywhere we wanted to go, and close enough to the Duomo, the huge central cathedral,
that we kept stumbling over it, catching it out of the corners of our eyes down winding cobbled
streets. Also the mostlaidback place that we stayed, doinng only the most imperative museums, the
Accademia to see the David and the Offizi (sp?) to see everything else. It must be said, the
David is a beautiful piece of sculpture; huge, and intensely detailed. It muse be one of the most
beautiful sculptures in the world, deserving of all the hype. My question, though, is why
photograph it only from that one angle? It seems that every time it is reproduced is always from
the front. But walking around the statue, and looking into David's eyes from different angles,
you experience the range of emotion that you can imagine would have filled the eyes of a real
David. Confidence of the young, calculation, anxiety, fear, hopelessness. The biggest advantage
to sculpture must be its 3D nature, because every I felt like I discovered something in every
inch of that sculpture as I walked around David.
The rest of Florence melted into cafe and dulce in the mornings at our neighborhood cafe, a long
afternoon bikeride around and through the city and its surrounding hills (the feel of real
Italian countryside), walks, the gorgeous food market and slightly sketchy souvenir market,
watching the World Cup, being very warm since the apartment had not air conditioning, gelato, and
one of the best meals I have ever had in my life at a little restaurant called Aquacella, family
-owned and with a waitress married to the chef, who joked, served us extra olive oil, and
convinced us into a dessert that we didn't mean to get. It was a truly fantastic meal.
The bicycle riding was perhaps my favorite part, because I miss my bike terribly. And may I say,
Italian drivers may be crazy, but it is a cool and calculated craziness that actually made me
feel safer than biking in Texas. Because Italian drivers - get this - RESPECT bikes as vehicles
of transportation. I know, crazy. So even if you're going through a round about and you're
convinced that any second you will be smooshed, if you claim a spot in a land and follow it
around, Italian drivers will give you that space and respect it, even if you are going slower
than they are. If you can take the space, you have it! Wonderful.
But wait, did I just throughtlessly skip over the GELATO??? Florence claims to have invented
gelato, and the gelato we had in that city was certainly the best that I have ever had in my
life. Especially the grapefruit gelato from a little place around our corner. Imagine the most
juicy, delicious grapefruit you have ever had, take its essence, make it icy and three times as
refreshing, and you have that gelato. My god, it was good.
Essentially, Florence entirely made up for anything we were missing from Venice that we had been
expecting from Italy. Art, gelato and great food, beauty, and a certain measure of serenity. The
perfect rest before a visit to the Eternal City.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Escape from Venice: Padua
First, a small disclaimer:
For some reason, I thought that blogging while travelling would be easy. My sister has a computer, everywhere has internet these days - or so I thought - so how hard could it be?
Well, turns out that I got my math wrong. 1 computer / 4 people = 0.25 computer/person. Added on top of that, average internet access = approximately 15 minutes/day, so 0.25 * 15 = only 3.somesmallnumber of computer minutes on the internet, person/day. Or something like that.
Needless to say, this has not been working well for blogging. Its just so interesting to be travelling, and there's so little computer time that I have been terrible about keeping up. My apologies! Now we are driving around poland, so copious in-car time means a chance to blog, and perhaps even catch up.
Dont let me forget Padua (in Italian, Padova). In addition to its appreance in Shakespeare plays - the initial draw - Padua was very much worth the short visit we made to it on the way from Venice to Florence. Renowned as the 'brains of Veneto (the region in which Venice is sitauted)', Padua is still a university town, built out around the beautiful old medieval town center that contain the 'second best' produce market in Italy (after Bologna, the culinary center of Italy). Most importantly for our purposes, Padua contains the Scovegni Chapel, built in the 13th century and decorated by Giotti and his assistants between 1303 and 1305 over 200 working days. The frescoes are apparently considered by many to be the first work of modern art (modern as in post-Middle Ages, not modern as in Jackson Pollock). In order to maintain the frescoes, the chapel is tightly sealed, strictly air-conditioned and only 25 visitors at maximum are allowed in at a time, for only 15 minutes. In order to avoid letting in warmer air as visitors enter, we were first treated to an informational video in the room adjacent to the chapel as the air around us climatized; it was largely unhelpful, but subtitled in English, occasionally hilariously. A buzzer went off at the end, and we were allowed into the chapel itself. The frescoes (detailing scenes from St.Anne, Mary, and mostly Jesus' life, what a surprise in famously Catholic Italy) are gorgeous, the precision and humanity with which Giotto painted making it no surprise that he was famous in his own lifetime. His art, including hte chapel, arguably influenced artists for hundreds of years; the informative video attempted to make this point by comparing his paintings to those of later artists, with some comparisons striking, others fanciful. The depictions of women were particularly touching, the tears from their eyes as their babies were struck from them gripping in the Slaughter of the Innocents. Certainly a worthwhile sight.
The rest of Padua was rushed, although Josh and I did make it to the Basilica, which was a glorious mishmash of styles, colors and portraiture. Each alcove was decorated in its own way, with starry blue midnight sky often painted overhead, the architecture a fascinating combination between catholic and Byzantine. My favorite basilica or church in Europe that we visited, although or visit only lasted about fifteen minutes because we had to run to catch the tram back to the train station (and we almost didn't go inside, but were instantly glad the minute we did).
A run for the tram, to the train station, and it was off to Florence for us all.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Venice in Pieces
Venice (in summer) is hot, humid, and crowded with hordes of tourists. Some of the are Italian, many of them are foreign and all of them are crowded into the alleyways, plazas, museums and simply everywhere in the ancient city. The main - and even minorly - tourist areas of the city cant help feel like a tourist trap. It was slightly claustrophobic, and very hot, especially compared to the Canary Islands and even to Barcelona.
But those were all the bad things. Besides that, Venice is extraordinary. Its a cliche, but its true. It lives up to the reputation through the simple fact that it is built unlike anywhere else in the world, and was one of the main seats of power in Europe for centuries, a power that still contains allure. The sights are stunning; the grand palazzos up and down the grand canal and scattered throughout, the heavy churches, canals and cobbled lanes. We saw a number of the main draws; San Marco Square, St. Mark's Basilica, the Doge's Palace, the Correr Museum, the bridges, the canals. We also spent a huge amount of time walking; to the Square, around it, through it, to the market, to the water, just wandering. It allowed us to escape the tourist crowds; another benefit to staying in an apartment centrally located but off the main streets, as we did. Famous for good reason.
And Venice IS just beautiful, in every way; its elegance speaks of the dedication to beauty in all its aesthetic forms of those who lived, and still live, there. Yet I also felt that theres something sad about Venice, the once-powerful and now tourist-filled city living through its past, selling its beauty, unable to expand on its islands, slowly sinking into the lagoon and flooded every year in the winter. There was something of not quite decay, but maybe stagnation. Then again, the ruin is part of the charm.
The Doge's Palace was fascinating for its look into the government of Venice and the power of the Doge. St Marks Basilica was a fantastic combination of Byzantium and Medieval Italian architecture, with stunning tile and mosaicwork and amazing detailing on an epic scale (and throngs of visitors, unfortunately). San Marco square is ringed by fantastical building, including the ones above. But in many ways my favorite part of Venice was when we took the water buses outside the city proper, onto surrounding islands. Although we didnt make it to the Armenian monastery on an island in the middle of hte lagoon - only open to a single water bus each day - we did make it to Lido, the fishbone shaped island with a beach on the Adriatic. We went swimming in water that felt like a swimming pool or at times, a bath, but it was still refreshing. We also visited Burano, the lace citadel of Venice, full of short and incredibly, extremely and almost eye-wateringly bright houses. Fuschia. Orange. Turquoise. Violet. The colors were almost unbelieveable, and the island had a sleepy, neighborly feel that almost made you feel like Venice was in another world, or rather, the world you had so easily entered was not quite real (Kim referred to it as 'Wonderland'). The views from the water buses were superb.
Some other things warmed my heart about Venice that weren't sights but rather small experiences. There was the fruit and vegetable seller who moved slowly and handled each vegetable and fruit like it had feelings, and who gave us extra mushrooms in our bag. The Italian woman our first day during lunch spoke Italian to us emphatically and cheerily assumed that we would understand (we managed to order delicious food, so it all worked out). My favorite thing about Venice, though, was the small touches. Walking down a narrow alley and glancing up to see an unknowably old stone carving adorning the lintel of an archway, or an intricately wrought ironwork balcony. Ancient Venice has left traces of herself everywhere in the city, breathing through the cracks, cobblestones and centuries into corners and crannies of her current incarnation.
Now we're riding through a serene and lovely countryside, on the way to Florence. It actually looks like you could breathe outside, out among the vibrant green fields, grapevines and quite roads studded with lemon, orane, apple and peach-colored houses with tiled terracotta roofs. Its a relief to be out of Venice; hopefully Florence is at least somewhat calmer.
But those were all the bad things. Besides that, Venice is extraordinary. Its a cliche, but its true. It lives up to the reputation through the simple fact that it is built unlike anywhere else in the world, and was one of the main seats of power in Europe for centuries, a power that still contains allure. The sights are stunning; the grand palazzos up and down the grand canal and scattered throughout, the heavy churches, canals and cobbled lanes. We saw a number of the main draws; San Marco Square, St. Mark's Basilica, the Doge's Palace, the Correr Museum, the bridges, the canals. We also spent a huge amount of time walking; to the Square, around it, through it, to the market, to the water, just wandering. It allowed us to escape the tourist crowds; another benefit to staying in an apartment centrally located but off the main streets, as we did. Famous for good reason.
And Venice IS just beautiful, in every way; its elegance speaks of the dedication to beauty in all its aesthetic forms of those who lived, and still live, there. Yet I also felt that theres something sad about Venice, the once-powerful and now tourist-filled city living through its past, selling its beauty, unable to expand on its islands, slowly sinking into the lagoon and flooded every year in the winter. There was something of not quite decay, but maybe stagnation. Then again, the ruin is part of the charm.
The Doge's Palace was fascinating for its look into the government of Venice and the power of the Doge. St Marks Basilica was a fantastic combination of Byzantium and Medieval Italian architecture, with stunning tile and mosaicwork and amazing detailing on an epic scale (and throngs of visitors, unfortunately). San Marco square is ringed by fantastical building, including the ones above. But in many ways my favorite part of Venice was when we took the water buses outside the city proper, onto surrounding islands. Although we didnt make it to the Armenian monastery on an island in the middle of hte lagoon - only open to a single water bus each day - we did make it to Lido, the fishbone shaped island with a beach on the Adriatic. We went swimming in water that felt like a swimming pool or at times, a bath, but it was still refreshing. We also visited Burano, the lace citadel of Venice, full of short and incredibly, extremely and almost eye-wateringly bright houses. Fuschia. Orange. Turquoise. Violet. The colors were almost unbelieveable, and the island had a sleepy, neighborly feel that almost made you feel like Venice was in another world, or rather, the world you had so easily entered was not quite real (Kim referred to it as 'Wonderland'). The views from the water buses were superb.
Some other things warmed my heart about Venice that weren't sights but rather small experiences. There was the fruit and vegetable seller who moved slowly and handled each vegetable and fruit like it had feelings, and who gave us extra mushrooms in our bag. The Italian woman our first day during lunch spoke Italian to us emphatically and cheerily assumed that we would understand (we managed to order delicious food, so it all worked out). My favorite thing about Venice, though, was the small touches. Walking down a narrow alley and glancing up to see an unknowably old stone carving adorning the lintel of an archway, or an intricately wrought ironwork balcony. Ancient Venice has left traces of herself everywhere in the city, breathing through the cracks, cobblestones and centuries into corners and crannies of her current incarnation.
Now we're riding through a serene and lovely countryside, on the way to Florence. It actually looks like you could breathe outside, out among the vibrant green fields, grapevines and quite roads studded with lemon, orane, apple and peach-colored houses with tiled terracotta roofs. Its a relief to be out of Venice; hopefully Florence is at least somewhat calmer.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
When you're in Barcelona, look up. The architecture is stunning - everyone knows about Gaudi and Art Moderne, but even buildings that don't belong to either or those categories are really lovely. There's so many balconies! The best ones have clothes hanging from them. Also, saints - we're staying on the 'road of the arc of Saint Eulalia', the patron saint of Barcelona (or one of them) and there's an icon of her with her special 'X' cross in a little alcove tucked above street level.
Or rather, don't just look up, look around. Barcelona just buzzes with people - a lot of them are tourists right not, of course, but they're tourists from everywhere, crowding streets and sidewalks and the marina and the beach and definitely crowding all the famous sites. And to take advantage of the tourists are buskers, con artists, a gazillion hawkers selling on the street (or in the alleyways, from which you sometimes hear a whispered "hash") and lots of people dressed up at statues or in other fantastic costumes attempting to glean money from the tourists passing on La Rambla. My favorite was one dressed as the Predator who was messing with people, touching their faces and their hair.
In terms of sights, we've been walking everywhere, enjoying the gorgeous older part of the city including the fantastic Modernista buildings, the highlight being the Sagrada Familia, which Josh called the most incredible work of architecture that he's ever seen (but he's Spanish, so who knows if there's a little bit of Nationalism mixed up in that opinion). We've been to Park Guell, the Arc de Triumphe which is more fun than the French version, the beach (flat, rather boring, very busy including hawkers selling beer, massages, coconut and other treats), the very large flea market, the Picasso museum tracing the artist's development from a young age, the Barcelona Cathedral, a pastry school with a window you can look into, lots of alleyways and peoples' laundry, bars, tapas and wine, shopping at the food market in the center of the city (cheese, fresh figs, jamon serrano so fine its like prosciutto, the waterfront with sellers that put their wears on blankets with ropes attached to each corner so that they can pick up and go at any moment, and and more that I can't remember. That was certainly a very long run-on sentence. Its been a long three days.
Generally, I like Barcelona quite a lot. Its very alive and vibrant, full of people and bikes (yay) and things happening all the time. Its also colorful and funky in a very Mediterranean way, and the food is quite excellent. Its very, very full of tourists, though, which might be the only downside although its sort of a big one. It may well be exhausting living in Barcelona, but its perfect for a visit, and it is truly beautiful. Also, its probably quite different in the off-season. Yesterday we heard two Bob Marley songs played about 100 meters from one another down the boulevard leading to the beach, catering fairly clearly to the tourists in the tropical, sunny atmosphere in summertime Barcelona. It would be interesting to see at other times of the year.
Tomorrow its off to Venice, where I've never been, and an apartment overlooking a canal (smelly, or awesome?). Hurrah!
Or rather, don't just look up, look around. Barcelona just buzzes with people - a lot of them are tourists right not, of course, but they're tourists from everywhere, crowding streets and sidewalks and the marina and the beach and definitely crowding all the famous sites. And to take advantage of the tourists are buskers, con artists, a gazillion hawkers selling on the street (or in the alleyways, from which you sometimes hear a whispered "hash") and lots of people dressed up at statues or in other fantastic costumes attempting to glean money from the tourists passing on La Rambla. My favorite was one dressed as the Predator who was messing with people, touching their faces and their hair.
In terms of sights, we've been walking everywhere, enjoying the gorgeous older part of the city including the fantastic Modernista buildings, the highlight being the Sagrada Familia, which Josh called the most incredible work of architecture that he's ever seen (but he's Spanish, so who knows if there's a little bit of Nationalism mixed up in that opinion). We've been to Park Guell, the Arc de Triumphe which is more fun than the French version, the beach (flat, rather boring, very busy including hawkers selling beer, massages, coconut and other treats), the very large flea market, the Picasso museum tracing the artist's development from a young age, the Barcelona Cathedral, a pastry school with a window you can look into, lots of alleyways and peoples' laundry, bars, tapas and wine, shopping at the food market in the center of the city (cheese, fresh figs, jamon serrano so fine its like prosciutto, the waterfront with sellers that put their wears on blankets with ropes attached to each corner so that they can pick up and go at any moment, and and more that I can't remember. That was certainly a very long run-on sentence. Its been a long three days.
Generally, I like Barcelona quite a lot. Its very alive and vibrant, full of people and bikes (yay) and things happening all the time. Its also colorful and funky in a very Mediterranean way, and the food is quite excellent. Its very, very full of tourists, though, which might be the only downside although its sort of a big one. It may well be exhausting living in Barcelona, but its perfect for a visit, and it is truly beautiful. Also, its probably quite different in the off-season. Yesterday we heard two Bob Marley songs played about 100 meters from one another down the boulevard leading to the beach, catering fairly clearly to the tourists in the tropical, sunny atmosphere in summertime Barcelona. It would be interesting to see at other times of the year.
Tomorrow its off to Venice, where I've never been, and an apartment overlooking a canal (smelly, or awesome?). Hurrah!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Barcelona! And, okay, so I lied.
Well, not that I lied but I blatantly said that I would try to be better about blogging and then failed. Alas. Now, though, it should be easier - although my family only has one computer, hostels are often well equipped and, let's face it, I can always stay up late or get up early!
Anyway, now we're in mainland Spain, in Barcelona! Our flight out of Tenerife - the northern airport this time - was delayed by nearly an hour, probably because it is one of the most badly situated airports in the world. Apparently, they asked a german engineer to choose the site of the airport, and he marked bad areas with an X and good areas for the airport with an O - the builders thought it was the other way around, an chose a TERRIBLE place. The airport is also the sight of the worse aviation accident in history, when two jumbo jets collided (Josh's mom was in a movie theater in La Laguna when it happened, and she says that an announcement came over the speakers asking all medical personnel to report to the airport - when they came out of the theater, it smelled like burning).
But we made it. Barcelona is so different already - hot, humid, absolutely chock full of tourists and way more expensive. Sometimes in Tenerife I felt like a serious outsider, but here we're just one of the crowd, which is something of a relief. The hostel is also nice and quiet, and located in the center of the city, so its already exciting. We got in late last night, but early enough to watch Spain beat Portugal! Hurrah! (I don't think the Portuguese sitting next to us at the restaurant were too pleased, but they took it with good grace).Our first full day is still ahead of us, so we'll see what happens!
The last few days in Tenerife were slightly mad, as we tried to take my family to see as much of the sights of the islands as possible. The first day, we did an entire loop of Tenerife, getting back home around midnight. We did an absurd amount of beaching - well, perhaps not too absurd, given we were on an island - for my sister, saw many beautiful buildings and churches, and drove A LOT. Also tried to give them a 'taste' for the island, trying local cuisine and especially local wine. It was certainly fun, but also somewhat insane.
I miss Tenerife, but continent, here we come!!!
Anyway, now we're in mainland Spain, in Barcelona! Our flight out of Tenerife - the northern airport this time - was delayed by nearly an hour, probably because it is one of the most badly situated airports in the world. Apparently, they asked a german engineer to choose the site of the airport, and he marked bad areas with an X and good areas for the airport with an O - the builders thought it was the other way around, an chose a TERRIBLE place. The airport is also the sight of the worse aviation accident in history, when two jumbo jets collided (Josh's mom was in a movie theater in La Laguna when it happened, and she says that an announcement came over the speakers asking all medical personnel to report to the airport - when they came out of the theater, it smelled like burning).
But we made it. Barcelona is so different already - hot, humid, absolutely chock full of tourists and way more expensive. Sometimes in Tenerife I felt like a serious outsider, but here we're just one of the crowd, which is something of a relief. The hostel is also nice and quiet, and located in the center of the city, so its already exciting. We got in late last night, but early enough to watch Spain beat Portugal! Hurrah! (I don't think the Portuguese sitting next to us at the restaurant were too pleased, but they took it with good grace).Our first full day is still ahead of us, so we'll see what happens!
The last few days in Tenerife were slightly mad, as we tried to take my family to see as much of the sights of the islands as possible. The first day, we did an entire loop of Tenerife, getting back home around midnight. We did an absurd amount of beaching - well, perhaps not too absurd, given we were on an island - for my sister, saw many beautiful buildings and churches, and drove A LOT. Also tried to give them a 'taste' for the island, trying local cuisine and especially local wine. It was certainly fun, but also somewhat insane.
I miss Tenerife, but continent, here we come!!!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
A Tenerife Day
I feel like I should apologize for writing so little while on vacation; what else do I have to do? Unfotunately, while I am fairly busy, the greater problem is that the computer is not always free, especially in the evenings when I tend to be here. Let me explain the workings of a normal Tenerife day.
8:00 Get up. This is approximate; Josh´s aunt´s family all have to be at work and school by 830, so we usually are woken up by then and eventually get out of bed
9:00 Leave to have the day´s adventure. Usually visiting another town or going to the sea (more on this later)
1100 (or so) Coffee. Spanish coffee is delicious. And super cheap. Actually, all food here is cheap, and generally quite good. Also, the coffee is small and thus very manageable, even for people who don´t normall drink much of it, i.e. Josh and myself
230 Get home for lunch (this is when the work and school day ends in Spain. Its only 6 hours long. How glorious.). Lunch usually lasts for about an hour, from 3 to 4. It is also the biggest meal of the day, and leads to....
400 SIESTA. Not everyone takes one, and not every day, but how great is that? A built in nap!!
500 Do something else, or just go for a walk, read, whatever. This would be the time I would blog, except that Josh´s cousins and his uncle are home and on the computers. As might be Josh or his mother, also visiting and also without computers. Sigh.
930 or 10: Dinner. Usually light. Very, very later, even by my families standards. Not sure if this is entirely healthy. But whatever!
12 or so: Bed.
And that is it! The normal run of my days. Josh and I did do two day trips this week, so we had lunch out, but besides that its how its been. Its so lovely to be staying with a family; getting to converse and eat with other people, seeing what real life in the Canary Islands is like. Also, they are absolutely fantastic people, which helps.
Anyway, yesterday we went to La Laguna, a nearby town, to walk around some more and see a book fair that had been set up. Its a lovely little town, one of the most European I´ve seen here (including a man playing accordion!!!!), with historic buildings dotting what seems like every corner. There are a number of churches and convents, including an active one (!) with an iron screen which the nuns sit behind during services to avoid the public. We also found a few lovely little galleries and the city market; upon noting which, I have to say that I have some sort of gift for finding both museums and markets. Call me crazy, but I find them everywhere I go. Perhaps its the parts of the city I like to wander in?
In the afternoon it was back to La Laguna with the whole family to see Josh grandmother-in-law, have a delicious bit of cake at a local bakery famous for their desserts, and go to the police station to report a stolen wallet. Spanish bureaucracy, apparently, rivals Russian in its complexity.
Anyway, a lovely day in a beautiful city. I promise to try to be better about blogging in the future!
8:00 Get up. This is approximate; Josh´s aunt´s family all have to be at work and school by 830, so we usually are woken up by then and eventually get out of bed
9:00 Leave to have the day´s adventure. Usually visiting another town or going to the sea (more on this later)
1100 (or so) Coffee. Spanish coffee is delicious. And super cheap. Actually, all food here is cheap, and generally quite good. Also, the coffee is small and thus very manageable, even for people who don´t normall drink much of it, i.e. Josh and myself
230 Get home for lunch (this is when the work and school day ends in Spain. Its only 6 hours long. How glorious.). Lunch usually lasts for about an hour, from 3 to 4. It is also the biggest meal of the day, and leads to....
400 SIESTA. Not everyone takes one, and not every day, but how great is that? A built in nap!!
500 Do something else, or just go for a walk, read, whatever. This would be the time I would blog, except that Josh´s cousins and his uncle are home and on the computers. As might be Josh or his mother, also visiting and also without computers. Sigh.
930 or 10: Dinner. Usually light. Very, very later, even by my families standards. Not sure if this is entirely healthy. But whatever!
12 or so: Bed.
And that is it! The normal run of my days. Josh and I did do two day trips this week, so we had lunch out, but besides that its how its been. Its so lovely to be staying with a family; getting to converse and eat with other people, seeing what real life in the Canary Islands is like. Also, they are absolutely fantastic people, which helps.
Anyway, yesterday we went to La Laguna, a nearby town, to walk around some more and see a book fair that had been set up. Its a lovely little town, one of the most European I´ve seen here (including a man playing accordion!!!!), with historic buildings dotting what seems like every corner. There are a number of churches and convents, including an active one (!) with an iron screen which the nuns sit behind during services to avoid the public. We also found a few lovely little galleries and the city market; upon noting which, I have to say that I have some sort of gift for finding both museums and markets. Call me crazy, but I find them everywhere I go. Perhaps its the parts of the city I like to wander in?
In the afternoon it was back to La Laguna with the whole family to see Josh grandmother-in-law, have a delicious bit of cake at a local bakery famous for their desserts, and go to the police station to report a stolen wallet. Spanish bureaucracy, apparently, rivals Russian in its complexity.
Anyway, a lovely day in a beautiful city. I promise to try to be better about blogging in the future!
Monday, June 14, 2010
Climbing the Mountain, or The Highest Kiss in Spain
Before I go back to Tenerife, I need to talk about El Teide. We climbed it with Josh´s uncle Fran and his climbing class, a lucky chance since Fran knows more about Tenerife and its environment and history than anyone has a right to, and gave mini-lectures, so we got to learn things too.
El Teide is the highest peak in Spain (although I personally think that including islands is sort of cheating, but whatever mainland); the second highest peak is nearby, part of El Teide´s caldera. If you know anything about volcanoes, you´ll know that this means that at some point an even larger volcano existed, then blew up, leaving a crater (the caldera) and the burgeoning beginnings of the current El Teide. Even if you don´t know anything about volcanoes, suffice to say that it was a fucking big mountain. El Teide isn´t exactly anything to sneeze at either (did I use that idiom correctly? And to think I just graduated from college). Wikipedia informs me that the peak is 3718 meters above sea level, which is pretty darn high (Wikipedia also informs me that El Teide is highest elevation of the islands of the Atlantic, and that it is the third largest volcano in the world from its base. This is impressive.)
Anyway, the thing is pretty darn high.
The mountain itself sits inside El Teide National Park. Riding up on the bus, we wound higher and higher into the clouds, as laurel forest turned into pine, passing small hamlets and villages. When we finally emerged above the cloud layer, the terrain was becoming more volcanic, almost desert-like; the pines faded away, leaving only native plants standing. To reach the path, we drove into the caldera, the landscape increasingly desolate and uneven, resembling the grand canyon in its plunges and variations in rock shade, texture, layers.
The climb from the base (the parking lot, in other words) to El Refugio (the Refuge) where we would spend the night is intended to take about 5 hours. It begins as a relatively easy climb, winding its way slowly up the base, then suddenly shoots up a ridiculously steep incline to the Refuge. From there, the peak itself looms about another hour up the trail, again intensely steep and extremely rocky.
The climb is extraordinary. Set in a landscape so alien its almost lunar, the varied lave flows creating distinct and beautiful patterns and colors spreading out from the volcano, or piling up in distinctive waves. Low vegetation dots the landscape, leaves a pale green to avoid too much sun, sometimes forming fields sometimes a lone plant. We came at the right time to see the plants in bloom, particularly the Tajinaste, a tall purple annual that will soon retreat back into the earth. As we climbed, the views became increasingly spectacular, lit by a sun that was falling down El Teide´s far side and sending its long shadow out towards the island Gran Canaria in the East. The increasingly golden sunlight brought out contrasting colors in the flows, and brought into relief the patterns of flow along the base of the volcano. In short, it was magnificent.
After a potluck dinner (nearly everyone brought something homemade! bravo, Spain!) we went to look at the stars, the air outside ridiculously cold for the middle of summer (never did I think I would be wearing sweatpants, a hat, gloves, two jackets and long underwear during my travels his summer, but there you go). The stars were incredible, more than I´ve seen anywhere except perhaps my parents´farm in the middle of nowhere, and maybe even more than there. Then it was time for bed, in order to get up at 5am to climb to the peak before sunrise.
Shivering, following a night of sparse sleep due to a creaky bed and a deep snorer, we began the climb up into the dark. Navigating by the lights of our group, it seemed like we were following fairy lights from farther up the mountain as the tiny headlamps of groups up ahead winked in and out as the wound toward the peak. The sky gained a rim of color as we climbed, eventually becoming light enough to see without the lamps as we passed the outpost of the cablecar that bears the less adventurous to a view below the peak. The last part of the climb became harder with the altitude, as Fran warned that the air was now so thin that we had to go slowly, taking deep breathes and stopping occasionally to look out over a landscape that was being revealed.
We reached the peak about ten minutes before the sun rose above the clouds, with enough light to easily climb around the crater that marks the peak, wisps of suphur issuing from its sides and perfuming the air. Pictures were taken, excitement ran high and we achieved the highest kiss in Spain. The sun rose golden, and the day was beautiful.
El Teide is the highest peak in Spain (although I personally think that including islands is sort of cheating, but whatever mainland); the second highest peak is nearby, part of El Teide´s caldera. If you know anything about volcanoes, you´ll know that this means that at some point an even larger volcano existed, then blew up, leaving a crater (the caldera) and the burgeoning beginnings of the current El Teide. Even if you don´t know anything about volcanoes, suffice to say that it was a fucking big mountain. El Teide isn´t exactly anything to sneeze at either (did I use that idiom correctly? And to think I just graduated from college). Wikipedia informs me that the peak is 3718 meters above sea level, which is pretty darn high (Wikipedia also informs me that El Teide is highest elevation of the islands of the Atlantic, and that it is the third largest volcano in the world from its base. This is impressive.)
Anyway, the thing is pretty darn high.
The mountain itself sits inside El Teide National Park. Riding up on the bus, we wound higher and higher into the clouds, as laurel forest turned into pine, passing small hamlets and villages. When we finally emerged above the cloud layer, the terrain was becoming more volcanic, almost desert-like; the pines faded away, leaving only native plants standing. To reach the path, we drove into the caldera, the landscape increasingly desolate and uneven, resembling the grand canyon in its plunges and variations in rock shade, texture, layers.
The climb from the base (the parking lot, in other words) to El Refugio (the Refuge) where we would spend the night is intended to take about 5 hours. It begins as a relatively easy climb, winding its way slowly up the base, then suddenly shoots up a ridiculously steep incline to the Refuge. From there, the peak itself looms about another hour up the trail, again intensely steep and extremely rocky.
The climb is extraordinary. Set in a landscape so alien its almost lunar, the varied lave flows creating distinct and beautiful patterns and colors spreading out from the volcano, or piling up in distinctive waves. Low vegetation dots the landscape, leaves a pale green to avoid too much sun, sometimes forming fields sometimes a lone plant. We came at the right time to see the plants in bloom, particularly the Tajinaste, a tall purple annual that will soon retreat back into the earth. As we climbed, the views became increasingly spectacular, lit by a sun that was falling down El Teide´s far side and sending its long shadow out towards the island Gran Canaria in the East. The increasingly golden sunlight brought out contrasting colors in the flows, and brought into relief the patterns of flow along the base of the volcano. In short, it was magnificent.
After a potluck dinner (nearly everyone brought something homemade! bravo, Spain!) we went to look at the stars, the air outside ridiculously cold for the middle of summer (never did I think I would be wearing sweatpants, a hat, gloves, two jackets and long underwear during my travels his summer, but there you go). The stars were incredible, more than I´ve seen anywhere except perhaps my parents´farm in the middle of nowhere, and maybe even more than there. Then it was time for bed, in order to get up at 5am to climb to the peak before sunrise.
Shivering, following a night of sparse sleep due to a creaky bed and a deep snorer, we began the climb up into the dark. Navigating by the lights of our group, it seemed like we were following fairy lights from farther up the mountain as the tiny headlamps of groups up ahead winked in and out as the wound toward the peak. The sky gained a rim of color as we climbed, eventually becoming light enough to see without the lamps as we passed the outpost of the cablecar that bears the less adventurous to a view below the peak. The last part of the climb became harder with the altitude, as Fran warned that the air was now so thin that we had to go slowly, taking deep breathes and stopping occasionally to look out over a landscape that was being revealed.
We reached the peak about ten minutes before the sun rose above the clouds, with enough light to easily climb around the crater that marks the peak, wisps of suphur issuing from its sides and perfuming the air. Pictures were taken, excitement ran high and we achieved the highest kiss in Spain. The sun rose golden, and the day was beautiful.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Canary Islands, Part I
Or rather one Canary Island, Tenerife. From the air, Tenerife resembles what might have happened if houses were built higher up on its volcanoes, then slid down the cracks in their sides to pool on flatter ground by the sea or sometimes on slight plateaus on their side. Coming into the south, the volcano El Teide dominates the island - or maybe it would from any direction, given that it is by far the biggest.
To be continued............... we are off to climb El Teide!
To be continued............... we are off to climb El Teide!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Last of London
Although it almost seems pointless to finish up London when there´s so much of the Canary Islands to explore, here goes anyway. Then I can finally move on!
On saturday we explored Leicester Square and Covent Garden, a winding netword o small charming shops, including a pilgrimage to Neal´s Creamery) from which the infamous Cheeseboard in Berkeley orders their British cheese. We stopped for a satisfyingly greasy and golden lunch of fish and chips at a place that stands on the site of the 3rd fish and chip shop in London. You can imagine the layers of grease building up over the centuries.
We then strolled down to the National Portrait Gallery for a brief fling, examing the portraits of notables such as Elizabeth I and dishevelled looking playwrites. Their cafe featured a lovely lavender shortbread. Next we went across the river to the National Theater and purchased the last two tickets to Women Beware Women, perhaps the second most famous Middleton play and one that certainly earns its name (but more on that later). Leaving Marianne and Ron, I rushed to the British Museum and Bloomsbury, walking through the latter to find the old houses of the Bloomsbury Group, including Lytton Strachey, Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf, Clive Bell, etc. (forgive my nerdiness; I read many of the Bloomsbury Group in my British Studies class and was minorly obsessed).
The British Museum, on the other hand, is a place that anyone can enjoy, and many do. I´d never made it there despite my other trips to or through London, so despite a short amount of time I made the trip. It was immensely worth it. The BM is a building as beautiful and impressive as the art it contains; the bright white space of the courtyard opens into rooms filled with treasures and beautifully designed and decorated. It reminded me of the Hermitage. I could have spent days in the BM (its somewhat of an anthropologist´s dream) but instead settled for a fling through the Enlightenment Room, a look at some antiquities from Kent, and the Elgian Marbles. The Marbles I have wanted to see since I took Classics in high school, and they didn´t disappoint. They seem to breath history and elegance, their crevasses invisibly caked with Greek anger and Western pride.
Leaving the BM, there was a quick stop at home for dinner, then off with Marianne to the National Theater. Its another interesting building, although probably built around the 70s so not in my favorite style of architecture. Women Beware Women was extraordinary, almost operatic in the production style, complete with revolving set, chandeliers that lowered from the ceiling, a live jazz band and sumptuous costumes. The production was set in the 50s, and with a level of vision and close-to overproduction that could have failed but instead was held up by the extremely high level of acting. The play itself is a little melodramatic and insane, but all the better for it. Scandal after scandal, and very few left alive at the end. An interesting contrast to Macbeth, since Middleton and Shakespeare were contemporaries (interestingly, Middleton also edited a version of Macbeth, he had a think for strong, debatably evil women, I think).
So that was London. On to the Canary Islands!
On saturday we explored Leicester Square and Covent Garden, a winding netword o small charming shops, including a pilgrimage to Neal´s Creamery) from which the infamous Cheeseboard in Berkeley orders their British cheese. We stopped for a satisfyingly greasy and golden lunch of fish and chips at a place that stands on the site of the 3rd fish and chip shop in London. You can imagine the layers of grease building up over the centuries.
We then strolled down to the National Portrait Gallery for a brief fling, examing the portraits of notables such as Elizabeth I and dishevelled looking playwrites. Their cafe featured a lovely lavender shortbread. Next we went across the river to the National Theater and purchased the last two tickets to Women Beware Women, perhaps the second most famous Middleton play and one that certainly earns its name (but more on that later). Leaving Marianne and Ron, I rushed to the British Museum and Bloomsbury, walking through the latter to find the old houses of the Bloomsbury Group, including Lytton Strachey, Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf, Clive Bell, etc. (forgive my nerdiness; I read many of the Bloomsbury Group in my British Studies class and was minorly obsessed).
The British Museum, on the other hand, is a place that anyone can enjoy, and many do. I´d never made it there despite my other trips to or through London, so despite a short amount of time I made the trip. It was immensely worth it. The BM is a building as beautiful and impressive as the art it contains; the bright white space of the courtyard opens into rooms filled with treasures and beautifully designed and decorated. It reminded me of the Hermitage. I could have spent days in the BM (its somewhat of an anthropologist´s dream) but instead settled for a fling through the Enlightenment Room, a look at some antiquities from Kent, and the Elgian Marbles. The Marbles I have wanted to see since I took Classics in high school, and they didn´t disappoint. They seem to breath history and elegance, their crevasses invisibly caked with Greek anger and Western pride.
Leaving the BM, there was a quick stop at home for dinner, then off with Marianne to the National Theater. Its another interesting building, although probably built around the 70s so not in my favorite style of architecture. Women Beware Women was extraordinary, almost operatic in the production style, complete with revolving set, chandeliers that lowered from the ceiling, a live jazz band and sumptuous costumes. The production was set in the 50s, and with a level of vision and close-to overproduction that could have failed but instead was held up by the extremely high level of acting. The play itself is a little melodramatic and insane, but all the better for it. Scandal after scandal, and very few left alive at the end. An interesting contrast to Macbeth, since Middleton and Shakespeare were contemporaries (interestingly, Middleton also edited a version of Macbeth, he had a think for strong, debatably evil women, I think).
So that was London. On to the Canary Islands!
Friday, June 4, 2010
"More London" and Macbeth
To explain the title of this post, one of my favorite signs that I saw yesterday was literally a sign pointing to "More London". Hard to believe at first, it was explained by the presence of an actual complex entitled "More London" but was still hilariously odd. Apparently its location on the South Bank is in an area that has been recently developing into an 'artsy' part of town, and probably only just acknowledged as a cool part to be in; which I suppose explains the name. But it was still rather strange, and I bet the sign makers had a good laugh about it.
Really, yesterday was a day filled with Shakespeare and wandering. If I wasn't so lazy right now the sentence would be alliterative and sound more awesome, but alas I have not yet had coffee this morning. Anyway, after a leisurely breakfast I set off in the direction of the London Eye, with plans to meet the rest of the group there in two and a half hours; they went to a garden museum that while potentially lovely I simply lacked a great deal of interest in. (on a side note, coffee just arrived! expect a increasingly greater deal of coherence from here on out). As I wandered in the general direction of the Eye, I passed through a great deal of embassies, by a number of churches, saw a place called Shakespeare's Pub that I was tempted to enter until I looked closer and it became clear that nothing recommended they place outside of the name (they probably realized that they could capitalize off the name alone and took no pains with food or atmostphere), and many other enjoyable things. Near Buckingham Palace - a name that itself fills me with some Shakespearean nostalgia - I was mistaken for a local by three American girls who were trying to find the palace. Despite my degree in Geography, after looking at their map I pointed thm in the wrong direction, before realizing a few minutes later after actually seeing the Palace in the opposite direction and hurrying after them to let them know so that they could watch the Changing of the Guard.
Wandering through the adjacent St. James park, I noticed people taking pictures of the squirrels. They weren't particularly cute, but they are very tame because people feed them regularly so they'll eat from your hand. I suppose they were cute, but there was something strange about the outright adoration of squirrels that really, if one is honest, are sort of vermin. Anyway.
On my way out of the park (which is quite lovely) and with about an hour to go before I had to meet my contingent at the Eye, I stumbled upon a small gallery with a 'contemporary textiles' exhibit. It was an extremely colorful and diverse exhibit, from puppets to new style quilts to things that really weren't textiles, like teacups covered in plaster and net. Since I love textiles, fabrics, etc., and because it was the work of contemporary artists and its always interesting to see what's in the minds of artists in was quite nice. Its amazing that even with so many free museums they go even farther and have free gallery exhibits too; although then again, they serve entirely different ends. For example, artists don't sell their works at the museums (can you imagine Monet skulking around and pasting subtle price tags under his works with contact information?).
Meeting at the Eye, we immediately concluded that the line was not worth the ride, and decided lunch was a much more appropriate idea. After lunch we went over to see the Tate,which outside of being a fantastic modern art museum is an absolutely gorgeous building, set in an old re-designed power plant that towers above its surroundings (including the Globe) but which is contrasted with the fragility of the birches that stand in front of it. The interior is equally impressive, split into five (six? seven?) floors on one side and then a massive open exhibition space on other; all the more impressive in its vastness because there was curently no exhibition occupying it. The art includes a room of Soviet propoganda posters, which I quite enjoyed as well as - naturally - a great deal of other interesting and important art.
Then we split up again and I went off to explore the South Bank, or old theater district. First stop was a hundreds of years old market called the Borough Market near London Bridge. Following the warren of streets in the area I came upon it almost by accident, surrounded by small food stores and chiming with the sounds of conversation and a few loud sellers advertising their produce. Artisan food goods and produce, ales, fish, sausage, jams, breads, cheese, sweets, puddings, honey, strawberries........... It was wonderful. Of course I would say that, but it really was. Large, and lively and just excellent. One vendor tried to persuade me to buy some Milwaukee rye (ironically) by telling me that it makes women irresistible to men. Ha.
Next was Southwark Cathedral, which might be my favorite church in London. It was somehow welcoming despite the cold stone (or perhaps because of it, it being a hot day), smelling of incense with light streaming down from its high windows. The cathedral is filled with history, plaques dedicated to various personages and burials for some of the more famous or rich, including a plaque of a doctor that spoke of his fame and skill in somewhat ridiculous terms. One of the burials is of the Bishop who was in charge of helping put together the translation of the bible. And a shrine to Shakespeare (Winedalers, breath a collective sigh here, please). He looks a bit cocky, actually, lounging on his elbow with one knee bent. I spent a few minutes standing in front of it, admiring both the shrine itself and a gorgeous modern stained glass window above him featuring various characters from his plays (including Macbeth and his Lady, Beatrice and Benedict, Malvolio and Sir Toby, Hamlet....).
There was also a bowl for cats left out inside the cathedral. I found this funny. And charming.
After another stop at the market to pick up dinner (goat cheese, bread, strawberries), I decided to walk along to the Thames to the Tower, across the Tower Bridge, then back along the South Bank to the Globe in time for Macbeth. Eating my slightly strange sandwich I strolled along, passing mainly joggers and businessmen off of work. Its a lovely bit of the river, along the North Bank in that area, and not too busy. Then I got near the Tower. The Tower was a mobscene. Probably better than earlier in the day, but just so many tourists! Most eating ice cream, due to the unusually warm weather, some eating KFC or fish and chips, both illustrious foods on offer nearby. The Tower itself is fascinating, although I´ve never taken a tour. And I noticed that there are dolls in the windows of what must be its NW tower, on the lowest level. Why are they there? Is it the giftshop? I may never know.
The Tower Bridge was even worse than the tower for crowds of people, and the South Bank wasn´t much better. Although I doubt many of them were tourists, on that Friday Evening no-one seemed to be able to resist the many bars and pubs of the South Bank (the site of `more London`), overflowing into the surrounding streets. It was lovely weather.
A brief stop off at the Tate, and then it was time for the Globe. For the first time, I sat in the seats above rather than being a groundling (which is fun, but tiring), enjoying the view and the high level of audience participation that they brought to Macbeth (I know, of all plays). It was a stunning performance. Their stage was enhanced by a simple ring hung from the top of the stage that had a curtain and a few lengths of chain suspended from it, rotated mechanically but also by human hands. The costumes were simple but evocative (except the witches, who were terrifying), the staging immaculate, the passion real. I love Shakespeare, and I love the Globe.
There was also a bowl for cats left out inside the cathedral. I found this funny. And charming.
After another stop at the market to pick up dinner (goat cheese, bread, strawberries), I decided to walk along to the Thames to the Tower, across the Tower Bridge, then back along the South Bank to the Globe in time for Macbeth. Eating my slightly strange sandwich I strolled along, passing mainly joggers and businessmen off of work. Its a lovely bit of the river, along the North Bank in that area, and not too busy. Then I got near the Tower. The Tower was a mobscene. Probably better than earlier in the day, but just so many tourists! Most eating ice cream, due to the unusually warm weather, some eating KFC or fish and chips, both illustrious foods on offer nearby. The Tower itself is fascinating, although I´ve never taken a tour. And I noticed that there are dolls in the windows of what must be its NW tower, on the lowest level. Why are they there? Is it the giftshop? I may never know.
The Tower Bridge was even worse than the tower for crowds of people, and the South Bank wasn´t much better. Although I doubt many of them were tourists, on that Friday Evening no-one seemed to be able to resist the many bars and pubs of the South Bank (the site of `more London`), overflowing into the surrounding streets. It was lovely weather.
A brief stop off at the Tate, and then it was time for the Globe. For the first time, I sat in the seats above rather than being a groundling (which is fun, but tiring), enjoying the view and the high level of audience participation that they brought to Macbeth (I know, of all plays). It was a stunning performance. Their stage was enhanced by a simple ring hung from the top of the stage that had a curtain and a few lengths of chain suspended from it, rotated mechanically but also by human hands. The costumes were simple but evocative (except the witches, who were terrifying), the staging immaculate, the passion real. I love Shakespeare, and I love the Globe.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Cambridge!
So, Cambridge. Actually, before Cambridge I woke up at 5am, thought it was 7am due to a stupidly erroneous clock on the oven, got dressed, went for walk, wondered why all of London was rising so late besides a few bikers and construction workers, went home, unloaded the dishwasher, made a cup of cocoa and THEN figured out my grievous error. Sigh. So again, who knows how coherently this will turn out. Here’s hoping for the best!
But after everyone was up, and showered and breakfasted we did make it to Cambridge. And what a day it was! Beautiful, and sunny, warm (well, not for Texas, but still warm) and with just a slight hint of a breeze. The train from King’s Cross to Cambridge was an express train, taking only a little more than an hour, and out of the window the impressively verdant countryside slide by, studded by towns, townships and what can only be termed hamlets (to be or not to… oh, never mind). It really was amazing green, the emerald expanses of fields, hedges and fully-leafed trees.
Then we arrived to Cambridge. Arriving at the town center, we booked on to a tour, something I have never done before. Generally I just wander around and get a bit lost and try to see as much of a place as feasibly possible. This was the best place to do so, however, as I learned many a thing I simply couldn’t have learned on my own, no matter how observant, although perhaps with the aid of some tome or other. These interesting facts included:
* Cambridge was founded by students fleeing the townfolk around Oxford, with whom they were feuding and at odds. Then they decided to stay.
* The golden scepter in Henry VIII’s hand on the Trinity College gate (the college he founded just before his death) was replaced by a table leg years ago, probably by students. It remains there to this day, and no-one has ever confessed.
* Tennyson’s statue in the Trinity Chapel (where there also stands one of Newton) has his pipe tucked into his robes at the base of the figure. Showing it was judged inappropriate for a chapel, but they just couldn’t leave him without something that was so integral to his personality so they found a way to work it in.
* The apple tree planted outside of Trinity dedicated to Sir Isaac Newton is said to have come from an apple from the tree that first inspired Newton by dropping an apple on his head (and possibly giving him a bump in addition to that inspiration).
* The famous King’s College Chapel was founded by Henry IV but finished by Henry VIII, who also built a prayer screen through the middle in honor of his marriage to Anne Boleyn. He actually also decorated it with symbols from both York and Lancastrian sides of the royal family, including a coat of arms with the York dragon and Lancanstrian greyhound on either side to celebrate (and, one supposes, attempt to finalize) the end of the War of the Roses. I would like to take a moment here to thank Shakespeare and Winedale for my knowledge of English history. Cheers! I owe you a beer.
* The original college printing press was housed in a relatively grand building with a tower in it. Apparently they used to - and possibly still do - attempt to convince froshies that the first Sunday of the term everyone had to go to that church and worship on Sunday.
* The oldest part of the college is a tower composing part of Corpus Christi chapel that dates to Saxon times (before the Norman invasion!), marked by a particular kind of stonework at the corners that my descriptive powers are simply not going to tackle, but which I could probably draw.
There were other things, but my memory didn't grab on to them with sufficient force, so they probably weren't quite as interesting. After the tour, we had lunch in a church converted into a cafe, recommended by the venerable Rick Steves (if you don't know who Rick Steves is, I should explain that the comment is partly tongue in cheek, since he basically writes guidebooks that make it easy for Americans to travel, and idea not entirely without merit but not exactly the sort of thing I would normally follow). The cafe was very pleasant, and it must say something about the number of fairly ancient churches in Cambridge that they can afford to turn one into a cafe - although it should be noted that services are still held there, in a section walled off with glass. And that actually reminds me of another thing the guide said; apparently there are so many churches in Cambridge that it seems like each small section of the city wanted their own, even if the nearest was only about 200 yards away. In other words, there are a lot of them.
Then we went punting. After a few false starts and hiccups we were moving with a fair degree of accuracy and speed down whatever the river in Cambridge is called, along the backs of the colleges, under stone bridges (including the "bridge of sighs", which students apparently walk across to get their exam results, a very understandable name) and by groups of picnickers taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and glowing grass to watch punters drift by, navigating with greater or lesser degrees of accuracy. In fact, the punting as a bit like playing bumper boats at times, especially in very crowded areas - the flat boats aren't exactly known for their maneverability and since they allow groups to take them out themselves inxperienced punters come up with unexpected and hilarious manuevers. During my time as punter an experienced punter luckily shouted out pointers ("are you left or right handed?" "right" " then pole on the right side, using the end to steer"), and while I can't say we were exactly zipping along, weaving in and out of other boats with ease (have you seen those boats?), the accuracy and enjoyment certainly improved. In fact, I really enjoyed punting, and the day and town couldn't have been more beautiful, nor the current more obligingly languid. I just had to remember to duck to get under the bridges.
Punting marked pretty much the end of our Cambridge trip, although I did visit a two-story candy store (or, "Olde Sweet Shoppe" which should obviously be pronounced "old-ee sweet shop-ee") and tried a rhubarb and custard sherbert (!) that actually had those two flavors, although more custard than rhubarb. Its really a gorgeous city and a charmingly college town, although steeped in tradition in amazing amounts. The architecture is astoundin ly old and yet varied, a city of stone and narrow streets everywhere one goes, and the colleges add to the charm. Wouldn't mind going there myself, although mainly in theory given my lack of plans.On the train back I made an effort to look out the windows instead of read (an overlooked way of isolating myself, ah!), and was rewarded by gorgeous vistas of the English countryside, and even a community garden.
The final adventure of the day was an attempt to walk from Kings' Cross Station - where the Cambridge train came into - and South Kensington, by the house. Using only a Tube map, not an actual map. It was fun! And made me once again very aware of how little the Tube map has any relevance to the actual scale of the city. I was also surprisingly successful, and made it all the way to Green Park station (four away on the Piccadilly line) before deciding I should probably get on the train just to get back for dinner. Notable sites included the LCE, "Goodenough College" (the actual name!), the Treasury, the entrance to the old City of London, Convent Garden and many other things that just happened to be along the way. I love wandering in cities.
What a long post. Tonight it Macbeth - I got the date wrong - and who knows what else. Hurrah! London!
But after everyone was up, and showered and breakfasted we did make it to Cambridge. And what a day it was! Beautiful, and sunny, warm (well, not for Texas, but still warm) and with just a slight hint of a breeze. The train from King’s Cross to Cambridge was an express train, taking only a little more than an hour, and out of the window the impressively verdant countryside slide by, studded by towns, townships and what can only be termed hamlets (to be or not to… oh, never mind). It really was amazing green, the emerald expanses of fields, hedges and fully-leafed trees.
Then we arrived to Cambridge. Arriving at the town center, we booked on to a tour, something I have never done before. Generally I just wander around and get a bit lost and try to see as much of a place as feasibly possible. This was the best place to do so, however, as I learned many a thing I simply couldn’t have learned on my own, no matter how observant, although perhaps with the aid of some tome or other. These interesting facts included:
* Cambridge was founded by students fleeing the townfolk around Oxford, with whom they were feuding and at odds. Then they decided to stay.
* The golden scepter in Henry VIII’s hand on the Trinity College gate (the college he founded just before his death) was replaced by a table leg years ago, probably by students. It remains there to this day, and no-one has ever confessed.
* Tennyson’s statue in the Trinity Chapel (where there also stands one of Newton) has his pipe tucked into his robes at the base of the figure. Showing it was judged inappropriate for a chapel, but they just couldn’t leave him without something that was so integral to his personality so they found a way to work it in.
* The apple tree planted outside of Trinity dedicated to Sir Isaac Newton is said to have come from an apple from the tree that first inspired Newton by dropping an apple on his head (and possibly giving him a bump in addition to that inspiration).
* The famous King’s College Chapel was founded by Henry IV but finished by Henry VIII, who also built a prayer screen through the middle in honor of his marriage to Anne Boleyn. He actually also decorated it with symbols from both York and Lancastrian sides of the royal family, including a coat of arms with the York dragon and Lancanstrian greyhound on either side to celebrate (and, one supposes, attempt to finalize) the end of the War of the Roses. I would like to take a moment here to thank Shakespeare and Winedale for my knowledge of English history. Cheers! I owe you a beer.
* The original college printing press was housed in a relatively grand building with a tower in it. Apparently they used to - and possibly still do - attempt to convince froshies that the first Sunday of the term everyone had to go to that church and worship on Sunday.
* The oldest part of the college is a tower composing part of Corpus Christi chapel that dates to Saxon times (before the Norman invasion!), marked by a particular kind of stonework at the corners that my descriptive powers are simply not going to tackle, but which I could probably draw.
There were other things, but my memory didn't grab on to them with sufficient force, so they probably weren't quite as interesting. After the tour, we had lunch in a church converted into a cafe, recommended by the venerable Rick Steves (if you don't know who Rick Steves is, I should explain that the comment is partly tongue in cheek, since he basically writes guidebooks that make it easy for Americans to travel, and idea not entirely without merit but not exactly the sort of thing I would normally follow). The cafe was very pleasant, and it must say something about the number of fairly ancient churches in Cambridge that they can afford to turn one into a cafe - although it should be noted that services are still held there, in a section walled off with glass. And that actually reminds me of another thing the guide said; apparently there are so many churches in Cambridge that it seems like each small section of the city wanted their own, even if the nearest was only about 200 yards away. In other words, there are a lot of them.
Then we went punting. After a few false starts and hiccups we were moving with a fair degree of accuracy and speed down whatever the river in Cambridge is called, along the backs of the colleges, under stone bridges (including the "bridge of sighs", which students apparently walk across to get their exam results, a very understandable name) and by groups of picnickers taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and glowing grass to watch punters drift by, navigating with greater or lesser degrees of accuracy. In fact, the punting as a bit like playing bumper boats at times, especially in very crowded areas - the flat boats aren't exactly known for their maneverability and since they allow groups to take them out themselves inxperienced punters come up with unexpected and hilarious manuevers. During my time as punter an experienced punter luckily shouted out pointers ("are you left or right handed?" "right" " then pole on the right side, using the end to steer"), and while I can't say we were exactly zipping along, weaving in and out of other boats with ease (have you seen those boats?), the accuracy and enjoyment certainly improved. In fact, I really enjoyed punting, and the day and town couldn't have been more beautiful, nor the current more obligingly languid. I just had to remember to duck to get under the bridges.
Punting marked pretty much the end of our Cambridge trip, although I did visit a two-story candy store (or, "Olde Sweet Shoppe" which should obviously be pronounced "old-ee sweet shop-ee") and tried a rhubarb and custard sherbert (!) that actually had those two flavors, although more custard than rhubarb. Its really a gorgeous city and a charmingly college town, although steeped in tradition in amazing amounts. The architecture is astoundin ly old and yet varied, a city of stone and narrow streets everywhere one goes, and the colleges add to the charm. Wouldn't mind going there myself, although mainly in theory given my lack of plans.On the train back I made an effort to look out the windows instead of read (an overlooked way of isolating myself, ah!), and was rewarded by gorgeous vistas of the English countryside, and even a community garden.
The final adventure of the day was an attempt to walk from Kings' Cross Station - where the Cambridge train came into - and South Kensington, by the house. Using only a Tube map, not an actual map. It was fun! And made me once again very aware of how little the Tube map has any relevance to the actual scale of the city. I was also surprisingly successful, and made it all the way to Green Park station (four away on the Piccadilly line) before deciding I should probably get on the train just to get back for dinner. Notable sites included the LCE, "Goodenough College" (the actual name!), the Treasury, the entrance to the old City of London, Convent Garden and many other things that just happened to be along the way. I love wandering in cities.
What a long post. Tonight it Macbeth - I got the date wrong - and who knows what else. Hurrah! London!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Beginnings
This trip I am trying low-tech ('old school') travel. No cellphone, camera, iPod or computer. Also, unintentionally, without a watch. I found last time that travelling without a time-telling device is a terrible idea, so I may have to buy one. But the others ARE intentional, mainly for the purpose of travelling with a degree of immersion wherever I happen to be. I've found that its hard to really experience cities through the isolation created by the sound barrier of an iPod or the lense of a camera. So far it isn't so bad, although already on the plane over I sorely missed my iPod due to the presence of The Snorer in the seat directly behind me.
Ah, The Snorer. I wish there were some way to request, instead of an aisle or window seat, a seat away from crying babies or, in this case, The Snorer. I swear that this man started snoring the minute he came on board (aided by a sleeping pill, perhaps?) and besides mealtimes didn't stop until we landed in Heathrow. This is impressive, since Dallas to Heathrow takes about 8.5 hours. One has to admire the dedication.
So, my plane flight wasn't exactly restful. I managed to sleep a bit - I think - but tossed and turned and cursed the nasal passages of that man. Still, I survived. On another note, I wouldn't neccesarily recommend American Airlines for Transatlantic flights. No personal screen, relatively little space, and you have to pay for wine (shock! horror!).
Regardless, I arrived safe and sound, sailing through customs and navigating the Underground to the lovely house/apartment where I am staying with family friends Marianne and Ron. Its about a two minute walk from South Kensington station, just by the VA and the Natural History Museum. The French Academy is half a block away, so the area is also a very French part of London. After I arrived Ron and I went for a walk to find a sandwich and passed a cafe crowded with the sound of French that Ron said was filled every morning by French women drinking cafe. I am always surprised about just how international a city London is, although its probably more so in the summer. But just the number of languages around! The food choices! The range of people! I love it. London may be one of the most perfect cities in the world (free museums!), if only it weren't so crazy expensive.
Speaking of which, looking at the prices in realtor's windows, a room here would cost per week what my rent in Austin costs per month, if not more. Well, a girl can dream.
Anyway, post sandwich and tea at a lovely (chain) cafe called Paul's - where all the employees are French, it seems - Ron and I went to VA to look at their theatrical costume exhibit, which was wonderful. Returning to the house, Marianne and her two sisters Charlotte and Judy had returned from Kew Gardens. M&R and I shortly set out on a walk in Chelsea, visiting a statue of Sir Thomas More (Saint, Scholar, Statesman read the base) and the houses of various luminaries of the world of art and literature, including Oscar Wilde. What a clever man.
At that point it had been a long day for all, so dinner, a British murder mystery and bed followed each other in that order.
Then, of course, I woke up around 5 because my sleep schedule is completely out of wack and couldn't go back to sleep, so here I am. Apologies for incoherence or general uninteresting blathering. I will try to do better in the future.
Today, we are probably going to Cambridge. And tonight, Macbeth at the Globe!
Ah, The Snorer. I wish there were some way to request, instead of an aisle or window seat, a seat away from crying babies or, in this case, The Snorer. I swear that this man started snoring the minute he came on board (aided by a sleeping pill, perhaps?) and besides mealtimes didn't stop until we landed in Heathrow. This is impressive, since Dallas to Heathrow takes about 8.5 hours. One has to admire the dedication.
So, my plane flight wasn't exactly restful. I managed to sleep a bit - I think - but tossed and turned and cursed the nasal passages of that man. Still, I survived. On another note, I wouldn't neccesarily recommend American Airlines for Transatlantic flights. No personal screen, relatively little space, and you have to pay for wine (shock! horror!).
Regardless, I arrived safe and sound, sailing through customs and navigating the Underground to the lovely house/apartment where I am staying with family friends Marianne and Ron. Its about a two minute walk from South Kensington station, just by the VA and the Natural History Museum. The French Academy is half a block away, so the area is also a very French part of London. After I arrived Ron and I went for a walk to find a sandwich and passed a cafe crowded with the sound of French that Ron said was filled every morning by French women drinking cafe. I am always surprised about just how international a city London is, although its probably more so in the summer. But just the number of languages around! The food choices! The range of people! I love it. London may be one of the most perfect cities in the world (free museums!), if only it weren't so crazy expensive.
Speaking of which, looking at the prices in realtor's windows, a room here would cost per week what my rent in Austin costs per month, if not more. Well, a girl can dream.
Anyway, post sandwich and tea at a lovely (chain) cafe called Paul's - where all the employees are French, it seems - Ron and I went to VA to look at their theatrical costume exhibit, which was wonderful. Returning to the house, Marianne and her two sisters Charlotte and Judy had returned from Kew Gardens. M&R and I shortly set out on a walk in Chelsea, visiting a statue of Sir Thomas More (Saint, Scholar, Statesman read the base) and the houses of various luminaries of the world of art and literature, including Oscar Wilde. What a clever man.
At that point it had been a long day for all, so dinner, a British murder mystery and bed followed each other in that order.
Then, of course, I woke up around 5 because my sleep schedule is completely out of wack and couldn't go back to sleep, so here I am. Apologies for incoherence or general uninteresting blathering. I will try to do better in the future.
Today, we are probably going to Cambridge. And tonight, Macbeth at the Globe!
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