Czech writers share certain similarities in their work. Take the two most famous Czech writers, Franz Kafka (Metamorphosis) and Milan Kundera (The Incredible Lightness of Being). Kafka's work is dark, philosophical and, well, kinda weird but beautiful; in 'Metamorphosis' he writes about a man transformed into a cockroach in his sleep. Kundera's intensely beautiful work is philosophical, often gloomy and self reflective and, well, weird; in 'Identity' he ponders whether someone loses their identity if you fail to recognise them; in 'The Incredible Lightness of Being' he tackles the topic of Being through an exploration of (mostly adulterous) relationships.
Having visited the Czech Republic, I know understand why these writers share such commonalities. Czech is a dark, gloomy, weird and intensely beautiful place, which inspires philosophical introspection.
Dark and Gloomy: Czech architecture is the stuff of vampire movies. It's a combination of Art Nouveau, pointed spires, castles and water stained, dark stone. Unlike neighbouring countries, Czech doesn't seem to have suffered too badly from WWII bombings, thus Praha evokes an older era; one in which people believe in horrors and superstitions. The castle looming on the other side of the river looks as though it could house all sorts of nasty creatures, while the church dominating Wenceslas square has the aura of a stern, Gothic watchtower. Doors and windows sport carved details, such as screaming faces within fanged mouths, or rats climbing frames. The blackened statues of the Charles Bridge bear testimony to the climate of Praha- rainy. A sudden and unbelievably intense downpour seems standard for Czech.
Weird: Kutna Hora, an hour out of Praha, is visited for its one tourist attraction. No, I don't mean the exhibition at the cigarette manufacturer. Kutna Hora is home to an ossuary; a bone church. Following massive deaths from the plague, the area had far more bodies than they could bury. So they didn't. Instead the bones were cleaned and used to create decoration inside the church. Yes, decoration. Some of the bones (mostly skulls and femurs) were piled into four enormous pyramids, with candles burning within. Others were used for to more delicate decoration: a coat of arms sporting a bird (made of human bones) pecking the eye out of a skull; crosses reminiscent of pirate flags; the signature of the 'artist'; and a giant candelabra, which dominates the interior of the building and uses every bone in the human body. Gross. But really, really cool.
Introspective: Czech Republic, Czechoslovakia, Bohemia. Whatever you choose to call the area, it is one which has been fought over and dominated by many powers throughout history. Czech Bohemia was part of the Austrian Empire for ages, despite attempts to gain Independence. Once the Empire fell, Czechoslovakia put up little resistance to the invading German army, having learned from failed war efforts in the past. This passivity led to their submission to the Soviet Union, and resulted in Czechoslovakia being hidden behind the Communist Iron Curtain for quite some time. Now liberated, Czech Republic still bears the philosophical and self-reflective air inspired by the dark years of oppression, and the weight of a cloud-heavy sky bearing upon grim Gothic buildings. When looking around can be dangerous or terrifying, people are often led to look within themselves, and their fellow man.
Beautiful: Everywhere you look in Praha, an amazing sight greets your eyes. It might be the sparkle and gleam of a Swarovski store, the modern counterpart of traditional Bohemian crystal-smiths. It might be the sun setting over the river, and setting the spires of the churches, castles, bridge gates alight. It might be the intricate detail in a building only just noticed, although you've passed it frequently. Despite attempts to tread them down, the Czech's have stubbornly clung to their language, their traditions, their identity, and have created beauty reflective of their world. Their world may have metamorphosed for a time into something dark and unpleasant, but it's clear that here is a nation unwilling to give up on the incredible lightness of being.
Showing posts with label Europe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Europe. Show all posts
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
East and west
Having seen the effect of post WWII capitalist Bavaria, Berlin seemed to shine with the promise of contrast. I expected to see remnants of Walled West Berlin, surrounded by a uniform post-communist East city. However, travellers I'd met had advised me that there was almost no difference now between East and West, and that apart from the line of bricks marking the road, one couldn't recognise the divide.
Even my Berlin tour guide re-iterated this. Originally Welsh, she'd lived in West Berlin for two years. She told horror stories of friends' apartments in the East with shared toilets on the landing and shower in the kitchen, but this was really the only difference she knew of. Except for Ampelman, the communist traffic light symbol, different from the standard traffic warning image. And the fact that "There's nothing in West Berlin, really. East Berlin got all the cool stuff". But apart from THAT, East and West are exactly the same, she feels.
I stayed with friends in East Berlin, in a two room apartment. With a shower in the kitchen, and a shared toilet on the landing, quite normal in Europe, really. One of the couple works casually, while the other works 25 hours a week. Some of their neighbours are surprised that they have work at all, as 1 in 4 Berliners of working age are unemployed. Both of my friends earn far less than their counterparts working on the West side of town do. They advise that the best situation one can achieve in Berlin is to work in the West and live in the East, as food and rents are more expensive in the West. An East Berlin loaf of bread costing 1euro may cost 3euro in the West. Clearly the differences between the 'Two cities' are in existence if you look for them.
The fall of the wall clearly spelled a lot of changes for the socialist East Berlin. Conditions in the German Democratic Republic (GDR) had been difficult, with under supply of goods, lack of freedom of speech, and long, demanding working hours. An exhibition at the German History Museum on life in the GDR demonstrated the constant double speak (replicated in many East German jokes about the GDR), inequality and frustrations people lived with every day. So surely now that they'd joined their rich neighbours of the West in the land of Capitalism, all would be happy, right? The exhibition ended with a series of photographs and interviews with East Berliners directly after the fall, and in present day. Most of them found themselves worse off, rather than better. Their qualifications were not valid in the new world, their jobs unstable or non-existent, and their homes no longer a certainty. Most seemed diplomatic ("I was lucky to be allowed to work at all"), but some comments really resonate; "They could have left the wall standing and allowed greater travel allowances". For many, the move into the promised land has not been as expected.
Most of my time was spent in East Berlin, which comes across as an area fast becoming gentrified; but the spirit of many communities is still very friendly, a bit bohemian, creative. Market sellers happily barter the cost of their goods, and waiters will deliver complementary fruit as a dessert. Squats and communal kitchens, located in buildings emptied when their inhabitants departed for West Berlin, are identified by the colourful and socialist graffiti adorning the outer walls.
The inner city mixes remnants of the old city, replicas of old buildings and stunning modern architecture. And while Nazism is certainly not dead in Berlin, the city is determined to remember the tragedy of the Holocaust, in the hope it will not be replicated. Several controversial memorial dot the city: one features a mother cradling a dying boy, while beneath are buried a German soldier and a Holocaust victim, illustrating that War and Racism hurts everyone. Far more blatant is the Memorial for Murdered Jews, some 2700 concrete blocks erected to mark the deaths of millions of European Jews cover a large city block. While the interpretation of the striking memorial lies solely with the viewer, its main purpose is simply to be noticeable; the starkness, and the blocks which rise until they tower above you make the memorial difficult to ignore. Surely it stands as a reminder, and warning, that those things we turn a blind eye toward can come to overwhelm, and through apathy of bystanders become too powerful to counteract. Plans to erect a similar memorial for the other victims of the Holocaust (Roma, Sinta, homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses, etc) are underway.
Some people say there are still two cities, maybe even two countries. Others say this is ridiculous. Yet people still live who remember the division; who are still discriminated against in wages and jobs; who still find the shift to capitalism difficult and disillusioning. Thus surely these two cities MUST still exist. And as the whole reason for the division of Berlin was the notion that "whoever rules Berlin rules Germany", then it stands to reason that Germany is yet to become truly whole again.
Even my Berlin tour guide re-iterated this. Originally Welsh, she'd lived in West Berlin for two years. She told horror stories of friends' apartments in the East with shared toilets on the landing and shower in the kitchen, but this was really the only difference she knew of. Except for Ampelman, the communist traffic light symbol, different from the standard traffic warning image. And the fact that "There's nothing in West Berlin, really. East Berlin got all the cool stuff". But apart from THAT, East and West are exactly the same, she feels.
I stayed with friends in East Berlin, in a two room apartment. With a shower in the kitchen, and a shared toilet on the landing, quite normal in Europe, really. One of the couple works casually, while the other works 25 hours a week. Some of their neighbours are surprised that they have work at all, as 1 in 4 Berliners of working age are unemployed. Both of my friends earn far less than their counterparts working on the West side of town do. They advise that the best situation one can achieve in Berlin is to work in the West and live in the East, as food and rents are more expensive in the West. An East Berlin loaf of bread costing 1euro may cost 3euro in the West. Clearly the differences between the 'Two cities' are in existence if you look for them.
The fall of the wall clearly spelled a lot of changes for the socialist East Berlin. Conditions in the German Democratic Republic (GDR) had been difficult, with under supply of goods, lack of freedom of speech, and long, demanding working hours. An exhibition at the German History Museum on life in the GDR demonstrated the constant double speak (replicated in many East German jokes about the GDR), inequality and frustrations people lived with every day. So surely now that they'd joined their rich neighbours of the West in the land of Capitalism, all would be happy, right? The exhibition ended with a series of photographs and interviews with East Berliners directly after the fall, and in present day. Most of them found themselves worse off, rather than better. Their qualifications were not valid in the new world, their jobs unstable or non-existent, and their homes no longer a certainty. Most seemed diplomatic ("I was lucky to be allowed to work at all"), but some comments really resonate; "They could have left the wall standing and allowed greater travel allowances". For many, the move into the promised land has not been as expected.
Most of my time was spent in East Berlin, which comes across as an area fast becoming gentrified; but the spirit of many communities is still very friendly, a bit bohemian, creative. Market sellers happily barter the cost of their goods, and waiters will deliver complementary fruit as a dessert. Squats and communal kitchens, located in buildings emptied when their inhabitants departed for West Berlin, are identified by the colourful and socialist graffiti adorning the outer walls.
The inner city mixes remnants of the old city, replicas of old buildings and stunning modern architecture. And while Nazism is certainly not dead in Berlin, the city is determined to remember the tragedy of the Holocaust, in the hope it will not be replicated. Several controversial memorial dot the city: one features a mother cradling a dying boy, while beneath are buried a German soldier and a Holocaust victim, illustrating that War and Racism hurts everyone. Far more blatant is the Memorial for Murdered Jews, some 2700 concrete blocks erected to mark the deaths of millions of European Jews cover a large city block. While the interpretation of the striking memorial lies solely with the viewer, its main purpose is simply to be noticeable; the starkness, and the blocks which rise until they tower above you make the memorial difficult to ignore. Surely it stands as a reminder, and warning, that those things we turn a blind eye toward can come to overwhelm, and through apathy of bystanders become too powerful to counteract. Plans to erect a similar memorial for the other victims of the Holocaust (Roma, Sinta, homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses, etc) are underway.
Some people say there are still two cities, maybe even two countries. Others say this is ridiculous. Yet people still live who remember the division; who are still discriminated against in wages and jobs; who still find the shift to capitalism difficult and disillusioning. Thus surely these two cities MUST still exist. And as the whole reason for the division of Berlin was the notion that "whoever rules Berlin rules Germany", then it stands to reason that Germany is yet to become truly whole again.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
The hills are alive
I've never really been much of a mountain person; I like the beach. Mountains have snakes and steep inclines and other such unpleasantness. But I have discovered that I REALLY like the Bavarian and Austrian Alps. Part of this might be linked my childhood love of 'The Sound of Music', which I indulged yesterday.
My sometimes travel buddy Dave (who I met in Berlin, and saw for drinks in Barcelona) managed to get to Salzburg the day before I was due to leave for Berlin, so I planned my daytrip to Salzburg to coincide, so that we could do the Sound of Music tour together. This is a cheesy bus trip, in which you visit a number of sites where filming took place, and where the real Von Trapp family live. There was also enforced group singing and tacky photo taking, and extremely funny jokes from our dead pan, liederhosen-clad tour guide, Gunter. It was SO MUCH FUN! Although I did scrape my legs climbing trees to pose for photos- those trees have grown a lot taller in the last forty years.
Salzburg itself was kind of whacky. Overlooked by the biggest fortress in Europe, it harbors weird gnome statues in its main gardens, and last night was hosting the Night of Milk, a festival displaying modern performance art. Entrance was free if you wore all white, so there were ghost people all over town, which was disconcerting until you learned the reason.
This whole area has kooky things going on. I think it's all the beer. Here are a few beer fuelled stories from Munich's past.
The opera house in Munich was made with a concave roof, with the intention to collect water to be used in case of fire. Unfortunately, the opera house caught fire in January, when the water was all frozen, so the people thought of the liquid they had in greatest abundance; beer. They dashed to the Hofbrauhaus, the nearest beer hall, and advised the drunken Bavarians within that they would form a chain of buckets from the Hofbrauhaus to the opera house. Strangely, the buckets, full at the brewery, were always half empty by the time they reached the opera house. One for the opera house, one for me. The opera house burned down.
Germany has a long history of maypoles, but there's also a history of maypole theft. Other towns would steal a rival town's pole and hold it for ransom- for beer, of course. In the 90s, the maypole at Munich airport was stolen in the middle of the night, a huge ten metre tale pole. Concerned about the implications of this theft for the quality of airport security, the airport decided to keep the issue on the quiet, and called the police to report the theft *hush hush*. The police, however, were laughing their heads off; it had actually been the Munch police force who had stolen the pole. As tradition demanded, they held the pole to ransom, and the airport security had to pay the Munich police force in beer.
Speaking of the police, crime is very low in Munich, so the police get bored and thus enforce a lot of odd rules. There are specific places dogs must be parked outside stores. There is a 50euro fine for spitting (but it's only 40 euroes if spitting out gum). It's an offence to vomit in the Hofbrauhaus. And there are a plethora of offences related to bikes, including a 10euro fine for not having a bell (yet you don't have to wear a helmet).
I can see why Munich wants to remember their traditional past, rather than their WWII history. Munich is a really friendly, interesting place, and I am excited to see how it compares with Berlin, my next stop.
My sometimes travel buddy Dave (who I met in Berlin, and saw for drinks in Barcelona) managed to get to Salzburg the day before I was due to leave for Berlin, so I planned my daytrip to Salzburg to coincide, so that we could do the Sound of Music tour together. This is a cheesy bus trip, in which you visit a number of sites where filming took place, and where the real Von Trapp family live. There was also enforced group singing and tacky photo taking, and extremely funny jokes from our dead pan, liederhosen-clad tour guide, Gunter. It was SO MUCH FUN! Although I did scrape my legs climbing trees to pose for photos- those trees have grown a lot taller in the last forty years.
Salzburg itself was kind of whacky. Overlooked by the biggest fortress in Europe, it harbors weird gnome statues in its main gardens, and last night was hosting the Night of Milk, a festival displaying modern performance art. Entrance was free if you wore all white, so there were ghost people all over town, which was disconcerting until you learned the reason.
This whole area has kooky things going on. I think it's all the beer. Here are a few beer fuelled stories from Munich's past.
The opera house in Munich was made with a concave roof, with the intention to collect water to be used in case of fire. Unfortunately, the opera house caught fire in January, when the water was all frozen, so the people thought of the liquid they had in greatest abundance; beer. They dashed to the Hofbrauhaus, the nearest beer hall, and advised the drunken Bavarians within that they would form a chain of buckets from the Hofbrauhaus to the opera house. Strangely, the buckets, full at the brewery, were always half empty by the time they reached the opera house. One for the opera house, one for me. The opera house burned down.
Germany has a long history of maypoles, but there's also a history of maypole theft. Other towns would steal a rival town's pole and hold it for ransom- for beer, of course. In the 90s, the maypole at Munich airport was stolen in the middle of the night, a huge ten metre tale pole. Concerned about the implications of this theft for the quality of airport security, the airport decided to keep the issue on the quiet, and called the police to report the theft *hush hush*. The police, however, were laughing their heads off; it had actually been the Munch police force who had stolen the pole. As tradition demanded, they held the pole to ransom, and the airport security had to pay the Munich police force in beer.
Speaking of the police, crime is very low in Munich, so the police get bored and thus enforce a lot of odd rules. There are specific places dogs must be parked outside stores. There is a 50euro fine for spitting (but it's only 40 euroes if spitting out gum). It's an offence to vomit in the Hofbrauhaus. And there are a plethora of offences related to bikes, including a 10euro fine for not having a bell (yet you don't have to wear a helmet).
I can see why Munich wants to remember their traditional past, rather than their WWII history. Munich is a really friendly, interesting place, and I am excited to see how it compares with Berlin, my next stop.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Munich's hidden past
When you think of Munich, you probably think of beer, and Oktoberfest. Or maybe, if you're a little more historically or geographically minded, you might think of Bavaria, and Munich being the seat of Bavarian rule. You probably don't immediately think of Hitler, or of the birth of the Nazi party. And that's exactly how Munich likes it.
Some cities chose to rebuild their cities in new styles after WWII bombing. Not Munich; it rebuilt everything exactly the same, to the point that it didn't even put up any new war memorials. That might remind people that Munich was somehow involved in the war; Munich prefers to evoke a happy, beer inspired time past.
Munich is definitely first and foremost about beer. There are numerous beer tours, ridiculous numbers of beer shops and the famous Hofbrauhaus (court brewery). Once upon a time, the Hofbrauhaus was a men only establishment, with a bottom level smelling of urine, as getting up to use the facilites might mean losing your seat or, even worse, your beer. These days the Hof is a noisy establishment, packed to the rafters with tourists and locals alike enjoying the oompah-pah music, the pretzels and of course, the beer in LITRE mahs jugs. Yup, you have to drink it by the litre. Sobriety is not an option.
In fact, it was on the top floor of the Hofbrauhaus that Hitler first began trying to sway Munich citizens to join the Munich political party of which he had become leader, the Nationals (or Nazis). It was in Munich that Hitler first attempted to overthrow a government, resulting in the deaths of 16 and the imprisonment of Hitler for eleven months; on FIVE charges, each of which carried a death sentence, he got a measly 5 months. Imagine how history could have been different if the judge had not been a Nazi sympathiser. It was in Munich that he perfected his 'charismatic' puplic speaking, filling the first five rows of any public presentation with planted Nazis, to create a mob mentality conducive to his cause.
Munich is a city that is steeped in proud history, but finds it hard to resign itself to its recent past. Except for tour companies, there isn't even mention of nearby Dachau, the concentration camp bearing the famous gate slogan, 'Arbeit Mach Frei' (Work will make you free). However, information for Neuschwanstein Castle, on which Disney's Sleeping Beauty Castle is modelled, is all over. You can actually buy liederhosen in modern department stores. It's a lovely, friendly, interesting place... you just have to dig a little deep to scratch the most recent surface of Munich's history.
Some cities chose to rebuild their cities in new styles after WWII bombing. Not Munich; it rebuilt everything exactly the same, to the point that it didn't even put up any new war memorials. That might remind people that Munich was somehow involved in the war; Munich prefers to evoke a happy, beer inspired time past.
Munich is definitely first and foremost about beer. There are numerous beer tours, ridiculous numbers of beer shops and the famous Hofbrauhaus (court brewery). Once upon a time, the Hofbrauhaus was a men only establishment, with a bottom level smelling of urine, as getting up to use the facilites might mean losing your seat or, even worse, your beer. These days the Hof is a noisy establishment, packed to the rafters with tourists and locals alike enjoying the oompah-pah music, the pretzels and of course, the beer in LITRE mahs jugs. Yup, you have to drink it by the litre. Sobriety is not an option.
In fact, it was on the top floor of the Hofbrauhaus that Hitler first began trying to sway Munich citizens to join the Munich political party of which he had become leader, the Nationals (or Nazis). It was in Munich that Hitler first attempted to overthrow a government, resulting in the deaths of 16 and the imprisonment of Hitler for eleven months; on FIVE charges, each of which carried a death sentence, he got a measly 5 months. Imagine how history could have been different if the judge had not been a Nazi sympathiser. It was in Munich that he perfected his 'charismatic' puplic speaking, filling the first five rows of any public presentation with planted Nazis, to create a mob mentality conducive to his cause.
Munich is a city that is steeped in proud history, but finds it hard to resign itself to its recent past. Except for tour companies, there isn't even mention of nearby Dachau, the concentration camp bearing the famous gate slogan, 'Arbeit Mach Frei' (Work will make you free). However, information for Neuschwanstein Castle, on which Disney's Sleeping Beauty Castle is modelled, is all over. You can actually buy liederhosen in modern department stores. It's a lovely, friendly, interesting place... you just have to dig a little deep to scratch the most recent surface of Munich's history.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
A nation divided
While post WWII Germany displayed a very tangible country division, Austria has also long been a nation divided. At some point in time, Austria's Hapsburg family have been rulers of mosy parts of Western Europe, so it always comes as shock when they lose ground; either through wars (Prussian), invasions (Napoleon), uprisings (Hungary's insistence on equality, creating the Austro-Hunagrian Empire, rather than the Austrian Empire) or diplomatic decision (Austria's most dramatic division following WWI, in which the empire was carved into independant countries and Austria became the tiny country we know today).
Austria was declared by Stalin the first 'victim' of Germany's atrocities, and thus for many years felt itself clear of any blame for war crimes, but in the 80s questions began to surface about how deeply involved Austria was in anti-semitic behaviour. Their actions in the past cast further doubt onto Austria's claims of innocence. Austria has had a Jewish population for a thousand years, and never really had an enforced ghetto as some European cities did (such as Venice, the original ghetto). But in the 14th century the Emporer herded most of the Jewish community into boats on the Danube, without oars, and let them float downstream.They landed in Hungary, beginning the large Hungarian Jewish population. The remaining Jews in Vienna, for fear of forced conversion, committed a mass suicide in the synagogue, which was burned down. When Jews were allowed to live in Vienna again (along with Protestants, and non Roman Catholic- Christians), they had to live by strict rules, including not presenting any aspect of their religion to the street.
When Hitler invaded Vienna, a referendum heralded a 98.5% vote in favour of him. However, if you see pictures of the referendum, it's quite clear that there was little choice but to vote yes. A picture of Hitler looks down on voters, and burly guards stand on either side, watching your vote. The yes box is huge, while the no box is tiny, and the 'how to vote' example is clearly marked yes. Apparently anyone who voted no was marched off in chains. However, recent investigation has found that probably 50% of the Austrian public genuinely supported being annexed to Germany; Austria having been such a dominant empire for so long, they simply didn't believe in it's ability to thrive as a tiny state.
Interestingly, one of the post WWII conditions was that Austria could not enter into any organisation of which Germany was a part. This means that, although Austria has been a demontsrably neutral country for fifty years, and is a successful member of the European community, they could not join the European Union until the Soviet Union collapsed, as this heralded the dissolution of the conditions.
Vienna is often described as a classical or old fashioned city; the Hapsburgs' support of the arts meant that creative types, especially musicians, flocked to Vienna (you may have heard of a few... Mozart, Strauss, Brahms). Yet despite the touts strolling the streets in get up of Mozart's times, Vienna is often devastatingly modern. 30% of Vienna was hit by bombing in WWII and had to be rebuilt. Otto Wagner and Hunderwasser erected buildings of controversially striking style, and Gustav Klimt redefined modern art standards, shocking people with his idealied female nudes.
I've seen modern art museums, and Mozart concerts in the Golden Hall (where the Vienna New Year's concert is performed each year). I've drunk far more coffee than is good for me, and I've listened to the most amazing choir perform in a church. And I'm loving it all :)
Austria was declared by Stalin the first 'victim' of Germany's atrocities, and thus for many years felt itself clear of any blame for war crimes, but in the 80s questions began to surface about how deeply involved Austria was in anti-semitic behaviour. Their actions in the past cast further doubt onto Austria's claims of innocence. Austria has had a Jewish population for a thousand years, and never really had an enforced ghetto as some European cities did (such as Venice, the original ghetto). But in the 14th century the Emporer herded most of the Jewish community into boats on the Danube, without oars, and let them float downstream.They landed in Hungary, beginning the large Hungarian Jewish population. The remaining Jews in Vienna, for fear of forced conversion, committed a mass suicide in the synagogue, which was burned down. When Jews were allowed to live in Vienna again (along with Protestants, and non Roman Catholic- Christians), they had to live by strict rules, including not presenting any aspect of their religion to the street.
When Hitler invaded Vienna, a referendum heralded a 98.5% vote in favour of him. However, if you see pictures of the referendum, it's quite clear that there was little choice but to vote yes. A picture of Hitler looks down on voters, and burly guards stand on either side, watching your vote. The yes box is huge, while the no box is tiny, and the 'how to vote' example is clearly marked yes. Apparently anyone who voted no was marched off in chains. However, recent investigation has found that probably 50% of the Austrian public genuinely supported being annexed to Germany; Austria having been such a dominant empire for so long, they simply didn't believe in it's ability to thrive as a tiny state.
Interestingly, one of the post WWII conditions was that Austria could not enter into any organisation of which Germany was a part. This means that, although Austria has been a demontsrably neutral country for fifty years, and is a successful member of the European community, they could not join the European Union until the Soviet Union collapsed, as this heralded the dissolution of the conditions.
Vienna is often described as a classical or old fashioned city; the Hapsburgs' support of the arts meant that creative types, especially musicians, flocked to Vienna (you may have heard of a few... Mozart, Strauss, Brahms). Yet despite the touts strolling the streets in get up of Mozart's times, Vienna is often devastatingly modern. 30% of Vienna was hit by bombing in WWII and had to be rebuilt. Otto Wagner and Hunderwasser erected buildings of controversially striking style, and Gustav Klimt redefined modern art standards, shocking people with his idealied female nudes.
I've seen modern art museums, and Mozart concerts in the Golden Hall (where the Vienna New Year's concert is performed each year). I've drunk far more coffee than is good for me, and I've listened to the most amazing choir perform in a church. And I'm loving it all :)
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Finding my roots
I was a late bloomer in the whole 'dreaming of overseas' stakes. I never really knew where I wanted to go, except for Vienna. I've always been drawn to Vienna: partially due to an interest in classical music; partially because I thought I was Austrian. Not in a 'maybe I'm secretly a Hapsburg princess' kind of way, but that my father's background might have been Austrian.
My ancestry is complicated. I have multiple families, as my biological dad didn't hang around for long. I know the background of my mum's family, and my other dad's family, but the non-existent dad has been harder to trace, especially as my mum never spoke about him. I knew of a grandmother in Berlin, and a vague memory of being told my dad was Austrian. Then I got my full birth certificate, which stated he was born in Cheb, Czechoslavakia (now Czech Republic). Research (ok, Google) advised that Cheb was a very German town, despite being within Czech borders, so I decided I must have misremembered the whole Austrian lineage thing and let it go. Until today.
Today I took a walking tour, and as I was the only person on the tour, I got chatting with the guide. Turns out that Czech was all part of the Austro- Hungarian Empire pre WW1, and that the area of Cheb was Austrian. So the town was a German speaking town, not a German town. However, when Czechoslovakia was granted independence, the German speaking people were ostracised by the Czechs.presented the chance of becoming part of Germany during WWII, they supported the Germans, thus the impression that Cheb is a German town.
So anyway, I'm probably Austrian, not German (as well as Spanish, French, English, Irish and Scottish). Which makes me like Vienna even more.Not that I need much encouragement, it's such a nice place. With such good food. And such good coffee (oh, Vienna coffee. Coffee should ALWAYS come with cream on top).
Anyway, that's all for now. I'm going to see the Spanish Riding School tomorrow, and to log off this blog post before my computer times out.
My ancestry is complicated. I have multiple families, as my biological dad didn't hang around for long. I know the background of my mum's family, and my other dad's family, but the non-existent dad has been harder to trace, especially as my mum never spoke about him. I knew of a grandmother in Berlin, and a vague memory of being told my dad was Austrian. Then I got my full birth certificate, which stated he was born in Cheb, Czechoslavakia (now Czech Republic). Research (ok, Google) advised that Cheb was a very German town, despite being within Czech borders, so I decided I must have misremembered the whole Austrian lineage thing and let it go. Until today.
Today I took a walking tour, and as I was the only person on the tour, I got chatting with the guide. Turns out that Czech was all part of the Austro- Hungarian Empire pre WW1, and that the area of Cheb was Austrian. So the town was a German speaking town, not a German town. However, when Czechoslovakia was granted independence, the German speaking people were ostracised by the Czechs.presented the chance of becoming part of Germany during WWII, they supported the Germans, thus the impression that Cheb is a German town.
So anyway, I'm probably Austrian, not German (as well as Spanish, French, English, Irish and Scottish). Which makes me like Vienna even more.Not that I need much encouragement, it's such a nice place. With such good food. And such good coffee (oh, Vienna coffee. Coffee should ALWAYS come with cream on top).
Anyway, that's all for now. I'm going to see the Spanish Riding School tomorrow, and to log off this blog post before my computer times out.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Water, weather and wandering
Apparently, I should have also included in my 'tally' email the number of Italians who have hit on me. On my final day in Firenze, it was two (one random guy in the area where I was sheltering from torrential rain, one the chef at the place I had lunch). On my first day in Venezia, according to Lisa it was three; I say one and a half. The guy on the train was just making conversation, and the guy who asked us for coffee was hitting on us both. The waiter who brought me a free coffee with a heart drawn in the foam, I accept was attempting a pick up.
Anyway, when I'm not being hit on in Venezia, I am wandering aimlessly. The Venetian labyrinth can be challenging, as streets suddenly hit a canal, or make unexpected turns, meaning neither your direction or arrival time are guaranteed. I have decided to view this as representative of the slow pace of Venetian life, which highlights people watching as a major pastime. For example, in Teatro La Fenice (recently rebuilt in replica after a tragic fire in 1996), the most expensive boxes primarily face the audience, rather than the stage, as the REAL reason one goes to the opera in Venice is to see and be seen. Other Venetian arts, such as amazing glass blowing (mostly done on Murano Island, following fires caused by the practice) and theatrical arts (Carnavale, puppeteering, playing music on wine glasses) all capitalise on the flexibility of Venetian time. You can relax and wander in Venice. If you do anything else, you are CLEARLY a tourist.
The again, most of us ARE tourists in Venice. Only 68,000 actually live in Venice nowadays, compared to 250,000 of 100 years ago, and 70% of the economy depends on tourist trade. Tourist outnumber pigeons, impressive if you've ever seen the vast swarms of birds in Piazza San Marco. And yet, Venice has the worst tourist office I've come across... go figure.
Any 'direction' I've had in Venice has been towards food, churches and glass stores. If one, theoretically, liked Venetian glass, I, I mean THEY could spend a lot of time and money wandering the numerous stores that dot every street. Churches are almost as prolific, many houses artworks by Titian, Tintoretto, Rubens and Veronese.
But the cream on the Catholic cake is clearly the Basilica San Marco. Demonstrating Venezia's early links with the East, it is designed in the style of Greek Catholic churches; in fact a facsimile of the now demolished Church of the Twelve Apostles in Istanbul. St Mark's houses the body of St Mark, stolen by two wily Venetian merchants who smuggled it through Muslim areas under layers of pork! The facade of the church is amazing enough; between the facade and the floor, 60 different types of coloured marble have been used, and four (replica, the originals are inside, protected from weather) horses crowning the church date back over 200 years. But the truly stupendous aspect of the Basilica is inside; every wall and ceiling inch is covered in glass and gold leaf mosaic. This building is enormous, so the scale of this project is stunning. Aside from this, though, my personal favourite is the floor. You may know that, wooden support by wooden support, Venice is sinking. This is evident in the floor of the Basilica, which undulates, resembling a petrification of the lagoon outside. Only sometimes the lagoon isn't just outside; it likes to come inside too. Strong winds frequently cause acqua alta, high water, when the canals overreach their boundaries and join the pedestrians on the streets.
That's another nice thing about Venice; streets are only for pedestrians. There are NO CARS, which is so peaceful. Venice is traversed by foot, or by boat. Add peacefulness to the lapping of the water, always nearby, and you'll relax a little just at the thought. If you're not relaxed enough, try a Venetian beverage. Prosecco is a sparkling white Venetian wine; bellini combines prosecco and peach syrup; sprizze is prosecco, bitters and soda; and sgroppino is prosecco, vodka and lemon sorbet. Delicious!
While several things have happened which could have made Venice pretty stressful, such as mistakes with our hotel booking meaning we only had one bed, and thus having to change hotels; or the torrential rain on our first night herding us back to the safety of our hotel (which sported rude, racist staff and broken facilities), this hasn't resonated through my Venetian experience. It's clear why Venice is such a tourist hub, and has been for hundreds of years; the unique beauty of this place, cushioned in a culture perhaps more tourist orientated, but still fairly well preserved, makes it an absolute must.
Prior to choosing Venice as a destination, I had read an amazing book set in Venice, 'The City of Falling Angels'. Walking around, many things felt familiar. I'm fairly certain I also encountered some of the (local) characters featured i the book, which was exciting. Venice has this fairy tale vibe about it; it really feels like extraordinary tings can happen here. In fact, crossing a bridge I bumped into someone I had met in Milan. I've waded through main public squares, I've had random meetings, I've heard glasses sing symphonies, seen wooden puppets come to life, and I've had two of the most brilliant travel days doing nothing but wandering. Who says life can't be a fairy tale?
Anyway, when I'm not being hit on in Venezia, I am wandering aimlessly. The Venetian labyrinth can be challenging, as streets suddenly hit a canal, or make unexpected turns, meaning neither your direction or arrival time are guaranteed. I have decided to view this as representative of the slow pace of Venetian life, which highlights people watching as a major pastime. For example, in Teatro La Fenice (recently rebuilt in replica after a tragic fire in 1996), the most expensive boxes primarily face the audience, rather than the stage, as the REAL reason one goes to the opera in Venice is to see and be seen. Other Venetian arts, such as amazing glass blowing (mostly done on Murano Island, following fires caused by the practice) and theatrical arts (Carnavale, puppeteering, playing music on wine glasses) all capitalise on the flexibility of Venetian time. You can relax and wander in Venice. If you do anything else, you are CLEARLY a tourist.
The again, most of us ARE tourists in Venice. Only 68,000 actually live in Venice nowadays, compared to 250,000 of 100 years ago, and 70% of the economy depends on tourist trade. Tourist outnumber pigeons, impressive if you've ever seen the vast swarms of birds in Piazza San Marco. And yet, Venice has the worst tourist office I've come across... go figure.
Any 'direction' I've had in Venice has been towards food, churches and glass stores. If one, theoretically, liked Venetian glass, I, I mean THEY could spend a lot of time and money wandering the numerous stores that dot every street. Churches are almost as prolific, many houses artworks by Titian, Tintoretto, Rubens and Veronese.
But the cream on the Catholic cake is clearly the Basilica San Marco. Demonstrating Venezia's early links with the East, it is designed in the style of Greek Catholic churches; in fact a facsimile of the now demolished Church of the Twelve Apostles in Istanbul. St Mark's houses the body of St Mark, stolen by two wily Venetian merchants who smuggled it through Muslim areas under layers of pork! The facade of the church is amazing enough; between the facade and the floor, 60 different types of coloured marble have been used, and four (replica, the originals are inside, protected from weather) horses crowning the church date back over 200 years. But the truly stupendous aspect of the Basilica is inside; every wall and ceiling inch is covered in glass and gold leaf mosaic. This building is enormous, so the scale of this project is stunning. Aside from this, though, my personal favourite is the floor. You may know that, wooden support by wooden support, Venice is sinking. This is evident in the floor of the Basilica, which undulates, resembling a petrification of the lagoon outside. Only sometimes the lagoon isn't just outside; it likes to come inside too. Strong winds frequently cause acqua alta, high water, when the canals overreach their boundaries and join the pedestrians on the streets.
That's another nice thing about Venice; streets are only for pedestrians. There are NO CARS, which is so peaceful. Venice is traversed by foot, or by boat. Add peacefulness to the lapping of the water, always nearby, and you'll relax a little just at the thought. If you're not relaxed enough, try a Venetian beverage. Prosecco is a sparkling white Venetian wine; bellini combines prosecco and peach syrup; sprizze is prosecco, bitters and soda; and sgroppino is prosecco, vodka and lemon sorbet. Delicious!
While several things have happened which could have made Venice pretty stressful, such as mistakes with our hotel booking meaning we only had one bed, and thus having to change hotels; or the torrential rain on our first night herding us back to the safety of our hotel (which sported rude, racist staff and broken facilities), this hasn't resonated through my Venetian experience. It's clear why Venice is such a tourist hub, and has been for hundreds of years; the unique beauty of this place, cushioned in a culture perhaps more tourist orientated, but still fairly well preserved, makes it an absolute must.
Prior to choosing Venice as a destination, I had read an amazing book set in Venice, 'The City of Falling Angels'. Walking around, many things felt familiar. I'm fairly certain I also encountered some of the (local) characters featured i the book, which was exciting. Venice has this fairy tale vibe about it; it really feels like extraordinary tings can happen here. In fact, crossing a bridge I bumped into someone I had met in Milan. I've waded through main public squares, I've had random meetings, I've heard glasses sing symphonies, seen wooden puppets come to life, and I've had two of the most brilliant travel days doing nothing but wandering. Who says life can't be a fairy tale?
Monday, May 28, 2007
Neglected masterpieces
Tomorrow we leave for Venice, and I must make a confession; I didn't go to see David. I know, I know, I should have... but instead I:
-Went to the Uffizzi (having waited 1.5 hours to get in). It was ok. I'd kind of expected more, really liked some of the rooms (such as the Niobi room, which has pictures and sculptures relating to the Greek (?) myth in which Niobi declares her children more beautiful than some of the gods, who retaliate by raining arrows on her family from winged chariots.
-Went to Pentecostal Mass at the Duomo. One of the girls in my dorm was going (she goes to Mass every dazy, though), and was encouraging me to come along. I had no other plans, was intrigued by what it would be like, and loved the idea of hearing services in Italian. Very beautiful, even though I didn't always know what was going on- combination of not speaking the language and having rarely been to church. Another bonus was that I got to see the dome and stained windows, which you can't really see from the tourist entrance. Wish I'd been to the earlier Mass, though, which was in Latin and featured Gregorian chanting and a cardinal. Oh well. Still a nice experience.
- Went to Pallazzo Pitti, a former Medici mansion now used as a gallery. I liked this because many of the pictures were originally displayed in certain gallery rooms by the Medici's themselves. You also get to check out the state apartments. It would have been better had an audioguide been available. However I LOVED the costume gallery. Often a costume gallery refers to dress customs of an area, or an era. Here it actually referred to theatre costumes, and was supplemented by set plans and models for a range of plays, some of which were AMAZING. I theatre-geeked out for a while, it was perhaps my favourite thing I've seen in Florence!
And so, it's on to Venice. I have eaten gelati 6 times in 4 days, pizza twice, and pasta 5 times. I have lost count of the coffees. Florence was good.
-Went to the Uffizzi (having waited 1.5 hours to get in). It was ok. I'd kind of expected more, really liked some of the rooms (such as the Niobi room, which has pictures and sculptures relating to the Greek (?) myth in which Niobi declares her children more beautiful than some of the gods, who retaliate by raining arrows on her family from winged chariots.
-Went to Pentecostal Mass at the Duomo. One of the girls in my dorm was going (she goes to Mass every dazy, though), and was encouraging me to come along. I had no other plans, was intrigued by what it would be like, and loved the idea of hearing services in Italian. Very beautiful, even though I didn't always know what was going on- combination of not speaking the language and having rarely been to church. Another bonus was that I got to see the dome and stained windows, which you can't really see from the tourist entrance. Wish I'd been to the earlier Mass, though, which was in Latin and featured Gregorian chanting and a cardinal. Oh well. Still a nice experience.
- Went to Pallazzo Pitti, a former Medici mansion now used as a gallery. I liked this because many of the pictures were originally displayed in certain gallery rooms by the Medici's themselves. You also get to check out the state apartments. It would have been better had an audioguide been available. However I LOVED the costume gallery. Often a costume gallery refers to dress customs of an area, or an era. Here it actually referred to theatre costumes, and was supplemented by set plans and models for a range of plays, some of which were AMAZING. I theatre-geeked out for a while, it was perhaps my favourite thing I've seen in Florence!
And so, it's on to Venice. I have eaten gelati 6 times in 4 days, pizza twice, and pasta 5 times. I have lost count of the coffees. Florence was good.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
The gelati that saved Italy
Oh what a week we have had! As the predicted travel time from Barcelona to Firenze was 24 hours, we decided to do this in a few long-ish legs, with fly by stops in Avignon and Milan. Why? Why????
I was super-keen for Avignon. This is because it a) is a walled medieval city, but more importantly b) was the papal seat for a while, as the papacy was being argued over by several countries (and indeed, at times there were two vying popes, each being backed by their own country). So this struck me as very cool. My excitement struck Lisa as very old-person, and it struck variuos Avignon dwellers as bizarre.
Walled Avignon seems very pretty- windy streets, cobblestones, the usual hallmarks of medieval towns. But we also saw much more of Avignon on our scenic route to our hotel- several buses, highways, the river very briefly, and BOTH the train stations. We arrived at one, and directions to our hotel indicated it was close to the other. Only it wasn't. Bad directions. Confusion finding the bus we needed. Two hours to find our hotel. Need for immediate beer. Thus, no visit to the Palais de Pape :( However, I got to look at the outside very quickly before we caught our next train, and it was super-cool. Really big, with cross shaped arrow slots which match those in the town walls, remnants of coloured paint on the main wall, crazy bosses above the doors, and TWO space invaders on the back wall. I am so going back.
Milan had less going for it. When we first catching the metro towards our hostel and the train filled with excited Milanese singing football songs, we thought it was kind of cute and funny. When we couldn't get to sleep because Milan won the Champions League Final, and the Milanese wanted to shout and toot their horns and, I don't know, BANG KETTLES til all hours of the morning, it was less charming. Very little sleep, teamed with surly service and crappy facilities leads me to warn you all against the HI hostel in Milan. Actually, don't go to Milan at all. It's dirty, noisy, sweaty, and people expose themselves as they run past you on the street. Ugh.
After a pleasant, air conditioned trip to Firenze, the twenty minute crowded, sweaty bus ride, with very little knowledge of where we were to actually alight, came as a bit of a shock. The trudge up the 400m long driveway, on a very hot and humid day with our bags was also pretty unpleasant, although the greenery surrounding us, surprising in the midst of a city, did temper this a little. But then we arrived at our hostel and were a little impressed. It's an old Villa, an quite a bit of land now used for vines and camping. The building boasts frescoes, statues and a stunning view of 'rural' Firenze. It's a bit noisy, because it hosts so many guests, but the general area is a haven of quiet and green in an otherwise busy, tourist-packed city with little garden area.
Tomorrow (or maybe the next day) I plan to visit the Uffizi Gallery. Today was my churchy day- I visited the Duomo (amazing from the outside, and pretty impressive from the inside. Luckily it was free, but it was a 40 minute wait), the associated baptistry (amazing gold mosaic-work on the roof. This site has been used as a baptistry since the 4th century, and was where Dante was baptised. It's said to have been the site of a Roman temple to Mars before it was converted to Christian use) and the Basilica San Lorenzo (quite a bit of Donatello work, and a very cool medieval reading room/ library). It also turned out to be my David- replica- visiting day; I saw one in Piazzale Della Signorina, and another at Piazzale Michaelangelo, a square quite a hike up the hill, but affording amazing views of Firenze.
But the defining moment at which my faith in Italy was restored occurred on our first day, after Lisa was briefly lost (turned out that when she said 'Meet me at the roundabout', it was not the roundabout near the hostel... but it wasn't far away at all. Phew!). Her exploration of our immediate surroundings had led her to a glorious gelato store, whose flavours included Chocolate and Earl Grey Tea, Pear William, and the best Lemon gelati I have ever had. Simply amazing. And whose brilliant idea was it to combine chocolate and tea into a gelato flavour? It should have been mine... And if I ate this on a pancake, it would combine almost all of my favourite foods :) Viva Italia!
I was super-keen for Avignon. This is because it a) is a walled medieval city, but more importantly b) was the papal seat for a while, as the papacy was being argued over by several countries (and indeed, at times there were two vying popes, each being backed by their own country). So this struck me as very cool. My excitement struck Lisa as very old-person, and it struck variuos Avignon dwellers as bizarre.
Walled Avignon seems very pretty- windy streets, cobblestones, the usual hallmarks of medieval towns. But we also saw much more of Avignon on our scenic route to our hotel- several buses, highways, the river very briefly, and BOTH the train stations. We arrived at one, and directions to our hotel indicated it was close to the other. Only it wasn't. Bad directions. Confusion finding the bus we needed. Two hours to find our hotel. Need for immediate beer. Thus, no visit to the Palais de Pape :( However, I got to look at the outside very quickly before we caught our next train, and it was super-cool. Really big, with cross shaped arrow slots which match those in the town walls, remnants of coloured paint on the main wall, crazy bosses above the doors, and TWO space invaders on the back wall. I am so going back.
Milan had less going for it. When we first catching the metro towards our hostel and the train filled with excited Milanese singing football songs, we thought it was kind of cute and funny. When we couldn't get to sleep because Milan won the Champions League Final, and the Milanese wanted to shout and toot their horns and, I don't know, BANG KETTLES til all hours of the morning, it was less charming. Very little sleep, teamed with surly service and crappy facilities leads me to warn you all against the HI hostel in Milan. Actually, don't go to Milan at all. It's dirty, noisy, sweaty, and people expose themselves as they run past you on the street. Ugh.
After a pleasant, air conditioned trip to Firenze, the twenty minute crowded, sweaty bus ride, with very little knowledge of where we were to actually alight, came as a bit of a shock. The trudge up the 400m long driveway, on a very hot and humid day with our bags was also pretty unpleasant, although the greenery surrounding us, surprising in the midst of a city, did temper this a little. But then we arrived at our hostel and were a little impressed. It's an old Villa, an quite a bit of land now used for vines and camping. The building boasts frescoes, statues and a stunning view of 'rural' Firenze. It's a bit noisy, because it hosts so many guests, but the general area is a haven of quiet and green in an otherwise busy, tourist-packed city with little garden area.
Tomorrow (or maybe the next day) I plan to visit the Uffizi Gallery. Today was my churchy day- I visited the Duomo (amazing from the outside, and pretty impressive from the inside. Luckily it was free, but it was a 40 minute wait), the associated baptistry (amazing gold mosaic-work on the roof. This site has been used as a baptistry since the 4th century, and was where Dante was baptised. It's said to have been the site of a Roman temple to Mars before it was converted to Christian use) and the Basilica San Lorenzo (quite a bit of Donatello work, and a very cool medieval reading room/ library). It also turned out to be my David- replica- visiting day; I saw one in Piazzale Della Signorina, and another at Piazzale Michaelangelo, a square quite a hike up the hill, but affording amazing views of Firenze.
But the defining moment at which my faith in Italy was restored occurred on our first day, after Lisa was briefly lost (turned out that when she said 'Meet me at the roundabout', it was not the roundabout near the hostel... but it wasn't far away at all. Phew!). Her exploration of our immediate surroundings had led her to a glorious gelato store, whose flavours included Chocolate and Earl Grey Tea, Pear William, and the best Lemon gelati I have ever had. Simply amazing. And whose brilliant idea was it to combine chocolate and tea into a gelato flavour? It should have been mine... And if I ate this on a pancake, it would combine almost all of my favourite foods :) Viva Italia!
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Catalan pride and moderniste design
How do people possibly just visit Barcelona for a day or two? We're spending five nights, and it's just not enough. Everything I see makes me want to see more, and spend more time (and money...) here. The atmosphere is lovely, very relaxed (although this might be due to the huge numbers of tourists, who, being on holiday, are generally relaxed!) and the city is so very walkable.
The thing that most people probably know about in Barcelona is Gaudi- and so they should, he is amazing. The next thing they might think of is Dali or Picasso, who both spent time painting here. It seems odd at first that an area would produce three such surrealist creators in different periods of time, but this is linked to the Catalan pride. Catalunya has long seen itself as a distinct area (since the twelfth century), and has been fiercely proud of its language, culture and sense of self. Despite numerous attempts to repress or dispel Catalunya as an autonomous area, the pride of this area means that it refuses to lie down.
Signs in Catalunya are all in Catalan (generally with a Spanish version, and often an English translation too), even though public use of Catalan has been outlawed or seriously frowned upon at three separate points in the last century. Catalonians see their language as integral to their
regional identity.
This pride in Catalonian identity also goes some way to explaining the public celebration of artists and architects such as Gaudi, as they were practicing at time when the Catlonian nationalist movements were particularly strong. It also means that public works, which in many cities may have fallen into disrepair, or have been altered, are preserved in glorious condition and proudly displayed.
Gaudi falls into a group of architects practicing 'moderniste' design, known elsewhere as Art Nouveau. Gaudi embraces many of the ideals of Art Nouveau: that all items should be of use to humanity (meaning that design principles are enhanced to make items and places more people friendly); that functional items should still be beautiful; and beautification which has is primarily inspired by the natural world. Gaudi's work includes a lot of colour, and often ¡curved, organic lines which make some of his works appear very odd form the outside, but inside create a sinuous, comforting space.
I have fallen utterly in love with Gaudi's work. It is almost fairy-tale: the Casa Battlo reminds me of a witch's house with it's unusual colours, crooked roof and balustrades reminiscent of bones. But having visited the inside of La Pedrera and seen the result of his design, I can see how his ideas make so much sense, and create a beautiful living space. Gaudi focuses strongly on light and a feeling of space, created through large doorways between rooms fitted with sliding doors which are designed to remain open most of the time, light wells strategically positioned in apartment blocks, and curving walls which trick the eye and encourage non-traditional arrangement of room fittings.
Other than this, I've checked out other moderniste buildings (also beautiful, although not as strikingly original as Gaudi's work), wandered the Gothic Quarter and the ports, learned about Catlunyan history, visited fabulous markets and watched a very passionate protest. I still want to visit Picasso and Dali artworks, a museum of sacred art, more of Gaudi's works (Sagrada Familia, Palau Gruell, Parc Gruell), visit Montjuic Parc and Parc Cituidade and a whole lot more. I can guarantee I won't get to it all. Which means I can guarantee I'll be back in Barcelona at some time.
I think what I like about Barcelona is similar to what I like about Lisbon- it seems to embrace difference rather than stamp it out. Spanish conquest generally seems to be about exploiting a country and enforcing a Spanish culture onto it- almost a 'We Woz Ere' sign. Barcelona has certainly profited from the American colonies, and had it's share of conquest attempts of neighbouring regions. But due to its economic and industrial success, it has also seen many emigrants arrive. These emigrants often find themselves swept up in Catalunyan culture, and campaigning for a Catalunyan autonomy as strongly as Catlunyan natives.
I'm finding myself swept up in Catalunyan culture already- last night I dreamed about Gaudi. In fact, I dreamed I was performing music on a cardboard tube as a didgeridoo. It was a basis for a thesis I wanted to write comparing my work to Gaudi's, and arguing that beauty and creativity from unusual sources should be celebrated. After all, a teacher of Gaudi's commented at the time of his graduation that he didn't know whether Gaudi was a genius or a madman. While time may have proven his work extraordinary, somehow I don't think the cardboard didgeridoo will take off...
The thing that most people probably know about in Barcelona is Gaudi- and so they should, he is amazing. The next thing they might think of is Dali or Picasso, who both spent time painting here. It seems odd at first that an area would produce three such surrealist creators in different periods of time, but this is linked to the Catalan pride. Catalunya has long seen itself as a distinct area (since the twelfth century), and has been fiercely proud of its language, culture and sense of self. Despite numerous attempts to repress or dispel Catalunya as an autonomous area, the pride of this area means that it refuses to lie down.
Signs in Catalunya are all in Catalan (generally with a Spanish version, and often an English translation too), even though public use of Catalan has been outlawed or seriously frowned upon at three separate points in the last century. Catalonians see their language as integral to their
regional identity.
This pride in Catalonian identity also goes some way to explaining the public celebration of artists and architects such as Gaudi, as they were practicing at time when the Catlonian nationalist movements were particularly strong. It also means that public works, which in many cities may have fallen into disrepair, or have been altered, are preserved in glorious condition and proudly displayed.
Gaudi falls into a group of architects practicing 'moderniste' design, known elsewhere as Art Nouveau. Gaudi embraces many of the ideals of Art Nouveau: that all items should be of use to humanity (meaning that design principles are enhanced to make items and places more people friendly); that functional items should still be beautiful; and beautification which has is primarily inspired by the natural world. Gaudi's work includes a lot of colour, and often ¡curved, organic lines which make some of his works appear very odd form the outside, but inside create a sinuous, comforting space.
I have fallen utterly in love with Gaudi's work. It is almost fairy-tale: the Casa Battlo reminds me of a witch's house with it's unusual colours, crooked roof and balustrades reminiscent of bones. But having visited the inside of La Pedrera and seen the result of his design, I can see how his ideas make so much sense, and create a beautiful living space. Gaudi focuses strongly on light and a feeling of space, created through large doorways between rooms fitted with sliding doors which are designed to remain open most of the time, light wells strategically positioned in apartment blocks, and curving walls which trick the eye and encourage non-traditional arrangement of room fittings.
Other than this, I've checked out other moderniste buildings (also beautiful, although not as strikingly original as Gaudi's work), wandered the Gothic Quarter and the ports, learned about Catlunyan history, visited fabulous markets and watched a very passionate protest. I still want to visit Picasso and Dali artworks, a museum of sacred art, more of Gaudi's works (Sagrada Familia, Palau Gruell, Parc Gruell), visit Montjuic Parc and Parc Cituidade and a whole lot more. I can guarantee I won't get to it all. Which means I can guarantee I'll be back in Barcelona at some time.
I think what I like about Barcelona is similar to what I like about Lisbon- it seems to embrace difference rather than stamp it out. Spanish conquest generally seems to be about exploiting a country and enforcing a Spanish culture onto it- almost a 'We Woz Ere' sign. Barcelona has certainly profited from the American colonies, and had it's share of conquest attempts of neighbouring regions. But due to its economic and industrial success, it has also seen many emigrants arrive. These emigrants often find themselves swept up in Catalunyan culture, and campaigning for a Catalunyan autonomy as strongly as Catlunyan natives.
I'm finding myself swept up in Catalunyan culture already- last night I dreamed about Gaudi. In fact, I dreamed I was performing music on a cardboard tube as a didgeridoo. It was a basis for a thesis I wanted to write comparing my work to Gaudi's, and arguing that beauty and creativity from unusual sources should be celebrated. After all, a teacher of Gaudi's commented at the time of his graduation that he didn't know whether Gaudi was a genius or a madman. While time may have proven his work extraordinary, somehow I don't think the cardboard didgeridoo will take off...
Friday, May 18, 2007
Easy pickings
Man, my wallet is SO easy! I don't need to be pick-pocketed to lose all my money...
I remember Nick asking me earlier in my trip if I'd bought very much, to which I responded that I was here for the experience, not the shopping. Yeah, right. So far I have bought:
2 skirts (one in Bordeaux, one in Barcelona)
1 pair of pants
2 scarf/ shawls
1 bracelet
1 pair of earrings
1 bottle of ginja, a liquer made in Lisbon
5 books (I think- one on art 'isms', one on Art Nouveau, one on Lisbon pavement art, 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame', a modern Czech/ French novel... I think that's all, but I can't be certain).
And that's not including gifts I have bought, although I'm only doing a few of those- too much to carry. Although I'm hardly limiting myself anyway...
I'm not even being careful with how much I spend any more. Just bought a fantastic skirt, which I loved so much I just went 'Yes! I'll take it!' Then afterwards I thought about the price and went 'Oops.' But it's reversable, and orange, and fabulous. That's ok, isn't it??!! Sigh. I think I might need a second job...
I remember Nick asking me earlier in my trip if I'd bought very much, to which I responded that I was here for the experience, not the shopping. Yeah, right. So far I have bought:
2 skirts (one in Bordeaux, one in Barcelona)
1 pair of pants
2 scarf/ shawls
1 bracelet
1 pair of earrings
1 bottle of ginja, a liquer made in Lisbon
5 books (I think- one on art 'isms', one on Art Nouveau, one on Lisbon pavement art, 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame', a modern Czech/ French novel... I think that's all, but I can't be certain).
And that's not including gifts I have bought, although I'm only doing a few of those- too much to carry. Although I'm hardly limiting myself anyway...
I'm not even being careful with how much I spend any more. Just bought a fantastic skirt, which I loved so much I just went 'Yes! I'll take it!' Then afterwards I thought about the price and went 'Oops.' But it's reversable, and orange, and fabulous. That's ok, isn't it??!! Sigh. I think I might need a second job...
Spain- saints, sangria and sleepless nights
It has been said that all roads in Spain lead to Madrid, which I'd believe; Madrid feels quite similar to many other large cities, gritty, busy, and filled with crazy crazy drivers on lots of large roads. It seems very modern architecturally, compared with a lot of places I've been which have retained their tradition and charm. Madrid feels to be mostly a functional city, not beautiful, but there are a lot of fascinating and pretty places to be discovered. Read Lisa's blog for more about that though, as she did far more organised sightseeing than I, and I'm certain she'll write about what she has learned of Madrid's history, art and architecture.
For me, the most exciting prospect of Madrid was May 15, San Isidro's Day. Saint Isidore is the patron saint of Madrid, and I was thrilled at the prospect of witnessing a Saint's festival! Perhaps years of studying religious celebrations had built it all up a little in my mind, but it was quite a fun day. For festival days, Spanish often don traditional dress, which is so cute to see. This was particularly prevalent in children and older couples, but plenty of younger adults were getting into the spirit too. San Isidro's Day seemed to have two separate camps- the religious celebrations centered around the San Isidro Cathedral, and the fiesta, essentially a very large street party, centered around San Isidro's church and meadow. I spent a fair bit of time at the fiesta, soaking up the atmosphere, taking photos of the fantastic dresses and eating rosquillas, traditional donut/ biscuit like pastries.
I also managed a day trip out to Toledo, in Castille- La Mancha (the regional setting of Don Quixote) despite the universe's best effort's to prevent me. I bought a ticket, but missed the train- in Spanish train stations EVERYTHING goes through x-ray machines, and you must board the train a certain time before it leaves (as opposed to say, Portugal, where the train stops briefly and you just jump on). So I could see my train, but not get on it. Then I needed to change my ticket to the next train two hours later, but the line was long and slow, so I decided to come back closer to the time. Only I lost my ticket! Grappled with whether or not I should buy ANOTHER ticket to Toledo, and eventually did, which I am glad of.
Toledo is a medieval walled city in beautiful, classic Spanish landscape (but not windmills in sight), and was the capital of the Visigoth region. Since then it has retained its Visigoth architecture, as well as gained Roman elements, and boasts ancient examples of the three main religions living harmoniously in the one city, with beautiful old synagogues, mosques and cathedrals and monasteries. I loved the cathedral, which was pure Spanish Gothic (unusual, as often Gothic cathedrals have elements of Rennaisance, which has less of a 'wedding cake' effect... but anyway, that detail's just for nerds like me). Fantastic cloisters with orange groves and birds were a highlight, as often cloisters are disused are bare nowadays. The cathedral in Madrid was also amazing, combining Gothic architecture with 20th century decoration and stained glass.
Once back in Madrid, I spent yet more time at the station, waiting over an hour to reserve a seat on the train to Madrid. Ugh. Lisa declares Spanish beuracracy to be slower than French, and the Madrilenians ruder than Parisians. At least beautiful details in Madrid make the waiting more tolerable- Atocha train station is probably the most beautiful transit area I have ever seen. It is in a semi hothouse, and uses the space to house a huge garden of tropical plants, right in the middle of the station! Best of all were the turtles, at least 50 of them, which poke their heads up between water plants and sun themselves on rocks.
Spain stays up late, not lunching until 2pm, and thus not dining until after 9pm. Maybe this is one of the reasons sleep seemed hard to come by. We caught the night train, on which we shared a coach with a buy who was tripping out on something... fun stuff. Then some Sydney number rang my phone at 3am Madrid time the next night (and the following, but I had the phone on silent). Then the next night a drunken chick who'd locked herself out of her room was bashing on doors demanding to be let it- it seeme4d she'd not only forgotten her key, but which room she was in too.
But wait, it wasn't all terrible. I haven't mentioned the best part about Madrid- Spanish chocolate is great! I had chocolate caliente (hot chocolate) and churros three times in two days. How can I stay angry at a city with amazing chocolate? They must be doing something right! Now we're in Barcelona, which has a much cruisier atmosphere, beautifully planned cityscapes, and much smilier waiters. Many people have told me that, despite being robbed here (on multiple occasions for some), Barcelona is their favourite city in the world. I hold high hopes :)
For me, the most exciting prospect of Madrid was May 15, San Isidro's Day. Saint Isidore is the patron saint of Madrid, and I was thrilled at the prospect of witnessing a Saint's festival! Perhaps years of studying religious celebrations had built it all up a little in my mind, but it was quite a fun day. For festival days, Spanish often don traditional dress, which is so cute to see. This was particularly prevalent in children and older couples, but plenty of younger adults were getting into the spirit too. San Isidro's Day seemed to have two separate camps- the religious celebrations centered around the San Isidro Cathedral, and the fiesta, essentially a very large street party, centered around San Isidro's church and meadow. I spent a fair bit of time at the fiesta, soaking up the atmosphere, taking photos of the fantastic dresses and eating rosquillas, traditional donut/ biscuit like pastries.
I also managed a day trip out to Toledo, in Castille- La Mancha (the regional setting of Don Quixote) despite the universe's best effort's to prevent me. I bought a ticket, but missed the train- in Spanish train stations EVERYTHING goes through x-ray machines, and you must board the train a certain time before it leaves (as opposed to say, Portugal, where the train stops briefly and you just jump on). So I could see my train, but not get on it. Then I needed to change my ticket to the next train two hours later, but the line was long and slow, so I decided to come back closer to the time. Only I lost my ticket! Grappled with whether or not I should buy ANOTHER ticket to Toledo, and eventually did, which I am glad of.
Toledo is a medieval walled city in beautiful, classic Spanish landscape (but not windmills in sight), and was the capital of the Visigoth region. Since then it has retained its Visigoth architecture, as well as gained Roman elements, and boasts ancient examples of the three main religions living harmoniously in the one city, with beautiful old synagogues, mosques and cathedrals and monasteries. I loved the cathedral, which was pure Spanish Gothic (unusual, as often Gothic cathedrals have elements of Rennaisance, which has less of a 'wedding cake' effect... but anyway, that detail's just for nerds like me). Fantastic cloisters with orange groves and birds were a highlight, as often cloisters are disused are bare nowadays. The cathedral in Madrid was also amazing, combining Gothic architecture with 20th century decoration and stained glass.
Once back in Madrid, I spent yet more time at the station, waiting over an hour to reserve a seat on the train to Madrid. Ugh. Lisa declares Spanish beuracracy to be slower than French, and the Madrilenians ruder than Parisians. At least beautiful details in Madrid make the waiting more tolerable- Atocha train station is probably the most beautiful transit area I have ever seen. It is in a semi hothouse, and uses the space to house a huge garden of tropical plants, right in the middle of the station! Best of all were the turtles, at least 50 of them, which poke their heads up between water plants and sun themselves on rocks.
Spain stays up late, not lunching until 2pm, and thus not dining until after 9pm. Maybe this is one of the reasons sleep seemed hard to come by. We caught the night train, on which we shared a coach with a buy who was tripping out on something... fun stuff. Then some Sydney number rang my phone at 3am Madrid time the next night (and the following, but I had the phone on silent). Then the next night a drunken chick who'd locked herself out of her room was bashing on doors demanding to be let it- it seeme4d she'd not only forgotten her key, but which room she was in too.
But wait, it wasn't all terrible. I haven't mentioned the best part about Madrid- Spanish chocolate is great! I had chocolate caliente (hot chocolate) and churros three times in two days. How can I stay angry at a city with amazing chocolate? They must be doing something right! Now we're in Barcelona, which has a much cruisier atmosphere, beautifully planned cityscapes, and much smilier waiters. Many people have told me that, despite being robbed here (on multiple occasions for some), Barcelona is their favourite city in the world. I hold high hopes :)
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Oporto- not a Bondi burger in sight
"Welcome to Oporto!" This was called out to us on the street as we carried our backpacks to our hostel (well, actually, first we carried them AWAY from the hostel... but we got there in the end). You really notice how friendly people are in Portugal. Lisa especially notices it... today someone lifted her backpack (still on her back) while she climbed the stairs at the metro station! She's also had people lead her towards ticket machines that work better, and we've had stacks of directions offered up... all in Portuguese! One of my favourite stories happened to a Canadian girl at our hostel; she went to the market, and a vege stall holder started patting the girl's stomach and announcing in Portuguese that she was too skinny, and needed to stay in Portugal and eat more, then mimed the big stomach she ought to have!
Maybe it's just my fondness for Lisbon, but despite the lovely people, I didn't like Oporto (Porto) quite as much. It has a very different feel to Lisbon; wider streets and more modernised shopping districts, yet many houses look quite run down and tiling needs replacing. It's also a lot smaller, and built entirely around the trade of port wine, which actually also explains things like the wide boulevards; when the owners of wineries decided to build second homes in Porto, the city had to expand and the new districts suited the tastes of the richer residents. It may also reflect the long association with the English- Oporto was the official wine supplier for England back in the 1400s. It is still a very pretty city though, hugging one bank of the river Douro and connected to its twin city, Nova Vila de Geia (home to Oporto's port wine 'caves'), on the facing bank by many impressive (and very tall) bridges.
I did, of course, indulge in said port wine. A little too much. Many of the wine caves have free tastings, and cheap tours or tasting upgrades, so it's not too difficult to find you've had nine glasses of port in an afternoon (they were only little glasses, but port is STRONG! Phew). My favourite place was Croft, although I think this was because I bought some chocolate to be matched with my port... really good chocolate. Calem Port was also quite nice. I liked the port, but it's very sweet. My preference is for the other local drink, vinho verde (green wine), which is a young red wine, drunk before the skins have been pressed through the wine. This means the wine hasn't yet taken on the red colour of the skins, and is quite light and bubbly, resembling a white wine rather than a red. You can also get vinho verde tinto, green-red wine, which has had a single pressing of the skins and so has a pale red colour. I'm yet to try that.
Lisa's getting used to my sight-seeing tastes- when we first got the map of Oporto, she pointed out the twenty odd churches in the city. I didn't seek many out specifically, but stumbled across a lot by accident while wandering (and getting lost in) residential districts. In Portugal, and I especially noticed it in Oporto, houses are built up around the churches, so you can easily find a church in a row of houses. Many houses also sport their own shrines to saints, or pictures of them on the outer walls. The other thing that stood out for me in Oporto were the amazing azeluja tiles, tiles hand painted blue on a white back-ground. They have these in Lisbon, but not to the extent of Oporto (Lisbon's main extravagance is the beautiful decorative paved streets; I just HAD to buy a book on them). In Oporto azeluja tiles decorate houses, churches, important buildings, shops, stations; everything. They are also more likely to depict scenes, whereas in Lisbon they may just offer decorative patterns. There are tiled images of the Passion of the Christ; the Crusades; Royal scenes; sea faring scenes; it's just beautiful.
Speaking of tiles, I realised today, as we returned to Lisbon for an overnight stay, just how amazing the metro stations are here. Many of them are tiled beautifully, presenting a modern version of the traditional Portuguese ceramic craft. If I return to Lisbon again, I plan to take a day on the metro just photographing the station walls. Hey, I've already spent a week photographing the sidewalks!
Have come to the conclusion that Nando's-style chicken is a sham. We can't find it anywhere, and apparently the Portuguese use far less peri-peri in their cooking than the Spanish. If I were to open a Nando's in Portugal, I think I'd make a fortune. However, for some reason, I have NEVER had a better Magnum ice cream than that which I ate in Oporto. Ecuadorian dark chocolate, way thicker than on Magnums at home, and the icecream was creamier, like they used to be... Yeah, not exactly regional fare, but SO GOOD. I did also try Oportan specialities like francesinha, a carnivore's delight (sandwich consisting of melted cheese on the outside, then bread, then ham, then two different sorts of sausage, then a thin beef steak, then more ham, then more cheese, then the bottom slice of bread, all drowned in a tomato and beer sauce. I took photos!). I preferred the Queijadinha I had today, which was a cheese and egg yolk pastry which tasted of lemon. Yum.
And yes, my tour of Europe is almost entirely about food. And drink. And churches. What's wrong with that?
Maybe it's just my fondness for Lisbon, but despite the lovely people, I didn't like Oporto (Porto) quite as much. It has a very different feel to Lisbon; wider streets and more modernised shopping districts, yet many houses look quite run down and tiling needs replacing. It's also a lot smaller, and built entirely around the trade of port wine, which actually also explains things like the wide boulevards; when the owners of wineries decided to build second homes in Porto, the city had to expand and the new districts suited the tastes of the richer residents. It may also reflect the long association with the English- Oporto was the official wine supplier for England back in the 1400s. It is still a very pretty city though, hugging one bank of the river Douro and connected to its twin city, Nova Vila de Geia (home to Oporto's port wine 'caves'), on the facing bank by many impressive (and very tall) bridges.
I did, of course, indulge in said port wine. A little too much. Many of the wine caves have free tastings, and cheap tours or tasting upgrades, so it's not too difficult to find you've had nine glasses of port in an afternoon (they were only little glasses, but port is STRONG! Phew). My favourite place was Croft, although I think this was because I bought some chocolate to be matched with my port... really good chocolate. Calem Port was also quite nice. I liked the port, but it's very sweet. My preference is for the other local drink, vinho verde (green wine), which is a young red wine, drunk before the skins have been pressed through the wine. This means the wine hasn't yet taken on the red colour of the skins, and is quite light and bubbly, resembling a white wine rather than a red. You can also get vinho verde tinto, green-red wine, which has had a single pressing of the skins and so has a pale red colour. I'm yet to try that.
Lisa's getting used to my sight-seeing tastes- when we first got the map of Oporto, she pointed out the twenty odd churches in the city. I didn't seek many out specifically, but stumbled across a lot by accident while wandering (and getting lost in) residential districts. In Portugal, and I especially noticed it in Oporto, houses are built up around the churches, so you can easily find a church in a row of houses. Many houses also sport their own shrines to saints, or pictures of them on the outer walls. The other thing that stood out for me in Oporto were the amazing azeluja tiles, tiles hand painted blue on a white back-ground. They have these in Lisbon, but not to the extent of Oporto (Lisbon's main extravagance is the beautiful decorative paved streets; I just HAD to buy a book on them). In Oporto azeluja tiles decorate houses, churches, important buildings, shops, stations; everything. They are also more likely to depict scenes, whereas in Lisbon they may just offer decorative patterns. There are tiled images of the Passion of the Christ; the Crusades; Royal scenes; sea faring scenes; it's just beautiful.
Speaking of tiles, I realised today, as we returned to Lisbon for an overnight stay, just how amazing the metro stations are here. Many of them are tiled beautifully, presenting a modern version of the traditional Portuguese ceramic craft. If I return to Lisbon again, I plan to take a day on the metro just photographing the station walls. Hey, I've already spent a week photographing the sidewalks!
Have come to the conclusion that Nando's-style chicken is a sham. We can't find it anywhere, and apparently the Portuguese use far less peri-peri in their cooking than the Spanish. If I were to open a Nando's in Portugal, I think I'd make a fortune. However, for some reason, I have NEVER had a better Magnum ice cream than that which I ate in Oporto. Ecuadorian dark chocolate, way thicker than on Magnums at home, and the icecream was creamier, like they used to be... Yeah, not exactly regional fare, but SO GOOD. I did also try Oportan specialities like francesinha, a carnivore's delight (sandwich consisting of melted cheese on the outside, then bread, then ham, then two different sorts of sausage, then a thin beef steak, then more ham, then more cheese, then the bottom slice of bread, all drowned in a tomato and beer sauce. I took photos!). I preferred the Queijadinha I had today, which was a cheese and egg yolk pastry which tasted of lemon. Yum.
And yes, my tour of Europe is almost entirely about food. And drink. And churches. What's wrong with that?
Monday, May 07, 2007
The Golden Age of Discovery
Great news: I have found Jesus. He´s overlooking the Rio Tejo, next to the bridge that resembles the Golden Gate.
A few days ago, I knew very little about Portugal. I knew that Lisa had studied a little of the language, which is a Romance language; I knew that the Spanish and Portuguese had divided te world between them and discovered many places; and I knew Nando´s. Now I know that the spoken Portuguese is tough for many Romance language speakers, and has been described as sounding like 'a drunken Frenchman trying to speak Spanish´; that, while discovering and trading with Africa, India and South America, Portugal took on elements of their cultures, rather than purely stamping Portuguese culture onto the new colonies; and I know that the Nando's symbol is based on a common Portuguese image recalling a tale about a roast chicken which crowed three times to signify a pilgrim's innocence. And I know that there is a big statue of Jesus, a la the Big Jesus in Rio De Janeiro.
Portugal is gorgeous. Due to a dictatorship during the 20th century, it was quite chut off from the outside world, and as such is still quite underdeveloped, but trying very hard to catch up. So it still retains the laidback attitude of an older community, and much of the technology is unreliable. In fact, innefficiency is said to be a defining factor of Portuguese life, the relaxed attitude often extending into tardiness. People here are very friendly and helpful, even if you speak only very hesitant, broken Portuguese. Í've decided to learn Portuguese when I go home.
On our first evening in Lisbon, we wandered around being amazed by the cheap prices of beer. The next day we discovered we'd been in the tourist strip, and that elsewhere it was cheaper! We quickly learned that the best places for price and taste are the little hole in the wall restaurants with no English translation, and preferably a handwritten list of 'Plats de dios', today's specials. The people here generally speak no English, but show enormous concern for you as a customer. And the food! And the prices! Sigh.
We've visited quite a few castles. Lisbon itself grew down the hill from the castle, originally Moorish, and extended along the Rio Tejo (Tajus River). The castle is really nice, it's now just walls and ramparts, no explanatory signs, no lavish interior decor. Just ancient walls and an amazing view.
Yesterday we contrasted this with our visit to Sintra, a small town on the outer suburbs of Lisbon. Nestled by hills/ mountains, Sintra is overlooked by Castelos Mouros and Palacio de Pena, which was the sometime residence of Portugal's 19th century kings, and is pure flight of fantasy. The foundations of the building were a monastery, which the King extended through his own specific design, which embraces Arabic towers, Anglo castellation and Portuguese tiling, creating a true fairy tale castle. It's amazing, and quite surprising. It's the sort of thing which would not be out of place in a theme park, yet somehow fits Portugal. Eccentric expressions of passion are de rigeur here.
Such as Giant Jesus (Cristo Rei). My biggest day so far has probably been my trip to Belém (Portuguese for Bethlehem). I knew from my guide book that it was a half hour trip from Altacara to Belém, and guessed maybe half an hour more from our hostel to Altacara. Ha! It took between one and a half and two hours to get to Belém, during which I took many photos of the Jesus. I'd headed to Belém to a) visit the Museum of Design; b) try pasteis de belém, special custard tarts; and c) check out the touristy things drawn on my map completely sans explanatory notes. Well, the Museum had closed down and was being relocated, due to open in 2009, and I couldn't locate the store Lonely PLanet recommended for the tearts. However, when I wandered into a random store, it turned out to be the right one, they just didn't display their name on the window! And I spent a gorgeous sunny afternoon exploring a crazy, lavish monastery, an enormous statue devoted to the Age of Discovery and the Tower of Belém, a defence balwark with amazingly beautiful architecture. This included a bust of a rhinoceros; apparently a rehinoceros was to be delivered to Lisbon, and the King immediately gave it to Pope Leo as a gift, even before the rhino had arrived. Big mistake; the boat sank, but the Portuguese found the rhino and stuffed it with straw, and then commemorated it in the Tower. See? Random expressions of passsion.
The final random moment of the day occurred as I amde my way back to the hostel. Lisa had texted me about a peaceful protest she'd witnessed. Walking back through town, I followed the sound of drums, thinking it might be this protest, to witness a bizarre parade of homemade costumes, asks and great music- drums, bells attached to costumes, bagpipes. When I returned to the hostel I asked the receptionist what the parade was, and she advised me it was to do with the legalisation of marijuana. Hmmm, weird costumes, it COULD be that. Later I learned that it was an Iberian mask parade, and that the marijuana parade had been the protest Lisa had witnessed. Portugal. So random. So extravagant. I just love it.
A few days ago, I knew very little about Portugal. I knew that Lisa had studied a little of the language, which is a Romance language; I knew that the Spanish and Portuguese had divided te world between them and discovered many places; and I knew Nando´s. Now I know that the spoken Portuguese is tough for many Romance language speakers, and has been described as sounding like 'a drunken Frenchman trying to speak Spanish´; that, while discovering and trading with Africa, India and South America, Portugal took on elements of their cultures, rather than purely stamping Portuguese culture onto the new colonies; and I know that the Nando's symbol is based on a common Portuguese image recalling a tale about a roast chicken which crowed three times to signify a pilgrim's innocence. And I know that there is a big statue of Jesus, a la the Big Jesus in Rio De Janeiro.
Portugal is gorgeous. Due to a dictatorship during the 20th century, it was quite chut off from the outside world, and as such is still quite underdeveloped, but trying very hard to catch up. So it still retains the laidback attitude of an older community, and much of the technology is unreliable. In fact, innefficiency is said to be a defining factor of Portuguese life, the relaxed attitude often extending into tardiness. People here are very friendly and helpful, even if you speak only very hesitant, broken Portuguese. Í've decided to learn Portuguese when I go home.
On our first evening in Lisbon, we wandered around being amazed by the cheap prices of beer. The next day we discovered we'd been in the tourist strip, and that elsewhere it was cheaper! We quickly learned that the best places for price and taste are the little hole in the wall restaurants with no English translation, and preferably a handwritten list of 'Plats de dios', today's specials. The people here generally speak no English, but show enormous concern for you as a customer. And the food! And the prices! Sigh.
We've visited quite a few castles. Lisbon itself grew down the hill from the castle, originally Moorish, and extended along the Rio Tejo (Tajus River). The castle is really nice, it's now just walls and ramparts, no explanatory signs, no lavish interior decor. Just ancient walls and an amazing view.
Yesterday we contrasted this with our visit to Sintra, a small town on the outer suburbs of Lisbon. Nestled by hills/ mountains, Sintra is overlooked by Castelos Mouros and Palacio de Pena, which was the sometime residence of Portugal's 19th century kings, and is pure flight of fantasy. The foundations of the building were a monastery, which the King extended through his own specific design, which embraces Arabic towers, Anglo castellation and Portuguese tiling, creating a true fairy tale castle. It's amazing, and quite surprising. It's the sort of thing which would not be out of place in a theme park, yet somehow fits Portugal. Eccentric expressions of passion are de rigeur here.
Such as Giant Jesus (Cristo Rei). My biggest day so far has probably been my trip to Belém (Portuguese for Bethlehem). I knew from my guide book that it was a half hour trip from Altacara to Belém, and guessed maybe half an hour more from our hostel to Altacara. Ha! It took between one and a half and two hours to get to Belém, during which I took many photos of the Jesus. I'd headed to Belém to a) visit the Museum of Design; b) try pasteis de belém, special custard tarts; and c) check out the touristy things drawn on my map completely sans explanatory notes. Well, the Museum had closed down and was being relocated, due to open in 2009, and I couldn't locate the store Lonely PLanet recommended for the tearts. However, when I wandered into a random store, it turned out to be the right one, they just didn't display their name on the window! And I spent a gorgeous sunny afternoon exploring a crazy, lavish monastery, an enormous statue devoted to the Age of Discovery and the Tower of Belém, a defence balwark with amazingly beautiful architecture. This included a bust of a rhinoceros; apparently a rehinoceros was to be delivered to Lisbon, and the King immediately gave it to Pope Leo as a gift, even before the rhino had arrived. Big mistake; the boat sank, but the Portuguese found the rhino and stuffed it with straw, and then commemorated it in the Tower. See? Random expressions of passsion.
The final random moment of the day occurred as I amde my way back to the hostel. Lisa had texted me about a peaceful protest she'd witnessed. Walking back through town, I followed the sound of drums, thinking it might be this protest, to witness a bizarre parade of homemade costumes, asks and great music- drums, bells attached to costumes, bagpipes. When I returned to the hostel I asked the receptionist what the parade was, and she advised me it was to do with the legalisation of marijuana. Hmmm, weird costumes, it COULD be that. Later I learned that it was an Iberian mask parade, and that the marijuana parade had been the protest Lisa had witnessed. Portugal. So random. So extravagant. I just love it.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Loving Lisbon
Very quick post- free Internet but it´s time restricted, of course. I´m in Lisbon, Portugal and so far I LOVE it. So glad Lisa wanted to come to Portugal, I am now very seriously considering taking Portuguese classes when I get home.
Lisbon is great- very cheap, beautiful and so relaxed. So many of the houses are covered in these beautiful tiles- itº´s a bit like wall paper for the outside, and some are painted in amazing detail. There is also heaps of really detailed paving too, I keep taking photos of the ground!
Anyway, I am sure I´ll throw up another blog or two over the next few days- must take advantage of free net! Just wanted you to know that I love Lisbon. Yes, your lives are so enhanced now...!
Lisbon is great- very cheap, beautiful and so relaxed. So many of the houses are covered in these beautiful tiles- itº´s a bit like wall paper for the outside, and some are painted in amazing detail. There is also heaps of really detailed paving too, I keep taking photos of the ground!
Anyway, I am sure I´ll throw up another blog or two over the next few days- must take advantage of free net! Just wanted you to know that I love Lisbon. Yes, your lives are so enhanced now...!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
A question of balance
What I am finding most difficult about Europe, and I forget if I have blogged about it yet (I have written in my journal about it, so it's hard to recall...) is the homelessness/ beggars. They are everywhere, and my heart breaks every time I pass one. Some are very aggressive (don't like them), but most are so, so grateful for every piece of shrapnel you can spare, and I feel awful to be so lavishly wasting money on travel. I keep telling myself that it's not my job to fix this, and that I can't help all of them; but then again, it never seems to be anyone's job, so how will it ever be fixed? And so, whether it makes me a sucker or not, I continue to give my small change to Bosnian women in headscarves, and men with the most forlorn and ashamed faces as they beg for change for food. It is so sad.
Yesterday was a holiday in France; but the European Parliament in Strasbourg (where I am right now) had an 'open door' day, so I went down to check it out. Was oping it might make me feel like everything would work out in the world, democratic union and all that. The impressions I got where thus: the European Parliament is meant to be a big round table of nations, signified by the big round building; I think it might actually be a bastion of red tape and never ending beuracracy, signified by the endless 'circuit' one had to follow, impossible to break or escape from, and feeling more and more like a hopeless Ikea route with every step; and it is highly politicised, which I learned from the metres of propoganda tables handing out freebies for their party. So I took free stationary, bought an Alsace sausage at the random canival without, and felt a little dejected.
Happily I ran into a Mexican guy who works at the hostel while waiting for the boat back to town; he convinced me and a New Zealand girl I'd run into to come to the hostel bar after dinner. We danced to Reggatonn (sp?), a Puerto Rican band, with a group of Ecuadorian school girls ( who knew how to shake their hips WAY too well for 15 year olds!) and it was heaps of fun.
Strasbourg is very pretty, but quiet. Especially on a public holiday. It is very German too, in its architecture and traditional dress and definitely the food. I got served an enormous plate of pork (not the holiday destination for the more Jewish of us!) and so much saurkraut. They need to learn about BALANCE; A mountain of saurkraut with a crown of pork is NOT balanced. If I never see cabbage again, it will be too soon. Not a good way to feel with Germany still to come...
I could have not liked Strasbourg: my train was delayed; the station was a chaos of renovation; I couldn't find trams, buses, my hostel in general; I got rained on, and then discovered my room had been rained in and the flor was a big puddle. But you just have to laugh. I got a new room, all to myself, I know now that the hostel is not far from town, and I made friends with the staff through my disasters. It's all part of travelling.
I LOVED Lyon though. Except for the few niggly things, like climbing a very lage hill with large bag, it was fantastic. A bold statement, but I think I liked it more than Paris. Not too big, great food and nightlife areas, beautiful old areas of town (around which I did a walking tour), and really interesting newer areas. I loved exploring the new(ish) area called Etas Unis, site of the Tony Garnier Urban Museum. Tony Garnier was a socialist architect in early 1900's who was an early proponent of town planning; he had ideas of planning an industrial city, with seperate working and living areas, and a big focus on acessibility for all to culture, recreation and education. He designed a number of projects in Lyon, but the museum focussed mosly on his work in Etas Unis, where he was asked to design worker's housing; essentially community housing. He had notions of green space, pools, statues, lots of light, great schools; all this for people overlooked by society.
The project started well, but budget constraints saw many ideas bein thrown out, such as restricting building height (for maximum light), new schools, libraries, pools. But his ideals are still held dear by the inhabitants, who requested that the museum be made; a series of 25 murals on the blind walls of apartment buildings celebrating Garnier's work and ideas, plus the notion of ideal cities. It was brilliant (as were the hundred or so other urals t be found around Lyon). There was also an apartment set up to show how life would have been when these apartments were first built, furnished by heirloom donations of the local community. One woman had given a tea set which had been her wedding gift, someone else an antique copy of Les Miserables. It really demonsrated how, although not all of Garnier's plans were adopted, his ideal of community pride and connection was created and fostered; a sense of belonging and balance was achieved here, after all.
Yesterday was a holiday in France; but the European Parliament in Strasbourg (where I am right now) had an 'open door' day, so I went down to check it out. Was oping it might make me feel like everything would work out in the world, democratic union and all that. The impressions I got where thus: the European Parliament is meant to be a big round table of nations, signified by the big round building; I think it might actually be a bastion of red tape and never ending beuracracy, signified by the endless 'circuit' one had to follow, impossible to break or escape from, and feeling more and more like a hopeless Ikea route with every step; and it is highly politicised, which I learned from the metres of propoganda tables handing out freebies for their party. So I took free stationary, bought an Alsace sausage at the random canival without, and felt a little dejected.
Happily I ran into a Mexican guy who works at the hostel while waiting for the boat back to town; he convinced me and a New Zealand girl I'd run into to come to the hostel bar after dinner. We danced to Reggatonn (sp?), a Puerto Rican band, with a group of Ecuadorian school girls ( who knew how to shake their hips WAY too well for 15 year olds!) and it was heaps of fun.
Strasbourg is very pretty, but quiet. Especially on a public holiday. It is very German too, in its architecture and traditional dress and definitely the food. I got served an enormous plate of pork (not the holiday destination for the more Jewish of us!) and so much saurkraut. They need to learn about BALANCE; A mountain of saurkraut with a crown of pork is NOT balanced. If I never see cabbage again, it will be too soon. Not a good way to feel with Germany still to come...
I could have not liked Strasbourg: my train was delayed; the station was a chaos of renovation; I couldn't find trams, buses, my hostel in general; I got rained on, and then discovered my room had been rained in and the flor was a big puddle. But you just have to laugh. I got a new room, all to myself, I know now that the hostel is not far from town, and I made friends with the staff through my disasters. It's all part of travelling.
I LOVED Lyon though. Except for the few niggly things, like climbing a very lage hill with large bag, it was fantastic. A bold statement, but I think I liked it more than Paris. Not too big, great food and nightlife areas, beautiful old areas of town (around which I did a walking tour), and really interesting newer areas. I loved exploring the new(ish) area called Etas Unis, site of the Tony Garnier Urban Museum. Tony Garnier was a socialist architect in early 1900's who was an early proponent of town planning; he had ideas of planning an industrial city, with seperate working and living areas, and a big focus on acessibility for all to culture, recreation and education. He designed a number of projects in Lyon, but the museum focussed mosly on his work in Etas Unis, where he was asked to design worker's housing; essentially community housing. He had notions of green space, pools, statues, lots of light, great schools; all this for people overlooked by society.
The project started well, but budget constraints saw many ideas bein thrown out, such as restricting building height (for maximum light), new schools, libraries, pools. But his ideals are still held dear by the inhabitants, who requested that the museum be made; a series of 25 murals on the blind walls of apartment buildings celebrating Garnier's work and ideas, plus the notion of ideal cities. It was brilliant (as were the hundred or so other urals t be found around Lyon). There was also an apartment set up to show how life would have been when these apartments were first built, furnished by heirloom donations of the local community. One woman had given a tea set which had been her wedding gift, someone else an antique copy of Les Miserables. It really demonsrated how, although not all of Garnier's plans were adopted, his ideal of community pride and connection was created and fostered; a sense of belonging and balance was achieved here, after all.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Lyon, sans tigre et ours
Hmmm, so Bordeaux was ok... frustratingly, the main thing I wanted to do in Bordeaux was go to the Musee d'Aquitaine, which traces 2500 years of history in the Aquitaine area. Of course, it was closed; until May 10. Ugh.
Instead I:
- Took a walking tour around the older areas, and learned a lot about the history and the architecture.
- Took a wine tour to a winery. It was ok. Didn't like the wine much, but LOVED my French guide's disparaging comments on France's current anti-alcoholism education. She considers this to be CRAZY, as it is anti wine! Her secret for health and happiness was drinking wine regularly; that is, every day.
- Visited an awesome monolithic (underground, carved into the cliff face) church in the very cool medieval village of St Emillion.
- Bought a skirt. It is very hard to find a coloured skirt in France. I had to settle for brown...
- Ate some very good food, especially confit de canard at Bistro Eduard.
- Took an eight hour train ride to Lyon.
Upon arriving at Lyon, I:
- Got annoyed at the metro ticket machines for only taking coin and microchipped bank cards.
- Waited ages in line to book my train ticket to Strasbourg (mostly so I could get change for the metro machine).
- Was given ticket advice by a beggar after I gave him some change.
- Wandered around at the bottom of a large hill, trying to find the way to my hostel.
- Learned the best way up the big hill, as my hostel was mid way up it.
- Wondered if it was unreasonable to want an escalator to be built into the hill.
- Discovered that the reception to the hostel was closed (dinner break).
- Went back down the hill to eat kebabs with chips in it.
- Marevlled at the truly amazing view from the hotel- it actually makes the climb worth it (just).
- Found that my room was full of English speakers, including a girl from Ferntree Gully, with whom I spent this morning wandering the city.
- Visited the Printing Museum, which was ok; started out with English translation, but they petered out by the second room, so it was just a case of looking, without extra understanding.
- Visited the Lumiere Museum, which was fantastic; it didn't hurt that it was housed in an exquisite Art Nouveau building.
- Ate bread and cheese while checking out the view.
- Wandered at random, taking photos of pretty things and street art, and enjoying the lat sunshine.
- Concluded that I really, really like Lyon. One of my favourite places so far.
Instead I:
- Took a walking tour around the older areas, and learned a lot about the history and the architecture.
- Took a wine tour to a winery. It was ok. Didn't like the wine much, but LOVED my French guide's disparaging comments on France's current anti-alcoholism education. She considers this to be CRAZY, as it is anti wine! Her secret for health and happiness was drinking wine regularly; that is, every day.
- Visited an awesome monolithic (underground, carved into the cliff face) church in the very cool medieval village of St Emillion.
- Bought a skirt. It is very hard to find a coloured skirt in France. I had to settle for brown...
- Ate some very good food, especially confit de canard at Bistro Eduard.
- Took an eight hour train ride to Lyon.
Upon arriving at Lyon, I:
- Got annoyed at the metro ticket machines for only taking coin and microchipped bank cards.
- Waited ages in line to book my train ticket to Strasbourg (mostly so I could get change for the metro machine).
- Was given ticket advice by a beggar after I gave him some change.
- Wandered around at the bottom of a large hill, trying to find the way to my hostel.
- Learned the best way up the big hill, as my hostel was mid way up it.
- Wondered if it was unreasonable to want an escalator to be built into the hill.
- Discovered that the reception to the hostel was closed (dinner break).
- Went back down the hill to eat kebabs with chips in it.
- Marevlled at the truly amazing view from the hotel- it actually makes the climb worth it (just).
- Found that my room was full of English speakers, including a girl from Ferntree Gully, with whom I spent this morning wandering the city.
- Visited the Printing Museum, which was ok; started out with English translation, but they petered out by the second room, so it was just a case of looking, without extra understanding.
- Visited the Lumiere Museum, which was fantastic; it didn't hurt that it was housed in an exquisite Art Nouveau building.
- Ate bread and cheese while checking out the view.
- Wandered at random, taking photos of pretty things and street art, and enjoying the lat sunshine.
- Concluded that I really, really like Lyon. One of my favourite places so far.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Typically French
Warning: French keyboards are set out differently; I am struggling with my typing so pleqse excuse typos.
As anticipated, Saturday involved a visit to the Museum of the Middle Ages (j'adore! So much geeky Naomi stuff!), followed by a trip to a chateau for a picnic. We WERE aiming for Chateau Chantilly, but it was very complicated, so we gave up... Ended up at Chateau Vincennes, not so far away, and probably not so beautiful, but enor,ous. I found it interesting as it gave me an idea of how castles would actually have housed villages. This is how villages originally were in England, and why you occassionally co,e across castles in the middle of towns... sorry, nerding out, I think.
Somehow, the suggestions arose that it was good petanque weather, and so a game was arranged for Sunday... I was now heading to Bordeaux in the afternoon! Apparently petanque is VERY French. I had no idea what it was, but hey, when in Rome... er, Paris... Lise and I went home to make beef bourgignon for pre-petanque feasting, and then had our very yummy crepe dinner. Mmmm
Well, petanque, the game; sort of like lawn bowls, you are aiming to get your ball closest to the cournichon (?). And the verdict; SO MUCH FUN! We played with Jacques' friend Antoine, and Lisa and I sort of got the hang of it... or we fluked our way through.Either possible. Anyway, Jacques and Lisa took the first tournament, and midway through the revenge round we realised I had to run for my train! So Lisa advises that Jacques is very keen for a rematch on my return to Paris! Lisa and I are considering getting a petanque set...
Now I'm in Bordeaux. Spent last night talking to an Aussie girl who insists I am the first person she's met in France who speaks English. Spent today sitting in the public gardens chilling out, mostly; my week in the provences will be much slower paced than Paris, as less sights and demands on my time. Tomorrow I am doing a walking tour and visiting the museum of Aquitaine; the next day a tour to a winery and a medieval village- I just can't seem to get enough of them!
Keep emailing and commenting- it's so good to hear from you all!
As anticipated, Saturday involved a visit to the Museum of the Middle Ages (j'adore! So much geeky Naomi stuff!), followed by a trip to a chateau for a picnic. We WERE aiming for Chateau Chantilly, but it was very complicated, so we gave up... Ended up at Chateau Vincennes, not so far away, and probably not so beautiful, but enor,ous. I found it interesting as it gave me an idea of how castles would actually have housed villages. This is how villages originally were in England, and why you occassionally co,e across castles in the middle of towns... sorry, nerding out, I think.
Somehow, the suggestions arose that it was good petanque weather, and so a game was arranged for Sunday... I was now heading to Bordeaux in the afternoon! Apparently petanque is VERY French. I had no idea what it was, but hey, when in Rome... er, Paris... Lise and I went home to make beef bourgignon for pre-petanque feasting, and then had our very yummy crepe dinner. Mmmm
Well, petanque, the game; sort of like lawn bowls, you are aiming to get your ball closest to the cournichon (?). And the verdict; SO MUCH FUN! We played with Jacques' friend Antoine, and Lisa and I sort of got the hang of it... or we fluked our way through.Either possible. Anyway, Jacques and Lisa took the first tournament, and midway through the revenge round we realised I had to run for my train! So Lisa advises that Jacques is very keen for a rematch on my return to Paris! Lisa and I are considering getting a petanque set...
Now I'm in Bordeaux. Spent last night talking to an Aussie girl who insists I am the first person she's met in France who speaks English. Spent today sitting in the public gardens chilling out, mostly; my week in the provences will be much slower paced than Paris, as less sights and demands on my time. Tomorrow I am doing a walking tour and visiting the museum of Aquitaine; the next day a tour to a winery and a medieval village- I just can't seem to get enough of them!
Keep emailing and commenting- it's so good to hear from you all!
Friday, April 20, 2007
A taste of French indulgence
For chocolate lovers, visiting Paris without a stop at Angelina (226 Rue de Rivoli) may well be a crime. You may have to wait for a table to become available in this busy tea salon, with little French old ladies and groups of tourists enjoying occupying the stately tables which fill every available space. The price list may not suit the budget traveller, but Angelina is the ultimate for a lavish desert. All the deserts looked divine, and I chose a particularly good Tarte Citron (some Melbourne readers may be aware of my Lemon Tart Quest. This is the furthest afield I have ventured, and well worth it!). But the creme de la creme here is the hot chocolate. Chocolat l'Affricain is like molten chocolate- delicious! Served in a jug, with a side dish of chantilly cream, the diner serves the chocolate to their liking. Thanks to Sarah (in Paris) for the tip! And if you feel the need to walk off the calories, you can stroll through the nearby Rivoli Gardens, or, as I did, visit the bookstore next door, which proudly boasts a tradition of stocking English books. I chose a few French books (translated in Anglaise, of course), to keep me entertained on my upcoming trip around France.
Of course, the French have made lavishness an art form. Yesterday I visited Versailles. Now anyone who has studied French History would know this, but I was a little surprised; Chateau Versailles is ENORMOUS! Almost every room is gloriously decorated, sporting painted ceilings and priceless paintings and furniture. As an aside, has anyone else noticed the way, as soon as something has a touch of gold or gilt, tourists feel the need to snap a picture? Amuses me a lot. Anyway, the chateau was impressive. I was particularly interested in Domaine de Marie-Antoinette, a section of the estate given to her by Louis XVI, which she fashioned into a pastoral hideaway from the ritual of court life. She apparently loved to spend time close to nature, such as on the small farm run for her amusement. But my favourite part of Versailles was the gardens. It was a beautiful day, and it was so nice to be able to sit on sections of the grass (a true luxury in Paris). Must admit I fell asleep for a while! Also saw an abundance of wildlife: catfish scrambling for crumbs; a woodpecker; and a French frog!
The visit to Angelina today was actually a side-trip on my excursion to the true symbol of French grandeur; Royal Palais de Musee Louvre. This place is stupidly big, so much so that it really frustrated me. According to Lonely Planet it would take nine months just to glance at all the exhibits. But once I found a sense of direction, I was able to enjoy the spectacular artworks within. I particularly enjoyed the sculpture galleries, and was glad that I finally braved the Da Vinci Code trailblazers and ventured into the Italian painting galleries. I am not joking about the Da Vinci Code, by the way- the Louvre actually offers a Da Vinci Code Audio-tour. I declined. A word of advice- your ticket is an all day pass, so take advantage of this, and take breaks outside the Musee for lunch or coffee. Don't eat inside the centre- it is overpriced and average fare. The all day pass is an especially good option if you visit on one of the days the centre is open late.
One thing that constantly amazes me about Paris is the quality of the buskers. They just don't do anything by halves here. Many buskers are professional musicians eking a living off generous tourists. The first time a I heard a piano accordion strike up while I was on the Metro was a true Amelie moment; it felt like a traditional French soundtrack had been added to my ordinary day. I've also thoroughly enjoyed: the string orchestral arrangement playing at one Metro; the Latin bad playing at another; the jazz trio improvising atop a wall near the steps of the Pompidou centre (below); and the electric harp player at Sacre Cour.
And so my time in Paris is drawing to a close. Tomorrow's plans involve visiting the Museum of Middle Ages (which I am really looking forward to, nerd, nerd), ad a picnic at a chateau, followed by a crepe dinner. Then I strike out on my own while Lisa finishes up at work. I'm visiting Bordeaux, then Lyon and Strasbourg. Paris has been surprisingly good; my cynicism has been erased. I think my low expectations meant I could only be pleasantly surprised, and I have been. Paris is really a beautiful city, and it's so exciting when a waiter smiles at you, or when your hesitant attempts at French are understood. As Lisa insists, the difficulties of Paris make those ordinary moments extraordinary. Paris has that effect, somehow.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Supporting the arts
So yesterday I started the day at Musee d'Orsay, in a ridiculously long line (ask to see the photo when I come back, it looks like a crowd scene). However, I didn't see the Impressionists when they were at NGV because of the line, so there was no way I was leaving. 40 minutes later I got inside, and was happy to find out that my VIT card got me in for free :) Wow, I think that's the first time my VIT card did anything good for me.
I was not disappointed once inside either. Impressionism (which aims to capture a sense of light, and the impression of image) and neo-impressionism (which furthers the idea of creating a sense, rather than an image, by painting in a series of dots, which tricks the eye) are some of my favourite art forms. I wandered happily through a huge collection of Monet (it's so interesting to see more than just Waterlilies, he has a huge range of works), was amazed at Degas' skill with pastel (how do you imply the delicacy of tulle with a crayon???), and was disappointed by the relatively small collection of Renoir (my favourite artist). New favourites included Levy-Dhurmer and Redon, whose semi fantastical works bordered on surreal, and Henri Edmund Cross, who moves from neo-impressionism towards modern art, I think, with his use of blocky brush strokes rather than delicate dots. I also discovered that a lot of furniture design and artwork I like has a title to describe it; I have finally discovered what 'art nouveau' encompasses, and that I like it. It's all that swirly stuff from early 1900's, and it's purty. So I bought a book.
Afterwards met Lisa for a picnic in the park (Luxembourg Gardens), involving wine, baguette saucisson and three types of cheese, all divine. Very nice and cruisy. And cheesy. Then we met up with Lisa's friend Sarah, who was doing a radio interview with her about street art. For this we took a tour around (I think) 5th Arrondisement, and saw all sorts of stuff Lisa has blogged about- Nemo, Jef Aerosol, Mesnager, Miss Tic, the giraffes I like but can never remember who does them. Afterwards we went to an exhibition for Jef Aerosol's book, which was cool, and we met Mesnager and Jef. It was really exciting to see all this art, which has become part of Lisa's experience of Paris. It made my visit here seem more persona than the usual tourist trail.
Today I hit that tourist trail again though, heading for Sacre Cour. In a boulangerie on the way there, a guy said good bye to me in Italian. I guess my accent was terrible, and he was trying to place my nationality. Lisa thinks he thought I was the female version of Pepe le Pew. Sacre Cour was nice, particularly for it's amazing view of the city. It's on top of Montmartre, a raised part of the city, and the view just from the steps out front is lovely. If you shell out to climb the 276 stairs to the top (as I did), it's spectacular. Even more beautiful was the choir singing as I descended the staircase, and the amazing sound streaming out of the upper dome windows toward the sky.
Sarah had mentioned a fantastic hot chocolate pace around Concorde, so I wandered trying to find that (and failing), so instead strolled Champs Elysee, and a few shopping areas around there. Then jumped a train to the Musee Rodin. I had been considering going to see Rodin stuff, as his name nagged in the back of my head as one I knew for some reason. Then I saw a piece at Musee d'Orsay titled The Gates of Hell (e porte l'enfern, I think), which was spectacular, and sealed my decision. I'm sure some of you still can't place his work, though. Perhaps you are sitting with your head in your hands as you ponder? If so, you may resemble his best known work, The Thinker (La Pensive). It's the first work you see as you stroll around the beautiful gardens surrounding the museum. I loved this museum, it's a lot smaller than some of the other museums in Paris, and mostly made up of sculptures. I also got in for free, which made me like it more :)
Then I did as all good tourists do when in Paris: finally, I visited the Eiffel Tower. I didn't go up (long lines, hefty-ish price tag, meant to meet Lisa, plus what would I look at up there? Normally from a Parisian vantage point I try to spot the Eiffel Tower...), but was surprised to discover that the tower is a lot more beautiful, complex and impressive when you're close up. It's easy to become blase, as it's such a cliched image now, but this is a beautiful structure, and caused a huge uproar when first erected. Even the French didn't like it, now it is the most recognised (and prided) symbol of their country.
I'm now back at Lisa's, chilling out. She's gone to a Pinter play translated into French, and I have decided to be lazy and not go. Instead I am blogging, resting, cooking dinner and planning my tomorrow. I might go out for a drink or desert later, too; there are so many bars and restaurants around here. I was amazed, when I went for a walk after dark on Monday night, to find the place still buzzing. Lise says it often is still buzzing at 2am. Ah, gay Paris!
I was not disappointed once inside either. Impressionism (which aims to capture a sense of light, and the impression of image) and neo-impressionism (which furthers the idea of creating a sense, rather than an image, by painting in a series of dots, which tricks the eye) are some of my favourite art forms. I wandered happily through a huge collection of Monet (it's so interesting to see more than just Waterlilies, he has a huge range of works), was amazed at Degas' skill with pastel (how do you imply the delicacy of tulle with a crayon???), and was disappointed by the relatively small collection of Renoir (my favourite artist). New favourites included Levy-Dhurmer and Redon, whose semi fantastical works bordered on surreal, and Henri Edmund Cross, who moves from neo-impressionism towards modern art, I think, with his use of blocky brush strokes rather than delicate dots. I also discovered that a lot of furniture design and artwork I like has a title to describe it; I have finally discovered what 'art nouveau' encompasses, and that I like it. It's all that swirly stuff from early 1900's, and it's purty. So I bought a book.
Afterwards met Lisa for a picnic in the park (Luxembourg Gardens), involving wine, baguette saucisson and three types of cheese, all divine. Very nice and cruisy. And cheesy. Then we met up with Lisa's friend Sarah, who was doing a radio interview with her about street art. For this we took a tour around (I think) 5th Arrondisement, and saw all sorts of stuff Lisa has blogged about- Nemo, Jef Aerosol, Mesnager, Miss Tic, the giraffes I like but can never remember who does them. Afterwards we went to an exhibition for Jef Aerosol's book, which was cool, and we met Mesnager and Jef. It was really exciting to see all this art, which has become part of Lisa's experience of Paris. It made my visit here seem more persona than the usual tourist trail.
Today I hit that tourist trail again though, heading for Sacre Cour. In a boulangerie on the way there, a guy said good bye to me in Italian. I guess my accent was terrible, and he was trying to place my nationality. Lisa thinks he thought I was the female version of Pepe le Pew. Sacre Cour was nice, particularly for it's amazing view of the city. It's on top of Montmartre, a raised part of the city, and the view just from the steps out front is lovely. If you shell out to climb the 276 stairs to the top (as I did), it's spectacular. Even more beautiful was the choir singing as I descended the staircase, and the amazing sound streaming out of the upper dome windows toward the sky.
Sarah had mentioned a fantastic hot chocolate pace around Concorde, so I wandered trying to find that (and failing), so instead strolled Champs Elysee, and a few shopping areas around there. Then jumped a train to the Musee Rodin. I had been considering going to see Rodin stuff, as his name nagged in the back of my head as one I knew for some reason. Then I saw a piece at Musee d'Orsay titled The Gates of Hell (e porte l'enfern, I think), which was spectacular, and sealed my decision. I'm sure some of you still can't place his work, though. Perhaps you are sitting with your head in your hands as you ponder? If so, you may resemble his best known work, The Thinker (La Pensive). It's the first work you see as you stroll around the beautiful gardens surrounding the museum. I loved this museum, it's a lot smaller than some of the other museums in Paris, and mostly made up of sculptures. I also got in for free, which made me like it more :)
Then I did as all good tourists do when in Paris: finally, I visited the Eiffel Tower. I didn't go up (long lines, hefty-ish price tag, meant to meet Lisa, plus what would I look at up there? Normally from a Parisian vantage point I try to spot the Eiffel Tower...), but was surprised to discover that the tower is a lot more beautiful, complex and impressive when you're close up. It's easy to become blase, as it's such a cliched image now, but this is a beautiful structure, and caused a huge uproar when first erected. Even the French didn't like it, now it is the most recognised (and prided) symbol of their country.
I'm now back at Lisa's, chilling out. She's gone to a Pinter play translated into French, and I have decided to be lazy and not go. Instead I am blogging, resting, cooking dinner and planning my tomorrow. I might go out for a drink or desert later, too; there are so many bars and restaurants around here. I was amazed, when I went for a walk after dark on Monday night, to find the place still buzzing. Lise says it often is still buzzing at 2am. Ah, gay Paris!
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