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Italy and Spain. OK, should have posted while traveling. I admire those who can find time to do that, but I always seem to be either running around or recovering from same. But belatedly, here it is.
For all the pictures, go to
http://www.flickr.com/photos/75375370@N00/
but I can’t figure out right now how to get them in the right order, exactly—doubt that will matter to anybody but me.
Southern Europe in general is hot and crowded in July (why both?), but the heat’s not anything different from home—and much less humid, so I’m fine with that. Barcelona and Rome, still wonderful. Florence—too much humanity. Never again in mid-summer.
Barcelona: The most beautiful. We stayed in a good part of town, near the Hospital de la Santa Creu í Santa Pau
( the newish Modernista one , not the very old one). Modernista architecture in Barcelona (not just Gaudí but several others) is a very special thing, partly Art Nouveau and partly Moorish-influenced and partly reborn Baroque. It’s curvy, organic, lush, but can also be graceful and airy. Sadly, I didn’t take my camera along the Passeig de Grácia, one of the main streets for this, but you can see much better than I’d have taken at http://www.pbase.com/ximog57/barcelona1 and many other places. But I do have not very good pictures from Sagrada Familia (currently under construction—but how many chances do you get to see a giant cathedral actually being built?) and of the Hospital.
Best of trip: The life of the avenues and cafes, the excellent Metro, the very fine food. I did get to hear Catalan spoken, but as usual in Europe, I start with a sentence attempting the local language and am answered in English. Still, I think people like that I make the attempt, even if it’s laughable. Loved being in a place where people actually use fans (the kind you unfold and hold in your hand) as a practical object, not an affectation—I even saw old men fanning themselves (and saw that in China, too).
Worst part of trip: Going to the wrong airport! The guidebook said to take a train to the airport, we got there and asked where to get the train to the Barcelona airport, went to the track and found a train there. Is this the train to the airport, we asked? Yes, said the passengers—no conductor, etc., in sight. After traveling for about 30 minutes we knew something was wrong. The train was full of backpackers and casual laborers from Morocco, and was unbearably hot. We were standing, when our feet could touch the floor, in a jampacked little aisle at the very end of the train. When we finally stopped, we were in Reus and not the Barcelona airport at all, but a small airport down the coast. No chance of getting to our flight. So we went back to Barcelona and flew out the next day (a new ticket, but not hideously expensive). The upside was that the train was not crowded on the way back, and a cool seat by the window let us see the coast, where I definitely plan to return, maybe in my next life. Topless women on Mediterranean beaches? I didn’t notice, being distracted by the totally nude men. Not all—just a few here and there.
What I read to get in the mood for the city: Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia. Very neat to actually stand in the square where he describes a battle, and interesting to see old folks on the streets who may have been here during that war.
Florence: If not crowded, Florence is wonderful. And actually, away from the overdone places like the cathedral and the museum with David, you can have a relatively peaceful time, even in the worst of the summer. We found a not-too-full café down near the Piazza del Signoria, with wonderful old Tuscan antiques and great food, including a pasta with truffles that I can still taste. The Baptistery, much more interesting than the cathedral, gets few visitors. The Dante museum (where he lived as young man until run out of Florence in the endless Guelph-Ghibellline disputes), under construction when I there before, was open this time—nice chance to see a tower house, but nothing that really remains from Dante’s time, sadly.
The African sunglasses vendors have added fake designer handbags to their inventories and now spread out their wares on sheets that can be gathered up to conceal the illegal wares when the police come by—and the police don’t know why all these guys are standing around with sheets full of stuff? A game both sides play, I guess.
Best part of that trip: Fiesole, actually now a neighborhood reachable by city bus. It’s in the hills above the city, and was an old Etruscan and Roman settlement. Lots of great Etruscan artifacts in the museum, and great remains of a Roman bath and temple. We sat in the cool breeze and drank pro seco on a terrace looking out over the city.
Worst of trip: Aside from the crowds and heat, no disasters!
What I read to get in the mood for the city: Some of The Divine Comedy, but mostly The Birth of Venus, by Sarah Dunant--great historical novel about the Medici and Savonarola.
Rome: I think I’m in love with Rome. Someone described it as being elegant and trashy at once, and I think that fits. By luck, we found the kind of hotel I love in the part of the city I love: San Lorenzo, near the university and the old city walls. The hotel’s an old building with a courtyard full of palms and plants, but nicely modern in the AC and plumbing department. Gone are the days of sharing a shower down the hall, which I did even the last time I was in Europe—from now on, private baths rule. Across the street was a little bar (in Italy that means snack bar, but they do have beer and wine) where the locals hang out and chat. It looked like heaven every afternoon when we’d fall off the bus and stagger home for a rest. I love siesta cities, where everything shuts down between 1 and 3. For us, energy didn’t actually return until time for restaurants to open at 7. Best food surprise there: a waiter suggested I order “radishes” as a vegetable. Why not, I thought—turned out to be what looked like two whole heads of radicchio, very lightly sautéed. And one rainy night, chancing into a roast-meat restaurant.
Best of Rome for me: Ancient Rome. Not so much the Coliseum (another one of those over-crowded spots) but across from it, the Roman Forum and especially the Palatine. What you actually see is just what’s left of some walls, but you know you’re in the place where Caesar was stabbed, where Cicero and Catullus lived. You’re walking the streets they walked. The view from the Palatine is lovely, and the Baths of Caracalla are huge, amazing. I really loved going through other parts of the city, looking for a restaurant or a train station, and suddenly the little twentieth century buildings are overshadowed by a hulking mass of stone and mortar. The past so literally intrudes into the present.
Not much marble left on the ancient Roman ruins. The medieval and later Christian churches stripped most of it.
Worst of trip: Most trains in metro aren’t air-conditioned! Rush hour is unbelievable.
What I read to get in the mood: Roman Blood by Steven Saylor. First of a great series of mysteries set in ancient Rome, during about the same period as the Rome on HBO--end of Republic, beginning of empire. So familiar...
In all three cities, a tie for second-worst is roving accordion players with a repertoire from the 1960’s.
Next time: I’ll go in September, spend more time out in the smaller towns and countryside, and stay longer in one place. But that’s what I say after every trip.
For all the pictures, go to
http://www.flickr.com/photos/75375370@N00/
but I can’t figure out right now how to get them in the right order, exactly—doubt that will matter to anybody but me.
Southern Europe in general is hot and crowded in July (why both?), but the heat’s not anything different from home—and much less humid, so I’m fine with that. Barcelona and Rome, still wonderful. Florence—too much humanity. Never again in mid-summer.
Barcelona: The most beautiful. We stayed in a good part of town, near the Hospital de la Santa Creu í Santa Pau
( the newish Modernista one , not the very old one). Modernista architecture in Barcelona (not just Gaudí but several others) is a very special thing, partly Art Nouveau and partly Moorish-influenced and partly reborn Baroque. It’s curvy, organic, lush, but can also be graceful and airy. Sadly, I didn’t take my camera along the Passeig de Grácia, one of the main streets for this, but you can see much better than I’d have taken at http://www.pbase.com/ximog57/barcelona1 and many other places. But I do have not very good pictures from Sagrada Familia (currently under construction—but how many chances do you get to see a giant cathedral actually being built?) and of the Hospital.
Best of trip: The life of the avenues and cafes, the excellent Metro, the very fine food. I did get to hear Catalan spoken, but as usual in Europe, I start with a sentence attempting the local language and am answered in English. Still, I think people like that I make the attempt, even if it’s laughable. Loved being in a place where people actually use fans (the kind you unfold and hold in your hand) as a practical object, not an affectation—I even saw old men fanning themselves (and saw that in China, too).
Worst part of trip: Going to the wrong airport! The guidebook said to take a train to the airport, we got there and asked where to get the train to the Barcelona airport, went to the track and found a train there. Is this the train to the airport, we asked? Yes, said the passengers—no conductor, etc., in sight. After traveling for about 30 minutes we knew something was wrong. The train was full of backpackers and casual laborers from Morocco, and was unbearably hot. We were standing, when our feet could touch the floor, in a jampacked little aisle at the very end of the train. When we finally stopped, we were in Reus and not the Barcelona airport at all, but a small airport down the coast. No chance of getting to our flight. So we went back to Barcelona and flew out the next day (a new ticket, but not hideously expensive). The upside was that the train was not crowded on the way back, and a cool seat by the window let us see the coast, where I definitely plan to return, maybe in my next life. Topless women on Mediterranean beaches? I didn’t notice, being distracted by the totally nude men. Not all—just a few here and there.
What I read to get in the mood for the city: Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia. Very neat to actually stand in the square where he describes a battle, and interesting to see old folks on the streets who may have been here during that war.
Florence: If not crowded, Florence is wonderful. And actually, away from the overdone places like the cathedral and the museum with David, you can have a relatively peaceful time, even in the worst of the summer. We found a not-too-full café down near the Piazza del Signoria, with wonderful old Tuscan antiques and great food, including a pasta with truffles that I can still taste. The Baptistery, much more interesting than the cathedral, gets few visitors. The Dante museum (where he lived as young man until run out of Florence in the endless Guelph-Ghibellline disputes), under construction when I there before, was open this time—nice chance to see a tower house, but nothing that really remains from Dante’s time, sadly.
The African sunglasses vendors have added fake designer handbags to their inventories and now spread out their wares on sheets that can be gathered up to conceal the illegal wares when the police come by—and the police don’t know why all these guys are standing around with sheets full of stuff? A game both sides play, I guess.
Best part of that trip: Fiesole, actually now a neighborhood reachable by city bus. It’s in the hills above the city, and was an old Etruscan and Roman settlement. Lots of great Etruscan artifacts in the museum, and great remains of a Roman bath and temple. We sat in the cool breeze and drank pro seco on a terrace looking out over the city.
Worst of trip: Aside from the crowds and heat, no disasters!
What I read to get in the mood for the city: Some of The Divine Comedy, but mostly The Birth of Venus, by Sarah Dunant--great historical novel about the Medici and Savonarola.
Rome: I think I’m in love with Rome. Someone described it as being elegant and trashy at once, and I think that fits. By luck, we found the kind of hotel I love in the part of the city I love: San Lorenzo, near the university and the old city walls. The hotel’s an old building with a courtyard full of palms and plants, but nicely modern in the AC and plumbing department. Gone are the days of sharing a shower down the hall, which I did even the last time I was in Europe—from now on, private baths rule. Across the street was a little bar (in Italy that means snack bar, but they do have beer and wine) where the locals hang out and chat. It looked like heaven every afternoon when we’d fall off the bus and stagger home for a rest. I love siesta cities, where everything shuts down between 1 and 3. For us, energy didn’t actually return until time for restaurants to open at 7. Best food surprise there: a waiter suggested I order “radishes” as a vegetable. Why not, I thought—turned out to be what looked like two whole heads of radicchio, very lightly sautéed. And one rainy night, chancing into a roast-meat restaurant.
Best of Rome for me: Ancient Rome. Not so much the Coliseum (another one of those over-crowded spots) but across from it, the Roman Forum and especially the Palatine. What you actually see is just what’s left of some walls, but you know you’re in the place where Caesar was stabbed, where Cicero and Catullus lived. You’re walking the streets they walked. The view from the Palatine is lovely, and the Baths of Caracalla are huge, amazing. I really loved going through other parts of the city, looking for a restaurant or a train station, and suddenly the little twentieth century buildings are overshadowed by a hulking mass of stone and mortar. The past so literally intrudes into the present.
Not much marble left on the ancient Roman ruins. The medieval and later Christian churches stripped most of it.
Worst of trip: Most trains in metro aren’t air-conditioned! Rush hour is unbelievable.
What I read to get in the mood: Roman Blood by Steven Saylor. First of a great series of mysteries set in ancient Rome, during about the same period as the Rome on HBO--end of Republic, beginning of empire. So familiar...
In all three cities, a tie for second-worst is roving accordion players with a repertoire from the 1960’s.
Next time: I’ll go in September, spend more time out in the smaller towns and countryside, and stay longer in one place. But that’s what I say after every trip.
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Thank you for sharing your trip with us. You evoke the history and the flavour of Spain and Italy very well.
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Still better than I saw in Russia, when an American High School girl tried to ask something simple of a shopgirl in Russian and was answered in German!
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We stayed in Barcelona on that trip, and I really loved it, in spite of the not speaking a word of Spanish at the time. Spent some time on the beaches to the south in a little place called Sitges...maybe those were the beaches you spied the nekkid men on!
Great pictures.
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You could join me in my attempt to circle the Mediterranean, at least to the countries not involved in some hideous war or another.
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Cool!
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Re: Cool!
Below is a "daily thought" from Belief.Net that I opened right after your comment. It seemed to echo your thoughts--if you take the idea of God very generally, I guess. I think it's from a Sufi thinker:
In the country you see the glory of God; in the city you glorify His name.
Bowl of Saki, by Hazrat Inayat Khan
Commentary by Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan:
From Sigoli, where the train journey ends, [Inayat and his father] had six days journey through the forest. This was a new experience to a soul who wanted to breathe a breath of freedom from the crowd and to whom nature was not only appealing but uplifting. ... Inayat's enjoyment was boundless. For the first time in his life there came to him the realization of the saying: "The city was made by man and the country was made by God."
The solitude of the forest, the sounds of the birds that one never feels nor hears in the crowd, the trees standing in stillness for hundreds of years, a place never occupied by man, gave him a feeling of that calm and peace that every soul longs for, consciously or unconsciously. This journey was a kind of answer to the cry of his soul. He felt in the sphere a welcome and blessing given by the long standing trees, venerable in age and appearance. He saw the hand of God blessing in every bending branch. He pictured his hands in the branches that stretched upwards, hands constantly praying and asking for blessing from above.