Archives

Cordoba

Exploring the Cathedral-Mezquita

(Inside the unique Cathedral-Mezquita, the only structure in the world that includes a cathedral and a mosque)

The drive from Seville to Cordoba took us just under two hours. The rest allowed us to feel renewed interest in the city that lay across both banks of the River Guadalquivir that wends its way throughout this region. Unlike the ease with which we found underground public parking for our Citroen in Madrid and Seville, Cordoba was a nightmare. All public parking was on the streets and not a single spot was available. Feeling deeply frustrated from our futile search, we were deeply grateful to solicit the aid of a local Spanish man whose English was non-existent but whose willingness to help knew no bounds. He actually signaled that we should follow him as he led us to an overnight parking facility in a spot very close to the Mezquita-Cathedral which is Cordoba’s leading attraction.

Cordoba’s Mezquita or Mosque, which is recognized as the most significant work of Islamic architecture in the West, was first constructed between AD 785 and 787. As the centuries passed, succeeding rulers added on to it, creating a gigantic space for Friday prayers. By the 10th century, this edifice acquired the elaborate mihrab (prayer niche) that once held a golden Koran and the muqsaba (caliph’s enclosure) under the orders of al Hakam II. What distinguishes Cordoba’s Mezquita from any other such house of worship is the endless numbers of “horse shoe arches”, some double tiered, with their candy-stripe paint, supported on a mass of pillars made of different materials, mainly marble, jasper and alabaster. Most of these pillars were taken from older Roman and Visigothic buildings so that they lack any kind of visual uniformity. The Mosque is entered through a minaret that led the faithful into a Patio de los Naranjos or Orange Grove whose central fountain was used by the faithful for washing purposes before they entered the mosque to pray. Needless to say, the arrival of Christianity in Cordoba put paid to Muslim worship and while swift steps were taken to create a cathedral out of the mosque, the extraordinary beauty and sheer size of the Mezquita prevented its destruction. Instead the Catholics went about creating a gorgeous Cathedral inside, destroying a small part of the mosque to accommodate it. This makes Cordoba’s Mezquita the only building of its kind in the world today: for it is a Cathedral that exists within the borders of what was once an active place of Islamic worship. No pains were spared to make the capilla mayor of the cathedral as visually stunning as the rest of the mosque so that the transept is a confection of Baroque excess, plainly evident in the pillars, cornices, arches and niches of the nave. Photographs can do no justice to such interior grandeur. Part of the treasury in the Mezquita was a monstrously sized monstrance made entirely of gold and silver that is, unbelievably, still hauled out during public processions in the city.

Before darkness fully robbed us of the pleasures of a stroll through the adjoining Jewish district called La Juderia, we followed the winding streets into the heart of picturesque patios and plazas, most of which hold pavement cafes and souvenir shops today. Needless to say, the auto da fe or Trials of Faith that were part of the Spanish Inquisition led to the permanent expulsion of the Jews from Spain so that the districts they inhabited became antiquated living museums of their erstwhile prosperity. It is ironic that the Jews who enjoyed religious freedom under the Moors were tormented by the Catholics who even after their conversion to Christianity refused to respect their sincerity and persecuted them as “false Christians”. What we realized from our travels in Andalucia was that Catholicism has a great deal to answer for indeed. No wonder the Protestant Reformation swept across Europe during the Renaissance, though , surprisingly, it left Spain entirely unmoved.

When we had explored the city sufficiently to need a nap and a break, we headed out in search of our Bed and Breakfast Lineros, a short twenty minute walk from the main mosque area. We loved the charming interior of our place. Built in mujedar style, it had a central patio that formed the reception area. The interiors of our rooms were so charmingly decorated with four poster beds, wooden armoirs or almirahs as the Moors called them, and Islamic designs on the bed linens. We decided to take short naps before going out to La Juderia to find a suitable restaurant for a good Andalucian meal. Once again referring to our guidebooks, we opted for La Churassca Restaurant on Calle Romero that offered a variety of barbecued meats. Set in a traditional white-washed building in the heart of the Jewish district, the restaurant was very sweetly decorated with all kinds of regional motifs including ceramic tiles and serve ware that are the hallmarks of the potteries of this area. Our waiter, a gracious old man who was both attentive and helpful, suggested we start off with traditional Spanish Potato Omlettes (4.50 euros) and that we taste the Grilled Pork Loin served with Sauce Arabes (12.50 Euros) for which the restaurant is well reputed. We placed ourselves in his hands and found the meal quite enjoyable though not outstanding. In fact, none of the restaurants came quite up to the standard of the one in Madrid that served us such a memorable paella. A late night stroll along the banks of the Guadalquivir to our hotel ended another very exciting day for us.

Early the next morning, we hit the highways again en route to Toledo, medieval city and imperial gem.

Bueno Viajes!

Barcelona

Bewitching Barcelona

In the Bari Gottic or Gothic Quarter outside the Cathedral

Cloud cover over the UK (so what else is new, right?) made my window seat redundant but within an hour and 40 minutes, we touched down in Barcelona. Couldn’t enjoy the landing as it was too dark. Immigration clearance took another ten minutes (was the officer really leering at me, or was that my imagination?) and then I was outside the airport into the balmy night and looking confusedly for the aeroport bus to take me to the city.
At this point, I latched on to two English girls who had been to Barcelona before and knew the ropes. They directed me to the bus stop where they were heading themselves and presto, within five minutes, a bus materialized (the fare to be paid to the driver on the bus was 4. 05 euros–thank goodness I had some change with me) and we were off. Through the well-lit roads we sped, many of them reminding me of Madrid, and arrived at Plaza de la Catalunya (Catalonian Square) from where Las Ramblas, the main artery originated. A five minute walk through the crowded street (yes, it was buzzing even at 10 pm) took me to the Youth Hostel where I checked in to find myself placed in an 8-bedded mixed dorm with a bunch of youngsters from Switzerland, Germany and Brazil. They gave me a very hearty welcome indeed and though I was tired, out of politeness, I did spend some time socializing with them while munching on my baguette dinner.

At 10. 30 pm, I was in my bunk, only to be awoken frequently during the night by my young suite mates for whom Friday night can only mean one thing–Party Time!

First impressions of Barcelona? It doesn’t have it’s Fun City reputation for nothing!

Rambling through Las Ramblas and the Bari Gottic

The youngsters sharing my dorm went clubbing and didn’t return till day break. They were sound asleep when I awoke at 9 am, used the Ladies Only bathroom at the far end of my corridor and went down to breakfast in the hotel dining room. This was Carboholics Paradise with cornflakes and muffins and toast and coffee presiding.

Reading up on the plane as to how to spend my three days in Barcelona, I was advised by the gurus at Lonely Planet to start with the Bari Gottic (that’s the Gothic Bario or Quarter). Knowing that the best way to get a feel of a place is on foot, I fuelled up on those carbs, tied the shoe laces on my walking shoes firmly and was off for the day. And I honestly did not stop walking until night fell!
Las Ramblas was already frenetic with activity when I got there at 9. 45 am. I crossed it and entered the Call (or former Jewish Quarter) and was confronted with a tangle of confusing streets, some so narrow that only two people would walk through them abreast. But what character is preserved in this maze! I got a crick that stayed in my neck for the next four days as my head was titled at an angle to allow me to take in the overhanging balconies (very similar to those in Naples, Italy) as I walked gingerly along cobbled streets–the last thing I wanted was a twisted ankle! One old plaza opened out into the other and soon I was taking in the sights of the Plaza de la Jaume, one of the oldest parts of the city that traces its origin to the Roman occupation of Spain. My camera worked overtime as I tried to capture it all.

Lonely Planet’s Walk through Ramblas and Bari Gottic takes the stroller through plazas and medieval cloisters of Romanesque and Gothic churches, through crusted Roman walls and tombs, through churches with enormous Rose windows and geese-filled courtyards, through ancient monuments, hoary with history. I even saw a wedding take place at the charming 12th century church of St. Anne and am sure to be in some of those wedding pictures–I’m sure the bride is going to wonder at the Indian tourist gawking at her off-white mantilla!

I spent a long while in the Gothic Cathedral with its many chapels, its superbly carved wooden choir stalls and pulpit, the crypt with the sarcophagus of St. Eulalia and the Monstrance of Barcelona, not to mention the quiet chapel of Santa Lucia.

Out on the main Plaza Nova, there was scribbles on a building which turned out to be Picasso drawings on the walls of the College of Architecture. That’s what’s so wonderful about these Spanish cities–you see the work of the Modern Masters embedded on the walls and on the streets (Gaudi tiles–I mean tiles by Antoni Gaudi–decorate the Passeig de Garcia and there is a Miro mosaic that you can walk all over on Las Ramblas!)

Leaving the Cathedral environs behind me, I stopped in a tiny old taverna for chocolate and churros (the Spanish snack I remembered so well from my visit with Llew to Madrid a few years ago). The chocolate is so thick, your churros (fried dough sticks) can stand upright in it. Yuumm! I didn’t worry about the calories because I knew I was burning them up faster that I could digest those churros! Then, I was heading for the waterfront, where I saw another sculpture (Roy Lichtenstein’s odd piece entitled Barcelona’s Head). I found myself a bench and since my feet were fairly killing me by this time, I stretched put and closed my eyes (ah, how heavenly that felt!) and contemplated the canopy of trees above me.

Then, I set out for the Llotja (or medieval Stock Exchange building) whose front contains an Art School that both Picasso and Miro attended as teenagers. In a while, I was at the most famous church in the city–the Church of our Lady of the Sea–another Gothic wonder (though I preferred the Cathedral for atmosphere and art works). After a swift visit (there was another wedding scheduled there), I headed off for the Carrera de Montecada, a narrow medieval Bond Street of sorts which once boasted the most fashionable designer stores in the country. Today, its string of old palaus (mansions) have been converted into museums and when I discovered that almost all of them open their doors for free on the first Sunday of each month, I resolved to return the next morning to get to the Museu Picasso first.

However, I did also pass by the Museu de l’Historia de Catalunya and was I glad I popped in there! For this place was free on the first Saturday of each month, so if I could find the motivation and the energy to explore it, I could get in right then and there. And who could pass up such a good offer, right? So there I was, nine metres underground (a lift got me down there) doing a walk through Barsino, which was the Roman name for the city. Recent archaeological excavations have unearthed a city lying intact underground and I felt as if I was back again in Pompeii exploring the bakery and the wine cellars and the homes and palaces of the rich and well-constructed city as it thrived under the Romans!

My exploration done, I emerged on the Plaza del Rei (which I finally managed to find after almost a whole day’s search) and made my way back to La Ramblas and then the sea front where the tall column with Christopher Columbus allegedly pointing to his beloved Genoa, graces the landscape. Antique and junk jewelery stalls kept me browsing for a while before I decided that if I didn’t get back to my hostel room soon, I would quite pass out with fatigue!

Back in my room, my suite mates were partying (I don’t believe they had stopped since the previous evening!) and offered me a Spanish beer (Estrella, which was cold and very good) and as I ate my sandwich dinner and socialized with them, I wound down and got ready for bed.

Dazzled by Picasso and Gaudi
 Early on Sunday morning, while the rest of the Youth Hostel residents were sleeping off their weekend carousing, I walked quickly along the Bari Gottic and arrived at the Museu Picasso only to be stunned at the endless line that had formed before the museum even opened its doors. With at least 500 folks on line, I decided to explore the Museu Barbier-Mueller D’Art Pre-Colombi which translates from the Catalonian into the Barbier-Mueller Museum of Pre-Colombian Art. This collection is also located in a beautiful old palau (mansion) on the Carrer de Montecada, right opposite the Museu Picasso, but so gigantic is the reputation of Pablo that no one seemed interested in inspecting the treasure concealed inside–and frankly I did not expect anything too impressive either.

How mistaken I was! One room in particular so seized my imagination that I was glad I gave Picasso a miss until the queues thinned out. The manuscript room was filled with photocopies of the correspondence that ensued between Columbus and the monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain who had sponsored his voyages of discovery. Columbus writes in his own hand about the things he encounters in the Caribbean Islands and his disappointment at not finding any gold. The diary jottings of a number of his crew were also on display and I was transported to 1492 as I scrutinized those priceless documents. Seeing these words in black and white (or sepia and white, to be more precise) somehow made history come alive for me and gave it a soul.

Then, I was out on the street ready to join the line for the Picasso Museum. To my astonishment, I entered in less than ten minutes and though the place was filled, it was still possible to enjoy the contents of the many rooms at leisure and study every single one of the exhibits. I found the museum totally fascinating though most visitors are rather disappointed to find that his best-known works are not on display–they happen to be in Paris, of course, at the Musee Picasso (where I had seen them 22 years ago and been profoundly moved).

This time round, I was moved again, but for altogether another reason. This collection showcases Picasso’s earliest work, most of which was done when he was still barely out of his teens and while he lived and studied Art in Barcelona’s Llotja Art School. It allowed the viewer to see exactly how he progressed from an imitative artist to one who blazed new trails and changed the direction of 20th century Art completely. His earliest self-portraits show an uncanny resemblance to his last photographs taken just before his death. His portraits of his father and his mother are touchingly realistic–such a far cry from the iconoclast into which he evolved. The canvases he submitted to Art competitions while he was still in art school are extraordinarily realistic and show no signs at all of the abstract artist he would become. I found all of this extraordinarily moving. There were a few canvases from his Blue Period and his Rose Period and then the tempo quickened as we moved into his Cubist phase with his take on the work of the Old Masters such as Manet’s Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe and, of course, the famous series he did on Velasquez’s Las Meninas. This superb collection is an opportunity for any lover of Modern Art to understand Picasso’s complex journey and to marvel as its exhaustive invention.

It took me an hour and a half to see it all and then I was on the street enjoying the warmth of the Iberian sunshine pouring down upon me as I decided to spend an hour in the Parc de la Citadella, a green lung of the city that contains some interesting early landscape designs by Gaudi, primarily in the huge Cascade or Waterfall that he created which contains, among other things, statuary, spouting jets of water and terraced basins. The park also is also the location of the Catalonian Parliament but since tours were stopped for the day, I had to content myself with a look-see around the exterior. It reminded me a bit of the Parc de Bieno Retiro in Madrid which included topiary and a lake in which boating was a pleasant weekend past-time. Indeed, the park was empty of tourists and it was great to see the ‘locals’ taking the air, strolling along with their toddlers and to watch the elderly enjoy a sit-down on the many benches.

Then, began my long walk towards Barcelona’s piece de resistance, La Sagrada Familia (the Church of the Holy Family). This iconic image of the city is now familiar to most people but to see it in person is truly a staggering experience. A conception of Gaudi’s imagination, work on this Gothic cathedral began over a hundred years ago but came to a standstill during the Communist era of the Spanish Civil War. When construction was resumed, Gaudi make it his personal ambition to get it finished but, as luck would have it, he was mowed down by a tram right in front of the church. Undaunted by his demise, the engineers and architects continued with his vision and the church is described today as a “work-in-progress”. Most of the exterior has been completed but the inside is still basically a shell with completion expected only in 2030.

Encrusted with sculpture depicting the Nativity on the back facade and the Passion on the front, Gaudi took his inspiration from nature, his constant companion as a child. This was brought home to me through the small exhibit in the crypt of the church and for that reason alone, I was so glad I splurged on the 10 euros that it cost to enter it. I understood completely the rationale of this genius after seeing that exhibit and perceiving the link between the various images from nature (wheat stalks, lavender, sunflowers, pine cones, etc.) on the artistic and architectural motifs to be found on his buildings and their interiors. Everything that had seemed weird suddenly made complete sense to me and I felt as if I had a revelation, an epiphany of sorts.

I took so many pictures but cameras cannot quite capture the intensity of his vision or the creative zeal that has allowed it to be implemented. The giant columns inside the church, for instance, are multi-limbed trees whose branches form a canopy above–Gaudi’s take on Gothic fan-vaulting. The choir stalls at the back of the church are so wide and expansive that, when complete, will hold 1,500 singers. I encircled the building several times both inside and out because suddenly I could not get enough of this revolutionary architect and since I was exhausted by this point, I took the Metro back to Las Ramblas, very proud of the fact that I found my way despite needing to make two changes on two different lines and without speaking or reading a word of Spanish!

Though the evening was still young, I was much too pooped to possibly consider covering any more ground that day. I returned gratefully to the hostel and plopped into my bed where I stayed for the rest of the evening!

Blown Away by the Modernistas

Though I did not intend to, it turned out that I saved the best for last. Indeed, on my last day in Barcelona, I decided to take another self-guided walking tour (as outlined in Lonely Planet) of the area called L’Eixample. This region, consisting of about 12 street blocks in the heart of the city, showcases the work of the Modernist architects that flourished in Barcelona in the last quarter of the 19th century and the first quarter of the 20th. Apart from the gigantic figure of Antoni Gaudi, they include Domeneck i Montaner and Josef Puig i Cadafalch. The best place at which to start such an exploration of this burst of architectural creativity is the lovely Parc Guell and when I found out over breakfast that one of my Youth Hostel fellow-residents, a German woman named Gisella, decided to visit it too, we made plans to travel there together.

Taking the Number 24 bus from the Plaza de la Catalunya (fare was 1. 30 euros one way), we drove through the wide boulevards of this fascinating city and arrived, about 20 minutes later, at one of the many entrances to the Park. We were glad we had opted for the bus because the journey was long and involved a steep climb up a mountain which afforded lovely views of the city sleeping quietly in the autumnal sunshine.

Our exploration into Parc Guell took us first to the Museu Gaudi, a pink confection of a house in which the artist had once lived. Now converted into a musuem, visitors are free to wander inside for 5 euros, but Gisella and I decided to pass as we had a great deal to cover that day. Instead we walked towards the wide open ceramic tile encrusted terraces, Gaudi’s handiwork, which offered views towards the park’s main entrance where the famous iconic figure of the ceramic lizard is to be found. Of course, we took pictures by the spouting fountain and the sunflower tiled terrace and the towering columns punctuated with the octopus-like tentacles of the ceiling decoration. With each vignette that presented itself, I understood more about Gaudi’s creative passion. Walking around the terraced tiers of the garden, I had the chance to appreciate Gaudi’s work as a landscape architect and I understood again the organic nature of his creations.

Then, Gisella and I were in the bus, making our way towards the center of town to begin our walking tour of the work of the Modernists or Modernistas as they are known in Spain. One after the other, we paused to admire the buildings created with the principles of Art Nouveau in mind–the curlicues, the fussy flourishes, the total femininity of the aesthetic vision. We saw La Prendrera, the famous apartment building designed by Gaudi on Passeig de Garcia. Just a few steps away was Casa Batllo which my guide book suggested we tour if there was just one building we could afford to see. And so Gisella and I purchased a ticket (16. 50 Euros each), which seemed like a princely sum until we entered the space and were swept off our feet.

Casa Batllo is a private mansion for which Gaudi received a commission from the Batllos. He conceived the entire building as deriving from the Sea and chose blue as the dominate color on his rather subdued palate. Inside, motifs from the sea–shells, conches, sea horses, whales, star fish, etc. envelope the space so fully and so ingeniously that words can do it no justice at all. As you wander from one space to the next, you don’t quite know what to take in–so detailed are the touches, so imaginative is the execution. In his signature material–ceramic tile, carved and polished wood, blown glass–Gaudi had created a home that is not just one-of-a-kind but state-of-the-art as well for its time.

The aesthetic features are so perfectly balanced by the scientific and engineering rationale that prompted them that what you see is a perfect marriage of the Arts and the Sciences in that one space. What’s more, every single little feature from the brass door handles to the crystal chandeliers, from the wrought-iron window boxes to the cutest little elevator you ever did see, are entirely conceived and fashioned by his stupendous imagination. This home is certainly one of the most splendid things I have ever seen in my entire life and I emerged out of the place totally overwhelmed.

By this time, I had lost Gisella. Using the audio guides that came with our entry ticket, we had viewed the building at our own pace and, in the process, had drifted apart. Deciding to complete the walking tour on my own, I pressed bravely onwards taking in the Casa Amatler, the Fondacion Antoni Tapie, the Casa Lleo Morera, the Casa Pia Batllo–all of which define the work of the Modernists. Some of the building facades carried elaborate carvings, others had astounding wrought-iron scrollwork, yet others had fancy balconies…every single one of these features falls under the umbrella of Modernism, but I guess the tour reached it zenith at the Palau de la Musica Catalana, designed by Montaner for the performances of Catalonian Music.

This building is striking in the extreme for the facade that sports the busts of famous composers such as Verdi and Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner, ceramic pillars that hold up the structure, ceramic tiles that freely decorate the floors and the ceilings and a wealth of stained glass windows. I decided to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria inside–a wonderful selection of Spanish tapas presented itself and in choosing to nibble on serrano ham and fish paste with shrimp, I found myself a tasty little lunch, before I picked up the pace once again and arrived at the Mercat de la Boqueria, a famous street market right of Las Ramblas. There, I bought myself neat packages of serrano ham and manchego cheese and with a baguette was able to fashion some truly delicious sandwiches for my dinner later that day

And then, when the sun was close to setting, I realized that I had been in Barcelona for three whole days and had not yet visited its beaches! As you can tell, beach combing is rather a low priority for me, but since I could not possibly leave without setting eyes on the Mediterranean, off I went on another long ramble in the direction of the beach. Within a half hour, I was at the waterfront, enjoying the promenade on a particularly pleasant evening as I watched families have a fun time together. In the far distance, the land mass curved around towards the French fishing port of Marseilles and on the other side, the sea stretched towards the Costa Brava. Ahead of me, the brilliant azure-blue of the Mediterranean made a spectacular backdrop and I was so glad I did find the motivation and the energy to see the sea!

On my rambles back, I took a different route past the ancient Roman quarter once again and, quite by chance, came upon a leather shop from which I bought my one big purchase of the trip–a Spanish leather backpack.

Barcelona was everything I had expected it to me and more, but by the end of three days, I was ready to back my backpack and move on and, the next day, I left the hostel early to catch a bus to the airport for my return to London.

Bon Voyage!

Spain

Spain

Viva Espana!

Don Quixote tossed his hat at these windmills in Consuegra in Castilla-la-Mancha, Spain.

Hola All!

Sunny Spain beckoned urgently and we responded enthusiastically. Taking the red eye US Airways flight via New York City and Philadelphia, we arrived in the capital city of Madrid about 9 am. By the time we claimed our rental car from National Atessa, a spiffy brand-new silver gray Citroen with just 37 kms on it (right) , Llew got the hang of changing gears on the stick shift controls, and we headed out on the highways into the city that lay bathed in glorious golden sunshine.

We enjoyed ourselves enormously in Spain and Morocco. Doubtless, the trip did present a few glitches as all travel adventures invariably do. The inability to find parking in Cordoba, for instance, and the impatience of Spanish drivers who honk angrily at hesitant navigators were only some of the negative experiences we had. Then there was the fiasco at the ferry port in Tangiers when we missed our boat by a fraction of a second. But we took these stumbles in our stride as they were only minor inconveniences on a trip that was truly both entertaining and educational.

(On the main promenade in the chic beach resort of Marbella in Spain)

Most of all we loved the Spanish and Moroccan people, their warmth, their caring, their courtesy. They went out of their way to help us when we were lost and gesticulated madly when they knew that we could not understand their language. We enjoyed their cuisine, and partook enthusiastically in their love for cold meats, red wines, crusty bread and aged cheeses. We returned home with bottles of Spanish saffron and Moroccan antique necklaces. We also added to our stock of postcards, magnets and porcelain plates, not to mention the hundreds of photographs we took. Back home, I had many happy hours of scrap booking fun.

(The magical Plaza of the Lions in the Al-Hambra Palace in Granada, Spain)

Wanderlust is a fever that Llew and I share and we are so glad for this ailment. We hope you will enjoy your armchair travels with us. Click on the links above to read about our adventures in the many regions of Spain that we explored.

To follow Llew and me on our journeys through Spain, please click  Memories of Madrid.

Bueno Viaje!!!

Krakow

Krakow and Auschwitz-Birkenau

Reliving the Glories and the Horrors of Poland’s Past

Reluctant to leave the serenity and natural beauty of Zakopane behind us,Llew, Chriselle and I bussed it back to Krakow arriving in the city at mid-morning when we made our way to the Jewish Quarter of Kazimerz where our hotel was located (below left).

Without wasting any more time, we began our walking tour of Krakow, ancient city of Slavic invasion and modern city of the Holocaust. It is so amazingly laid out with its superbly designed pre-war buildings forming a compact circle in the center of the Old Town and completely ringed by parks and gardens around the Vistula River.

Ryneck Glowny or the Main Square is the center of tourist interest but before we arrived there, we stopped to see the medieval Church of St. Andrew (with its surprisingly Baroque interior—obviously a later renovation) and the Church of St. Peter and Paul with its giant statues of the twelve apostles adorning its entrance. Right opposite is Archbishop’s House where Pope John Paul II, once Archbishop of Krakow, spent several years of his life. Arriving in the Main Square, we found it brimming over with tourists and with the local population, who enjoying a bank holiday, had brought their kids out to be entertained by jugglers, comedians, etc. on the street.

The medieval Cloth Hall  (left)dominates this largest square in Europe by its stolid presence but the oddly shaped spires of the Basilica of St. Mary (below left) are an unmistakable presence in an adjacent corner. Since it was the Feast of the Assumption, we attended the 1 pm. Mass at St. Mary’s, amazed to find the church jammed to capacity in a moving display of devotion to Catholic faith.

 Unlike the other countries in Europe that we have visited, Poland’s faith in Catholicism is alive and kicking, fuelled no doubt by the fact that the Head of the Church for over quarter of a century was a local boy! We were struck by the perfect behavior of the Polish children at mass, the gusto with which responses to prayers and hymns were made by the entire congregation and with the many flower offerings that the people carried to the altar for blessings. Llew was delighted to have his wish come true—to hear mass in an ancient ornate church where the devotion of the people matched the magnificence of the interior for the triptych altarpiece by Gothic artist Veit Stoss was one of the most moving we had ever seen and matched the total grandeur of the cathedral. Later that evening, we heard the bugler blow his bugle at the sounding of each hour from a window high in the church’s left steeple.

After lunch that afternoon, we bussed it to the Wieliejcka Salt Mines, just a half hour’s ride away. Eastern Europe is rich in underground salt mines developed centuries ago through faults in the earth that also caused the spouting of hot thermal springs. Indeed, salt was an invaluable resource as early as the Middle Ages and added enormously to the wealth of the Slavic nations, causing them to be invaded often. The Wieliczka (pronounced “wee-leej-ka”) Salt Mines were believed to be a dowry gift of Hungarian Queen Kinga to the people of Poland when she married their king. Later canonized by the Catholic Church, we were amazed to find that together with St. Barbara, she became the patron saint of the miners who toiled hundreds of feet underground to mine salt.

Our fascinating guided tour in English took us deep into the bowels of the earth. As we tunneled through many yards of passageway, we steadily descended down to 130 meters, all the time fascinated by the fact that the floor and the walls around us were pure, hundred percent salt. Devoutly wed to their Christian faith, the miners, over the years, carved out life-size salt statues of their beloved saints and heroes and eventually created an entire cathedral underground in which every single item from the candlesticks to the chandeliers, from the altars to the flooring is made of salt. It was truly mind-boggling to see this working church exist so many hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth, a place in which about fifty wedding are solemnized each year (left).

The Mines also contain a museum which detailed the development of various salt crystals and the methods and techniques that were used to mine salt and carry it up to the earth’s surface, including, quite awesomely, the use of horses underground to pull cartloads of recently mined salt. Happily, a real antique elevator, actually used by the miners while the mines were still in use, carried us back to the top. Not surprisingly, the entire venue is protected under UNESCO’s World Heritage status.

Auschwitz-Birkenau: The Nazis’ Most Notorious Concentration Camp

The next day, we took a bus from Krakow to embark upon the most disturbing part of our travels—a visit to the Nazi concentration camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau, one of the most notorious places on earth—what the last Pope referred to as the “Golgotha of Modern Times”. Though I had been to Dachau concentration camp near Munich, Germany, twenty years ago, Auschwitz is so much more vivid and graphic in the manner in which history has been preserved through a living museum that honors the helpless dead. See the entrance gates (below left) with the motto that says, “Abandon All Hope”.

Our visit began with the screening of a film in English that described the liberation of the camp by the Soviets in 1945, after which our guided tour in English took us through the blocks of red brick buildings that were built by the Polish military as part of their barracks prior to the German invasion.

These buildings (left) have been converted into museum space displaying extremely moving tableau containing spectacles, hair, hairbrushes and toothbrushes, enamel pots and pans, footwear, leather suitcases, rattan baskets, etc. of the thousands of Jews, Magyars, political dissenters, homosexuals, mentally and physically handicapped persons, and gypsies that were imprisoned here and then either put to hard manual labor or selected for immediate extermination in the gas chambers, then incinerated in the ovens, as part of Hitler’s “Final Solution to the Problem of European Jews”. The guide expertly educated us about the inhuman methodology that was part of the Nazi machinery. This included the unspeakable scientific experiments carried out on children, especially twins, by Dr. Joseph Mengele, who after the war, escaped to Brazil and died of natural causes only in 1971, never having served a day for his crimes against humanity.

In that context, it was heartening to see the gallows upon which SS Camp Commandant Rudolph Hoess was hanged  (left) after he was identified by a British soldier, two years after the war ended. He was brought to trial and convicted to death in the same venue upon which he had caused so many innocent men, women and children to be butchered.

We even saw the cell in which Polish Catholic priest Fr. Maximilian Kolbe was imprisoned and finally shot at the Wall of Death (below left) right outside the block where the Gestapo conducted their trials and passed sentence.

A shuttle bus then took us to Birkenau (above right), the neighboring camp that was built to accommodate the millions of prisoners that poured in on the cattle trains.

This vast acreage of land was converted into space for hundreds of wooden barracks to house prisoners in bunk-beds (left) under the most horrendous conditions imaginable. Our guide pointed out the toilets that prisoners used, the trenches they dug, the single brick fireplace that provided heating in the most brutal of winters in each barracks while the prisoners slept in the same clothes they worked in contracting tuberculosis, pneumonia and typhus that killed them off on an average within two months of their arrival in the prison. This coupled with constant hunger and brutal punishments caused a very high rate of suicide in the camps—many prisoners preferring to get themselves electrocuted on the barbed wire that surrounded the camp or be shot by the guards poised in the watch towers (below left).

Finally, we entered the dreaded chambers where the extermination of all prisoners was carried through the use of poison gas and where their bodies were then cremated in the ovens (below right). Most of us were speechless as we viewed these remnants of a horrific past. Though I had been to Dachau Concentration Camp near Munich, Germany, twenty years ago, Auschwitz-Birkenau had a far more humbling effect on me not merely because of its vast size that emphasized the extent of the atrocities perpetrated here but because I was visiting it in  the company of those most beloved to me–my husband and daughter. If anything the visit made me realize just how precious they are to me.

 Our visit to Auschwitz silenced us so completely that the return bus journey to Krakow was filled with contemplation for us all. Difficult though the visit was, we’re glad we went and saw for ourselves the inhumanity and cruelty of which man is capable.

Return to Krakow:

The Wonders of Wavel Castle and Cathedral

Our stay in Krakow ended with our exploration of Wawel (pronounced “Vah-wel”) Hill where the major monuments of tourist interest are the stunning Cathedral and Royal Castle approached by walking past lovely English-style gardens that provided many photo opportunities.The Cathedral (left) dedicated to St. Gereon is one of the most spectacular that I have ever seen with its many spires, domes, cupolas and buttresses and I could not stop taking pictures. It was the venue for the coronation of all Poland’s kings and was also their final resting place. The magnificent silver casket containing the mortal remains of St. Stanislaus, Poland’s patron saint, dominates the center while the royal crypts approached by descending the stairs to the basement house ornate tombs of former royalty.

We also climbed into the bell tower to see the Bell of St. Sisigsmund. Proceeding to the Royal Castle, we found ourselves in one of the most picturesque Renaissance courtyards reminiscent of Florentine architecture (above left) in the many storeys of arched doorways. Inside, the rooms were filled with sacred relics and treasures such as golden monstrances and chalices, loads of arms, armor and paintings.

Since our hotel was situated right in the heart of Krakow’s Old Jewish District, Kazimerz, we spent one morning exploring it thoroughly and visiting one of the oldest synagogues—the Remuh Synagogue (left) where Hassidic Jews were deep in prayer. Because Krakow had 126,000 Jews in 1940 living in Kazimerz, an area named after Good King Kazimerz of the 1400s who permitted this persecuted race of people to live in his city undisturbed, it developed a distinct ethnic ambience. After the Holocaust, only 10,000 Jews returned to Krakow, most of them having met their end in the concentration camps. Today, Kazimerz still consists of quaint squares, synagogues and Jewish restaurants. We dined one night at Ariel, a Jewish restaurant that served a traditional Klezmer Dinner. This consisted of a trio of Jewish musicians who played traditional instruments and sang songs in Hebrew, Yiddish and Polish as the visitors joined in while wine was served and orders for dinner were taken. Over a very tasty meal of Cabbage Leaves stuffed with Mushrooms and Chicken with Mushrooms and Plums, we had a chance to participate in the lifestyle of an ancient race of people whose culture and religious heritage is more vigorous today than it ever was before despite the tragedy of their near extermination.

We did not leave Krakow without shopping for Polish amber jewelry in Ryneck Glowny, the ancient covered market in which traders in the Middle Ages plied their wares. Amber is a natural resin produced by the fossilizing of trees, branches, etc. over centuries through natural processes at the bottom of the ocean. Most Polish amber comes from the Baltic Sea. At the suggestion of my brother Roger and his wife Lalita, we dined at Chlopskie Jadlo, a rustic chain of restaurants that serves country style Polish meals. The soup sampler I ordered consisting of four scrumptious soups—zureck, mushroom soup, cabbage soup and Russian borscht—was extremely good.

We ended our visit to Krakow, a city that truly stole our hearts away, by strolling along ul. Florianska or the Royal Way (left) , stopping by Florian Gate, the Barbican and the Churches of St. Dominic and St. Francis where evening mass was in progress.

What we most loved about Poland were the people. They were good, kind, decent human beings who treated us with the utmost courtesy and respect. Taxi-drivers, in this day and age, helped us unload our baggage from their trunks, whole busloads of passengers would get involved when we asked for help in finding our destinations, children were so perfectly well-behaved on the streets and in church that we thought we had regressed some thirty years ago to an age when parents were still in control and kids were disciplined. Every man on the streets resembled the young Lech Walesa what with their florid faces and bushy, handlebar moustaches! We’d heard everyone raving about the beauty of Prague, but so few have spoken to us about Krakow. This made the city truly an unexpectedly heartwarming surprise. So it was with tremendous sadness that we left Krakow for the next lap of our tour, departing from the main train station late at night to take a sleeper train into Prague, capital of the Czech Republic, where we arrived early the next morning.

Bon Voyage!

Zakopane

Tatra Mountain Resort

(With Chriselle outside a typical wooden chalet home in Zakopane in the Tatra Mountains)

Following the course of the beautiful Blue Danube past plum orchards, vineyards and sunflower fields, Llew, Chriselle and I left Hungary and traveled north passing Szentendre and Vyserhov, where we spied King Mattias’s hilltop fortress in the distance, to cross the border into Slovakia. Bratislava, the capital, where we made a brief stop, reminded us very much of suburban Bombay with its apartment building blocks–relics of Communist occupation–and its factories spewing exhaust fumes into the air.

Arriving in Breclav in the Czech Republic where we needed to change trains, we found ourselves boarding a spiffy Russian one. Our cabin, exclusive to the three of us, contained sleepers or couchettes that were remarkably comfortable and bathrooms that were spotless. This was to be our hotel for the night as we sped past Slovakia and entered Poland where we went through one of the toughest passport checks we’ve ever had. Eastern Europe is still unaccustomed to seeing South Asian tourists with American passports crossing borders without visas and we were something of a novelty for these people who stared at us everywhere on the streets and in the shops, particularly fascinated by the fact that despite our ethnic appearance, we spoke perfect English!

We arrived at Krakow, former capital of Poland, as dawn was breaking over the city, but we did not pause there for long, connecting immediately into a bus that took us south, back to the Slovac border to the resort town of Zakopane that nestles snugly at the feet of the beautiful sheep-studded Tatra Mountains. There, we made our home in a chalet-style log cabin in a pension called Krakowiana right off the main street of ul. Krupowski.

Zakopane was packed to bursting for the long weekend (The Feast of the Assumption is a national holiday in devoutly Catholic Poland) with local Polish people and tourists who thronged its main street (left). This is the winter capital of Poland as it offers world-class ski runs. The late Pope John Paul II, beloved son of the Polish people, often skied, hiked and trekked in the Tatras in his younger days. While we were there, the Annual Festival of Mountain Folk was in progress and the little mountain town was filled with highlanders in colorful traditional garb walking the streets with their sheep in tow.

Indeed, Zakopane is a sheep-rearing community and everywhere we went, we saw roadside stands selling mountain upon mountain of smoked sheep’s milk cheese that we apprehensively tasted and found to be perfectly scrumptious (left). Sheepskin throws, footwear, walking sticks, carved wooden profiles of mountain folk, wooden beaded jewelry, etc. were just some of the handicrafts sold in the huge craft fair that was mobbed with visitors. This was the perfect place to people-watch as carriages drawn by sturdy mountain horses took people clip-clopping around the town.

The cuisine of Zakopane was especially wonderful and we partook of two superb meals there. Lunch comprised of Polish sheep sausage and delicious hamburger patties washed down by Zywiec beer. For dinner we chose a cavern-like restaurant called Karczma Zbojecka, highly recommended by Lonely Planet for the quality of its grilled meats. Here we sampled grilled sheep’s milk cheese and zureck, a sour white soup—both of which were lip-smacking good. Llew’s mixed grill featuring pork chops, bacon and onions and my plecki (pronounced “platzki” meaning fried potato pancakes) were also delicious. This time we washed our meal down with Tyskie beer, the other brew for which Poland is famous. Chriselle sampled the local wines everywhere we went while I stuck with the beer, knowing that these regions are particularly famous for the quality of their hops and their ancient brewing techniques.

Zakopane has a very distinctive style of architecture seen in the chalet-like houses that dot the green-clad hillsides. Gingerbread trim distinguishes these structures that are made more remarkable by their attractive colors and the window-boxes from which a profusion of blooms spill out. If you’re looking for something fun to do, try simply walking down the main avenue, browsing for souvenirs in the stores that line the street or popping into the church that stands at the very end of the road. There are hundreds of stall selling sheepskin jackets, coats and throws, sturdy walking sticks, bright red wooden beaded necklaces and of course, sheep’s milk cheese. An interesting souvenir here are hand carved wooden plaques made on the street while you stand and watch. Sold for a song, one such plaque made a very unusual addition to our bounty of travel buys. Another unique souvenir are marble statues of the late Pope who is deeply revered in these parts. You will have the happiest time fingering these wares as beaming salesmen and women, eager to please, chatter about in a language we wish we could have understood.

Of all the countries we visited, Poland was the most reasonably priced in terms of restaurants and hotels. While the quality of the meals we consumed was always the highest, we never felt as if we’d burned a hole in our pockets.

Get to Poland while the going is good. It won’t be long before its entry into the European Union will jack up prices and bring crowds flocking to its pristine mountain resorts. Bollywood has already discovered Zakopane.Winter scenes in some of the newer films are shot on location in these resorts which try hard to replicate the snowy wilderness of Kashmir.

This entry was posted on April 12, 2006, in Poland.

Norway

Knocking About Norway

Posing by a real Oscar at the Kontiki Museum in Bygdoy Peninsula
I only knew Norway as the Land of the Midnight Sun, open face sandwiches, and those gorgeous Scandinavian blondes… As for the rest of it, I was blank. Which turned out to be a good thing because Norway was a revelation.
Just before we landed at Torp airport outside Oslo, after we had cleared the thick layer of clouds that had obscured the scene outside the window all across the North Sea, the sights of the fjords had me spell bound. For though there was no sun, there was enough light to be able to discern the outlines of scattered islands that lay under a thick frosting of ice. This famed coast line viewed from the air but best seen on summer boat cruises, was my first glimpse of the country, Norway—a country that revealed itself to me in new and exciting ways from day to day and left me enchanted.
Country Landscape:
It was plainly obvious that southern Norway had gone through a major recent snowstorm. Tall mounds of snow almost blinded me in their dazzling white garb. However, unlike London, it was also plain that the authorities were fully equipped to handle it for snow ploughs were everywhere and the sanding and salting of motorways leading out of the airport was superbly done.
Once we arrived at the highway that led to Oslo, the landscape was so enchanting that each little vignette could make a Christmas card. Within seconds, I was reminded sharply of my own home in New England for there were so many similarities. For one thing, because both Norway and New England have an abundance of trees, all structures are made of wood (unlike the brick and stone that I so love in the United Kingdom). The siding of homes were exactly the same was those in parts of New England in which the Pilgrims settled—indeed similar to my own Holly Berry House in Southport, Connecticut. The three preferred colored of all dwellings are white, ochre and maroon, or as some would more fashionably say, burgundy. These little cottages were draped in white shrouds, their roofs thickly covered with snow. Most trees stood bare of foliage, their branches still wearing traces of freshly fallen snow while conifers stood in clumps draping the hillsides. Occasionally, we past vast spreads of snow white land masses which we soon realized were snow-covered lakes as the boat slips at the edges gave them away. I was taken back sharply to my coastal Connecticut winters as I watched the beauty of the Norwegian countryside slip by the window.

Day One in Oslo–Breakfast at the Youth Hostel:
Because I had managed to get some reading done from my Norway DK Eye Eyewitness Guide en route to Stanstead airport, I decided that I would spend my first day in the City Center getting oriented. It seemed that the city was rather small and could easily be explored on foot.
Attempting to avoid what I imagined would be the early-morning rush for the bathrooms down the hall, I decided to shower in the evening. Dressing warmly, I went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast (included in the price of 22 Euros per night) and thought I was in a hotel. Truly, after the breakfasts I have consumed in other European youth hostels, this one appeared princely. There was a variety of cereals with milk or yogurt, a buffet bar with rolls, various types of sliced bread and the famous Scandinavian crisp bread and all sorts of jams and marmalades as well as a rather chunky and very delicious apple sauce. In the deli bar, there was cheese (Jarlsberg, of course, Norway’s gift to the world) ham, salami, liverwurst, coleslaw, fresh sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and a variety of fish dishes—in mustard sauce, tomato sauce and pickled with onions. There was also a variety of juices, tea and coffee—like I said, fit for a king. There was even a traditional brown cheese called geitost, served in a round block with a cheese knife. This is eaten at breakfast, very thinly sliced, and when I tasted some, I found this goat’s cheese sweet, sharply flavored and very delicious, especially when placed on the crisp bread and eaten with the tomatoes. I found myself crafting very creative open sandwiches each day for breakfast! Well, when in Oslo…..

Exploring Downtown Oslo:
Well fortified to face my day, I left to explore the city. Katya from Brazil joined me on the downhill trek to the tram stop which I boarded ten minutes later. It promised to be a beautiful day for the sun was just beginning to gild the snow draped hills and being warmly clad myself, I wasn’t in the least uncomfortable. One great thing about New England winters is that they teach you now to dress in layers and feel snug.

Oslo’s National Gallery:
 Fifteen minutes later, I was at Karl Johans Gate which is the main artery that runs through the City Center. I headed first off to the National Gallery mainly to see The Scream by Edvard Munch, Norway’s best-known artist. Not only has this painting being stolen from this museum twice, but it has been, miraculously, recovered twice as well! One of the things that visiting the world’s museums has taught me is that no pictures in the world can prepare the viewer for the actual size of famous paintings and, time after time, I have been surprised at how small the real thing is when all I have seen were pictures. The Scream is small indeed but rather riveting. In the Munch Gallery, there was also his other famous work, Madonna—these two were held behind plexiglass shields.
A few rooms away, there was a special exhibition on his very personal work The Sick Child, based on his memories of his sister who lay dying of tuberculosis. There were various versions of this subject, painted over twenty years, the work getting more and more Expressionistic as he progressed. I was so fortunate to be able to see about eight version of it all gathered together in one room, as well as the definitive one which was the center piece of the exhibition.
In addition to works by Munch, there were some wonderful Norwegian artists represented such as J.C. Dahl, Tilemund and Dude and some other canvases by Old Masters—After the Bath by Renoir was particularly lovely as was St. Peter by El Greco. Tilemund and Dude’s Norwegian Bridal Party on display in this museum has achieved iconic stature in the country as it comprises all the elements that best portray Norway—mountains, lakes and traditional rural people dressed in their colorful bunads. Best part of all was that this museum was free to the public and though there was almost no one when I first entered, a few tour groups did arrive later in the day.
The National History Museum:
Right next door to the National Gallery is the National History Museum—also free of charge. I entered it to find myself lost for the next hour as I took in some marvelous medieval art. There was the front portal of a traditional Stave Church—richly carved and in a fantastic state of preservation though dating to the 1100s. I did not appreciate it right away but, a few days later, after I saw and entered a real stave church on Bygdoy, I realized where exactly at the church door it would fit and I was then so taken by this piece.
A special exhibition on the Vikings taught me a great deal about these people who originated in Scandinavia. All I had known about the Vikings was that they were violent marauders who destroyed abbeys in Ireland. So I was pleasantly surprised to see the artistic streak they also possessed as evidenced in the silver-studded sword handles and the vast amount of metal jewelry (mainly brooches to hold their flowing garments in place) that they produced. In the Sami section, I saw a great deal of material on the ethnic people who thrive in the northernmost reaches of Norway and, as my school geography lessons had taught me, live in igloos, wear reindeer fur and travel on dog sleds. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Everywhere I went, I saw the museums filled with school groups on field trips, their teachers actually teaching them lessons in the galleries.
Karl Johans Gate:

Then I was out on the sunshine-washed streets of Oslo walking towards the Royal Place called Slottet that sits on a hill overlooking the city’s main thoroughfare called Karl Johans Gate. The word ‘gate’ in Norwegian does not mean ‘gate’; it means ‘road’ and this one named after one of Norway’s most illustrious kings, Karl Johans, is its busiest.  Groups of tourists were out by this time, slip sliding on the ice and throwing snowballs at each other. There were no guided tours of the interior in the winter but I did enjoy the exterior environs of the palace that are set in sprawling lawns open to the public—all thickly covered with crisp and spotlessly white blankets. The current monarchs were resident in the palace as was evident by the flag which flew from the flag mast.

I walked downhill towards the National Theater and paused to take pictures of the sculpture of Henrik Ibsen of whom Norway is so proud. The National Theater was actually putting on a production of his most famous play A Doll’s House together with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Kazamarov.  A few steps away, the grand Neo-Classical building of Oslo University lay ahead of me in its own square. The Aula is its most interesting feature—a room that is covered with murals by Munch–but since it was under renovation, it was closed to the public.
The Wonders of Radhuset:
Using my map, I found my way, a few blocks away, to Radhuset, the City Hall, and scene, each year, of the distribution of the Nobel Peace Prize. This extremely modern building built by Arnstein Arneberg and Magnus Poulsson, who won a competition to design it, dominates the cityscape by its unusual shape and conception. The exterior is only the beginning, however, as the inside of the building, covered with murals, sculptures in bas relief and almost floor-to-ceiling size paintings is breathtaking. The public can move freely from room to room including the Chamber where the Council meet to debate state affairs. Norway’s leading artists have painted each one with murals. Filled with traditional carved furniture, they are truly a delight to explore while the brilliance of the architecture is never very far from one’s mind.
Right outside the Radhusett is the Nobel Peace Center (which is open to visitors) but for lack of time, I decided to forego visiting it and proceeded towards Akker Brygge where I found a cozy corner in a McDonald’s overlooking Oslofjordden, for Oslo is indeed situated at the head of a fjord and the sun gleaming on the ice-filled waters was a lovely sight indeed. I spent almost an hour there watching the ferries come in and take off for the many islands that dot the fjord and admiring the sight of the turrets of nearby Akershus Slott (also closed in the winter), a castle and fortress that also contains the remains of some of Norway’s most prominent monarchs.
Christiana Torv and Oslo Domkirk:
Using my Guide Book, I then walked towards Christiana Torv (or Christiana Square) which is one of the oldest and best preserved of Oslo’s medieval squares. Indeed, I was so taken by the beautiful old structures that comprise the square that I braved traffic moving in slow circles around the ice and took many pictures.
Then, since most European capitals have at least one spectacular cathedral, I went in the direction of the Domkirk, only to find it completely shrouded in ugly scaffolding and completely closed.
 How delighted I was to find the hill leading to the hostel covered with tiny tots sledding and tobogganing on the slopes in the noisy company of their parents. Indeed, the Norwegians really do know how to enjoy the winter and make the most of its pleasures. As the sun was about to disappear behind the hills that surround the city, I decided to sit outside myself and watch it wave its magic wand upon the ice making the countryside seem as if asleep under a diamond encrusted comforter. It was pure magic and I was glad that I had not missed the beauty of winter completely this year but had caught some of its glory in Scandinavia.
Day Two—Exploring Bygdoy:
The Viking Ships Museum:
I decided to devote Day Two to Bygdoy (Like Big Boy, except this is Big Doy!), a peninsular that juts into the fjord. Once an island, it was reclaimed by Karl Johans and now had a motorway that connects the island to the mainland. Claimed as prime real estate, it has a number of embassies and consulates located here as well as beautiful residential mansions and homes that were magically transformed into million-dollar beauties under the cover of winter. I loved the drive on Bus Number 30 that got me to Bygdoy and having purchased an Oslo Pass for 24 hours (220 kroner), I was able to visit all the museums on the peninsular free of charge as well as use all forms of transportation for free.
My first port of call was the Viking Ships Museum which is set in a fabulously designed building (by Arnestein Arneberg in 1914) in the shape of a cross—each arm containing one of the ships themselves. These ships were found in burial mounds (similar to the concept behind the Sutton Hoo Buried Viking ship and its contents in the British Museum) in southern Norway. The three 1000 year old Viking ships, the Oseberg, the Gokstad and the Tune ship (this one in the least well-preserved state) were excavated in the early years of the 20th century, then restored beautifully and exhibited in this museum where they stand as silent sentinels of Norway’s history, telling, nevertheless, many intriguing stories of belief in the afterlife. We saw a burial chamber as would have been on every ship together with a vast number of metal artifacts that were buried with the dead. The gold, silver and previous jewelry that would have also been buried with the dead Viking chieftains were plundered many years ago, but the articles left behind speak eloquently of a long lost civilization that once lorded it over the waters of Europe. The ships and the hoard left behind had me spellbound.
The Nordic Folk Museum:
 A short stroll away along ice encrusted streets is the Nordic Folk Museum, a vast open air museum that documents the lives of Norwegians through the centuries. While it must seem like Disneyland in the summer when mobbed by tourists, it was empty but for a few school kids who had come with their teachers on field trips. Despite the cold, they enjoyed themselves fully in the open air running around in their winter gear and playing tag.
My tour book had informed me that there were three highlights I should not miss in this vast space and I headed first for Gamlebyen or Old Town, a cluster of homes, shops, post office, etc. dating from the last century and transported to this space in a bid to preserve them. These Tudor-like structures with their stucco walls and exposed beams had a quiet beauty about them. Inside, I could peak into the rooms and see the fitments that proclaimed the kind of rural lives led by Norway’s ordinary people back in the day.
Following the path through the museum, I arrived at a grand building that was open. I pushed the heavy door and found myself in an apartment building. Each floor was recreated to produce an idea of what life would have been like in Oslo over the past century. There was, for instance, an apartment decorated to look like the interior of Torvald and Nora Helmer’s home in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. This was superbly done and I felt as I was on the film set with Jane Harris and Jason Robards in the film version that I have seen. And wasn’t Torvald played by Christopher Plummer?  On another floor, there was a replica of the apartment once owned in the 1960s by Norway’s then Prime Minister. The Beatles played on the radiogram, Beatles and Rolling Stones posters filled the walls of the teenage son’s room and the gadgetry in the kitchen spoke of cozy family dinners in the winter. Loving interior decoration and design as much as I do, it was a treat to wander through the silent home and try to place myself in those epochs.
Then, I was out on the street again making my way towards Setesdaltunet, a whole street containing old wooden homes built on stilts that were transported from Setesdal in Northern Norway and brought there. The snow was melting in the bright sunshine and fell in great big drops on the grounds or formed mini-stalactites around the eaves of these charming wooden structures—many of which I entered and found to be dark and sparse.
The last highlight of this museum, according to my book, is the 11th century Gol Stave Church and to get there, I had to climb a steep winding hill to gaze upon a small wooden church that was very reminiscent of the many pagodas I saw in Thailand in the ancient wats that dot the Northern highlands. The layers of the church’s exterior were densely covered with snow (at least six inches had fallen) but it was the inside that was amazing. The rear wall was covered with a faint painting of the Last Supper and in front of it was a very rustic altar—just a table basically with two candle stands. It was in this church that I saw the carved portal at the door which took me back to the magnificent specimen I had seen in the History Museum and I realized where in such a church, this sort of structure would fit. It was mind blowing and the impressions these discoveries made on me were heightened by the utter silence of the landscape that allowed me to contemplate my surroundings and seemed to spiritualize my discoveries.
The Kon-Tiki, Fram and Maritime Museums:
It was time then to board the bus (the Oslo Pass includes free transport on all modes of transport) and make my way to the tip of the peninsula to get to the Kon-Tiki Museum. I had done bit of reading and knew that the Kon-Tiki is associated with Thor Heyerdahl, one of Norway’s best known oceanographers. Indeed, Nordic sea-faring history which began with the Vikings who were aggressive sailors, explorers and adventurers, carried forward well into contemporary times in the many explorations and experiments undertaken by Heyerdahl throughout his life.
The Kon-Tiki Museum documents the two main voyages he undertook—one from Peru to the Easter Islands with a crew of six in a balsam raft he called the Kon-Tiki and another called the Ra II, a papyrus boat (as existed in ancient Egypt) that he sailed from Morocco to Barbados with a multi-racial and multi-cultural crew of eight. The museum has done such a wondrous job of educating the visitor on the planning, preparation, dangers and accomplishments of these voyages that, unbelievably, were undertaken successfully on such primitive craft as to leave on speechless. The Kon-Tiki expedition was completed in 1947 and a few years later, in 1954, the documentary film that was made on it won the Oscar Award for Best Documentary Film. Not only were we able to see the actually award-winning documentary in a marvelous setting—the inside of a cave as found on Easter Island—but, get this, we were actually able to see the Oscar that the film won! For me, a devoted cinema-buff, to finally see Oscar face-to-face and so unexpectedly, was a thrill that words cannot describe. Naturally, I had to take a picture right by the golden statue and it was for me more exciting that the news than the crew braved a 60 foot long killer whale shark that encircled the raft for hours on end before one of the crew members could stand the stress no longer and harpooned it off into the Deep! So, I went to see the Kon-Tiki and I ended up seeing a real Oscar!
My next destination was the Fram Museum, another quite wondrous structure built around the height and width of the great ship, the Fram, that had participated in so many expeditions to the South Pole including the last one by Roald Amundsen in 1910-1912. Not only could you see the great dimensions of this ship but you could actually walk upon its deck. It was similar to the experience I had walking upon the deck not inches away from where Lord Nelson had fallen on the H.M.S. Victory at Portsmouth only a few days earlier.
A visit into the interior of the ship proves that shipping had improved enormously since Nelson’s time. The small crews on these voyages had almost luxurious cabins (tiny but very well fitted out indeed) and none of the squalor that characterized life at sea for sailors who were “hard-pressed” (forced) into sea service in the 18th century. There actually was a billiards table and a piano on board that spoke of evenings of leisure and happy entertainment. It blew my mind to think that I was actually standing on a ship that had been to the farthest points in the north and south of our planet—parts of the globe on which, I know, I will never set foot. Outside, in the expanses that faced Oslo harbor, is the Gjoa, a small boat that Amundsen used when negotiating the Northwest Passage for the first time in 1912. This area also afforded some terrific views of the fjord and the port.
And then I could not resist popping into the Maritime Museum next door which is the receptacle of all of Norway’s sea-faring history. Here, another unexpected treat awaited me for visitors are led into a vast auditorium to watch a film on a multi-plex screen (five parts) similar to the experience of watching an IMAX movie. This marvelous film took us on a guided coastal visual tour of Norway with stupendous camera work from a low-flying helicopter and a boat. In and out, we wound through fjords that rose with steep cliffs facing ahead of us which reminded me so much of the real helicopter ride that Llew and I had taken on the island of Kauai in Hawaii when we had skimmed only feet above the famed Na Pali Cliffs. Though I was seated in an auditorium, I had a few nail biting moments as we swerved with the camera over these heights then dropped rapidly to the depths of the sea shore where fishing villages that scar the landscape offered a glimpse into the plain rural life of Nordic country folk. From villages to cities, we passed through Bergen and made our way to Oslo as we learned about the role she has played in global maritime life. Truly, this was one of the highlights of my trip—and it ranked almost as close as did the seeing of the Oscar Award for the first time.
Also very interesting about this museum is the painting Leif Erickson Sees America for the First Time by Christian Krogh which fills one wall. It is based on the theory that the Nordic seamen had arrived in North American long before Columbus did and is proudly displayed in this space. I was also deeply touched by a special exhibition on the Boat People of Vietnam who were rescued by Nordic sailors and brought as immigrants to Norway right after the end of the Vietnam War. A recent reunion brought these half starved and dying immigrant people together after thirty years and it was in their honor that this exhibition was held together with one of the actual boats on which they were rescued from those troubled Asian waters.
Night had fallen by the time I arrived at Haraldsheim as the tram I chose to take had to come to a standstill for almost an hour as another one ahead of it had broken down. By this time, I felt confident about finding my way back to the Youth Hostel and the darkness no longer served to unnerve me. A hot shower later, I was in bed and reading and marveling at everything I had seen.

Day Three– Tying up Loose Ends:
The Oslo Opera House:
I awoke to another hearty Norwegian breakfast and having packed my backpack for my 6. 20 pm Ryanair departure from Torp airport, I decided to spend my last day seeing a few things that I did not want to leave Oslo without covering. Breakfasting with Katya, I discovered that the Oslo Opera House is a masterpiece of contemporary architecture and she urged me to take a look at it before leaving. She also told me that it was very easy to access it from the Central Train Station if I walked along a bridge that connected me to the waterfront where the building is located. I followed her guidance and did see the Opera House for myself. It is not as unusual as the Sydney Opera House in design but I am sure it has superb acoustics in addition to a very interesting design. With that item scratched off my list of Must-See Items, I headed to the next attraction.

The Baldishol Tapestry in the Museum of Applied Arts:
Reading my guide book, I had discovered that one of Norway’s greatest cultural treasures is the Baldishol Tapestry that hangs in the lightly-frequently Museum of Applied Art. This lies a little off the beaten tourist track and took some finding. But when I got there, I discovered that it did not open until 12 noon on Saturdays. I was crushed. I really was determined to see it, especially as my ignorance of its existence had prevented me from seeing France’s famous Bayeaux Tapestry, about fifteen years ago, when I was only a few miles away from it in Normandy! If ever I have to return to Normandy some day, it will be to see the Tapestry at the Cathedral at Bayeux that tells the entire story of the conquering of England by William the Conqueror in 1066. Now that I was here in Norway and was only a few feet away from the Baldishol Tapestry that dates from between 1040 and 1190 and is the only Nordic tapestry from the Middle Ages that uses the Gobelin Techniques, I was bent on seeing it. I am not going to detail the ways and means I used to get into the museum to see it, but suffice it to say, that see it I did and what a sight it was! The colors are so vivid, the detail so minute, the workmanship so fine and so breathtaking that I was so pleased I had braved hell and high water to cast an appreciative eye over it! Though it is only a fragment of a larger piece, this one showing the months of April and May, give only a small indication of what the entire work must have looked like!  The Tapestry is named after the Baldishol church in Hedmark, Norway, which came to light after the demolition of the Baldishol church in  the late 1870s. I was delighted to have had the chance to see it and though I wasn;t able to take a photograph, I will carry its image in my mind forever.

Vigeland Park: 
 

This left me enough time to take a tram to Vigeland Park, another great show case of fine art—this one the work of Norway’s most famous sculptor, Gustav Vigeland. Indeed, if Parc Gruell in Barcelona provides a showcase for the work of Antoni Gaudi, then Vigeland Park, which serves the same purpose, is a must-see for any visitor to Oslo. Though I clearly would not be seeing the park at its best (the green expanses must be awesome in summer), the snow-covered lawns were no less uplifting and I was stunned repeatedly by the size and the vision of this artist of whose work I have never heard until I set foot in Norway!
The park, which is right in the heart of the city, contains 212 sculptures by Vigeland done in the 1920, 30s and 40s in a variety of materials, though the most common are stone and metal. The visitor follows the path that leads to the Monolith, a tall obelisk that is covered quite splendidly with human nudes. All around the monolith are more stone sculptures. To get to the monolith, one needs to walk upon a granite bridge, both sides of which are full of sculptures (similar to Karlovy Most or Charles Bridge in Prague and I often felt as if I were there with Llew and Chriselle who followed me in my imagination of my discovery of these moving masterpieces). Of the sculptures on the bridge, the most famous is that of the Little Angry Boy and while most visitors take pictures of this animated baby in the midst of a tantrum, the little serene girl on the other side sadly goes unnoticed! I had to take her picture, of course, as I am sure the two were meant to be viewed together! The bridge leads to another colossal sculpture of six giants holding up a gigantic bowl on their shoulders. In the summer, this also serves as a fountain. At this time of year, it is invariably filled with snow which is also a pretty sight.

Return Journey Home:
  I enjoyed another lovely drive through the heart of Norwegian winter landscapes as I took in the beauty of lakes, hills, mountains and meadows all draped uniformly in thick fluffy mounds of snow. It had been a very interesting experience and though I did not return filled with a sense of historical awe as I had done from my visit to Berlin, Oslo was so full of fascinating surprises that it kept me completely under its spell for three full days.

Venice

A Venetian Rhapsody

(Posing on a bridge across one of the prettiest canals in Venice)

Previous Memories of Venice:

Every time I return to Venice, I realize that it is one of my favorite places on earth. My mind always goes back to my first entry into the city, 21 years ago, when having had my backpack containing my camera stolen in Amsterdam, I had been sad and depressed for a whole week. Then, I arrived in Venice and my spirits lifted as if by magic. I can remember the therapeutic effect the city had on me as I walked with my French friend Chantal with whom I had traveled through a part of Western Europe by Eurail. Admonishing myself for having allowed a week to go by while I grieved for my lost belongings, I told myself to rejoice in the beauty of the city and its uniqueness. And so it is always with a sense of hope and optimism that I return to this Medieval city of a million canals.

Then, five years ago, Llew, Chriselle and I had stopped briefly in Venice just so that I could show them this city that I so adore. Unfortunately, it was the middle of January and dreadfully cold—indeed it was the coldest day in the Veneto in 25 years– and Chriselle was freezing. After we had taken the mandatory tour of the Doges Palace (above left), she cocooned herself in McDonald’s, the only place where she could sit nursing a hot chocolate and writing in her journal as she couldn’t face the thought of roaming on the icy streets–no matter how gorgeous the architecture– in those sub-zero temperatures. I recall how desperate gondoliers came right up to us, willing to lower their prices considerably in order to attract a few passenger that day. Alas, they had absolutely no takers and their lovely vessels idled in the canals as we burrowed lower into our coats.

Return to Venice:

This time round, I was delighted to see the sun rise on the Grand Canal (left), for Amy and I had arrived in the city on the Night Train from Naples at the crack of dawn at 5.15 am to be precise. Though neither of us had slept a wink despite the fact that we had booked a couchette—or bed for the night—a caffe latte at the cafeteria which opened at 6.05 am saw us nursing the comforting drink in our hands and awaiting the opening of the vaporetto (water-bus) ticket kiosks right outside the main station of Santa Lucia or Ferrovia as it is known. When the ticket clerk did make an appearance, we bought a 72 hour or three day pass for 31 Euros which allows unlimited use of the vaporetto for that length of time. This proved invaluable as our lodgings were on the island of Guidecca and I happened to be attending a conference that week on the remote island of San Servolo which could only be reached by vaporetto and since Amy and I love glass jewelry so much, we made not one but two trips to the Island of Murano where the glass works are located—not to mention the fact that we also sailed to the famous Lido, the island that houses the Beach resort at which the rich and famous congregate. Overall, that was probably the best 31 Euros we spent on our entire travels in Italy as it made our lives very simple indeed. It wasn’t long before Amy mastered the map of the water-bus routes as well as their timings and was reading timetables like a pro.

Residing on Guidecca:

The island of Guidecca (left) is largely empty, save for a few local people who actually make their homes there. We had rented accommodation at the Junghans Residenze which contained very comfortable en suite double rooms and came with the comforts of a 24 hour security and concierge service. After taking a quick nap, we set out that day to discover Venice and to chalk out our plans for exploring the city. What a relief it was, after braving the tornado on the ferry to Capri and surviving the downpour in Naples to see sunshine streaming through our windows. Enticed by the light to investigate our view, we were thrilled that it overlooked a charming cobbled square that was reached across a narrow canal via a picturesque bridge (on which Amy poses below).

 

 

 

 

Right opposite our room was a red-brick colored house (above left) with its own enclosed courtyard garden over whose walls fragrant jasmine in full bloom tumbled, scenting the entire square (above right). It seemed to greet us each day as we made our way past the square to arrive at the main canal stop at Palanca.

 

 

 

(Vignettes of the participants at the EACLALS Triennial Convention–Mahnaz, Minu and Rochelle at Venice International University on the island of San Servolo)

 

 

 

 

(Meenakshi Mukherjee, Rochelle and Nandita Ghosh–left–and Rochelle with old Oxford friend Annalisa Oboe–right–at the EACLALS Triennial Convention Dinner-Dance)

The Basilica of San Marco:

There are two Must See-Must Do Items on the list of any first-time tourist to Venice—The Doges’ (or Ducal) Palace and the Basilica of San Marco (left)–St. Mark being the patron saint of Venice). Since Llew, Chriselle and I had taken the tour of the Palace, just five years ago, and I remembered almost everything rather clearly, I told Amy to take the tour on her own when I was busy at the EACLALS Trienniale Conference on San Servolo. Instead, joined by my friend and NYU colleague Mahnaz, who was also attending the conference, we decided to explore the Basilica. I had seen it 20 years ago, but remembered almost nothing and, five years ago, when I was last there, Mass was in progress when we arrived and visitors had been prohibited from entering the church.

A queue had already formed at 9.10 am when we arrived there and right before my eyes, it stretched all the way to the Grand Canal in a matter of minutes. Standing in it for about half an hour gave me the opportunity to study the exterior in minute detail and to marvel at the confection of elaborate artistry that it is all about. Above the main door is a mosaic of the Ascension of Christ (left) in all His glory while right next to it is one of the Body of St. Mark being rescued from Alexandria and brought to Venice. Four giant horses, replicas of the gilded bronze originals, tower above the façade, a statue of St. Mark flanked by angels crowns the main dome and Romanesque carvings adorn the main pillars at the front entrance. It is truly one of the most decorative of Western churches and one can gaze at it for at least an hour and keep noticing new elements at which to marvel.

Exploring the Basilica of St. Mark:
At 9.30, the line began moving slowly and we were able to enter to view the stunning mosaic work on the walls and ceiling. The first thing that occurs to the visitor on beholding the interior is that it is different from anything one has seen in any other Italian church. And quite rightly—for the Basilica is designed in true Byzantine style with ornamental cupola and five domes, the interior of each being covered by glimmering gold mosaic pieces that depict scenes from the Bible. Of these, the most famous are the domes featuring the Ascension and the Pentecost. These fabulous mosaics were executed in the 12th century, at a time when the influence of Byzantium extended throughout the Western world. I could just imagine how they must glitter whether lit by the softness of candlelight or the more powerful reflections of the grand chandeliers that adorn the church.
When the eye has stopped admiring the ceiling, one can turn one’s attention downwards to the flooring or what is referred to in art books as the ‘pavement’. It is hard to say which one of the two elements is more awesome—the ceiling or the pavement. The latter is crafted entirely of variegated marble in what is called the Pietra Dura design forming a kind of grand Oriental carpet in stone. In small pieces and in large expanses, this inlaid marble and the effect it produces is little short of spectacular.
A tour of the church takes the visitors to the various chapels or altars featuring, among other patron saints of Italy, the Madonna di Nicopeia, a Byzantine icon that is one of Italy’s most revered images.

The Splendor of the Pala D’Oro:

However, it is behind the Baldacchino or altar canopy that is composed of four finely carved alabaster columns that the greatest sight in Venice is concealed. In order to view this, the visitor is asked to pay 2 Euros—certainly the most worthwhile item on which to spend a couple of bucks. This is the Pala D’Oro or Curtain of Gold. This altarpiece created by medieval goldsmiths in the 10th century is studded with a total of 2,000 precious and semi-precious gems that encircle the enameled portraits of a multitude of saints set into at least 250 panels. I found it impossible to take my eyes away from this treasure and would rank it as among the most beautiful things that I have ever seen. Not only is it a remarkable manifestation of the great wealth of the Doges (or Venetian rulers) but it is an extraordinary work of metallic craftsmanship the likes of which cannot easily be reproduced today.
Then, we made our way to the Treasury (paying another 3 Euros), a series of three small rooms that are crammed with the loot plundered from Byzantium (later called Constantinople and now called Istanbul) in the year 1204 which is usually referred to as the most successful of the Crusades. Crucibles, bowls, candlesticks, drinking cups, bookstands, and other precious items make it impossible to place a value on the plunder in today’s market. In another room are relics and receptacles to house them—bones and teeth and hair of Christians revered for their devotion to their faith, many of whom were subsequently canonized as saints. The enormous interest contained within the Basilica makes it necessary to allot at least two hours to view all its treasures at leisure.

Piazza San Marco:

Emerging into the bright sunlight of the morning about 11. 30 am, we surveyed the grandeur of the Piazza San Marco which is one of Europe’s greatest squares—not only in terms of its astounding size, but for the architectural elements and its design. Walking under the columned arcades that surround the square, we (Mahnaz, Amy and I–left) took in the luxury goods offered by the upscale stores (jewelry made of gold and precious stones, Murano glassware, uniquely designed clothing and footwear) and the classical music emerging from a small group of chamber musicians who played Mozart for our listening pleasure. Despite the fact that the sun could not have been brighter, the skies blues and the water in the canal more sparkling in shades of aquamarine blue, it was freezing and we were grateful for the hot chocolate we picked up from a local café.

Cruising on the Grand Canal:

(The Pallazzos seen on our cruise along the Grand Canal showed a variety of architectural styles)

Then we were heading on foot towards the Rialto Bridge (left) to board the vaporetto that would take us on a leisurely cruise along the Grand Canal allowing us to admire the intricate architectural details of the many sprawling palazzos (palaces) that line its banks. Equipped with our DK Eye Witness guidebook that provided information on each of them, Amy and I cruised along taking in the sights offered by such famous ones as Ca’ Rezonnico, once home of poet Robert Browning, Palazzo Grassi, Palazzo Barbaro where novelist Henry James wrote The Aspern PapersPalazzo Dario with its beautiful colored marbles, Palazzo Venier dei Leoni where the American art collector Peggy Guggenheim had once lived (now converted into a museum housing the Guggenheim Collection) and Palazzo Gritti-Pisani, now a deluxe hotel.

At each water ‘bus-stop’, passengers embarked and alighted allowing opportunities to take pictures galore on what was a particularly clear day. When the vaporetto arrived at the mouth of the Grand Canal near the huge Church of Santa Maria del Salute with its imposing dome that dominates the city’s skyline, it turned around and went back the way it had arrived. Amy and I stayed on past the dramatically lovely Rialto Bridge seeing more wonderful palazzos, most of which have been converted into museums and art galleries. I cannot recommend this enough as a way to get oriented to the city and, if one’s stay is short, to see as much as possible in such a brief time-span.
Then, we headed on foot to see the Church of Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frati (usually known simply as ‘Frati’) which contains some amazing sculpture and paintings. Having arrived at its entrance, I realized that I had seen it five years ago and declined to explore it again. Instead, Amy and I headed back to the Rialto Bridge to meet up with Mahnaz who had spent the morning at the Palazzo Grassi where a special exhibition on ‘Rome and the Barbarians’ was being held. After we said our fond goodbyes to Mahnaz who was returning to Florence that evening, Amy and I boarded a vaporetto to the Island of Murano as we had been tempted throughout our stay by the mouthwatering glass jewelry to be found in every second shop front in Venice.

Venetian Art in the Accademia:
The next day dawned dreadfully wet and freezing cold and was the perfect kind in which to visit a museum. After a quick breakfast of hot chocolate and a chocolate brioche, we headed towards the Accademia di Belle Arte (known in short as the Accademia) which houses the finest collection of Venetian art in the world. Having arrived there about 9.15 am, we pretty much had the museum to ourselves for the first couple of hours which permitted us to browse through the Highlights using our guidebooks and the museum notes available in each room. Happily, we discovered that entrance to the museum is free of charge—a welcome change after all the money we’d been doling out to see the sights.

We spent the next two hours enthralled by the fabulous works of art. Though this museum is small, the collection is stunning, displaying works by artists I had not seen anywhere else. Take the Madonnas, for instance, by Giovanni Bellini, of which there were at least eight in the museum, all grouped together in one room. They were just unbelievable in their vividness of color and detail. What is remarkable is that so much money has been spent, in recent years, to clean and restore these works and we felt so fortunate to see them as they glinted and gleamed in the excellent lighting of the various galleries. The most dominant painting in this museum is Paolo Veronese’s Feast in the House of Levi which is so monumental that it entirely covers one wall in a long and palatial gallery. Other surprises in store for me were the marvelous collection of paintings by Vittore Carpaccio presenting processional scenes associated with the Legend of St. Ursula and with the miracles associated with the Relics of the True Cross. Particularly amazing was the one featuring the procession in Piazza San Marco. Having visited it the previous day, I could appreciate the depth of detail that made up the scene.
Of course, the most famous of the works in the Accademia is The Tempest by Giorgione which is considered one of the finest early landscapes. Though this is a rather small painting, it does attract a great deal of attention. Marina Vaizey includes it among her 100 Masterpieces of Art.
In search of yet another one of Vaizey’s masterpieces, Amy and I then made our way to the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni to see the cycle of paintings by Vittore Carpaccio depicting the lives of Saints George, Jerome and Augustine. For 3 Euros, visitors are allowed into the tiny church that sits on the banks of a narrow canal. Executed between 1503 and 1508, they exhibit the great talents of Carpaccio. Of these, the last painting of St. Augustine in his Study is the masterpiece that Vaizey picked for her book. A little-known painting, it is quite remarkable for the realism with which the saint who is known for his erudition as “The Doctor of the Church”, is presented at work when he sees a vision of St. Jerome that he interprets as informing him of the exact moment of the saint’s martyrdom.

Bird’s Eye Views of Venice:

The next day, we made a bee-line for the Campanile at San Marco hoping to get some good pictures from the top of the bell-tower. To our astonishment, we found that there was no line and with a takeaway breakfast in our hands, we paid the 8 Euros that got us to the observation deck, thankfully, not by climbing 500 steps but in an elevator! What a relief that was!

The sun was hidden that morning under an overcast sky which really provided ideal lighting conditions for taking pictures and I clicked a great many. I love views of the world from hundreds of feet up in the air (left) and when I saw the domes of the Basilica, the Grand Canal as it winds its way to the sea, the grand Palladian Church of San Giorgio Maggiore, I realized how wealthy this city once was and how glorious is the legacy it has left the world.

Peggy Guggenheim’s Collection:

Then, we were down on Mother Earth again, making our way through a winding maze of narrow streets, picturesque canals and romantic bridges to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum which houses her personal collection of Modern Art in an unfinished palazzo on the Grand Canal that is only one-storey high (left) . Anyone who has heard the name Peggy Guggenheim knows that she was a flamboyant American woman who made Venice her home, encouraged and bought the works of abstract artists at a time when they were unknown to the rest of the world, displayed them in her Venetian palazzo on the water where she often invited them for visits to discuss their work and their vision. Peggy’s own daughter Pegeen Vail died at 24, a budding artist herself, and the home displays some of her early work.

As we joined the vast numbers of art lovers who make a pilgrimage to the Guggenheim home each day, we had the chance to do three things: see one of the foremost private collections of Modern Art in the world, stroll through a real Venetian palazzo (left) to get a glimpse of it on the inside and see the Grand Canal from a completely different perspective—from a patio on its banks. After paying the 10 Euro entry fee that came with a plan of the house (the place is run entirely by American interns studying at Venice’s many art schools), we toured the beautiful gardens with their impressive collection of sculpture by Giacometti, Brancussi and Henry Moore, among others.

Then, we entered the house and walked from one room to the next taking in the canvasses on the wall by Picasso and Braque, Miro, Mondrian, Chagall, Dali, Leger, Kandinsky and several other iconic names from the twentieth century art world. I was charmed to see that while Guggenheim’s taste in art was modern and abstract, her taste in furniture was antique. Her dining table and chairs, for instance, date from the Medieval period and contrasted beautifully with the Picassos and Duchamps that graced the walls.

Outside on the patio that overlooked the Grand Canal was one of the collection’s most notorious works, Marino Marini’s Angelo delle Citta (Angel of the Citadel–(left), which portrays an ecstatic young man on a horse overlooking the water. I could not stop taking pictures of the Canal from the patio for it did present one of the most charming vignettes of Venice that I had seen so far—in a city in which I was charmed at every street corner!

A pair of ancient sculpted horses decorated the patio (left) and were another contrast to the Abstract sculpture seen indoors, such as Brancussi’s Bird in Space.
But perhaps what Amy and I found most interesting about the museum was something that is barely talked about at all—the amazing collection of black and white pictures on the walls of the cafeteria. Had we not stopped there for a coffee, we would never have seen these interesting groups of twentieth century artists who met at the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni (as the Guggenheim palazzo was known) for frequent tete-a-tetes, thanks to the sponsorship of their generous patroness. I would heartily recommend that all visitors to the museum even remotely interested in the history of modern art visit this space and spend a few moments in quiet contemplation as they survey beautifully candid pictures of some of the most gigantic artists of our time.

The gardens also houses a small memorial to Peggy Guggenheim who was buried in the grounds alongside her beloved pet dogs whose names are carefully carved on the memorial stone embedded in the wall (left) . On an Italian trip that had allowed us to study a surfeit of Medieval and Renaissance works, it was almost a relief to come upon the Abstract Art collection of this eccentric American woman who brought a splash of flamboyance to the Grand Canal with her larger-than-life size personality and her defiant taste in the works of contemporary masters.

Sailing to the Lido:

That afternoon, we returned to Murano to spend more leisurely hours among its breathtaking glass treasures. Then, with the evening still ahead of us and night having fallen over the city, we decided to take the vaporetto to visit the Lido, most famous among the islands for its beaches.
In all of Italy, nothing could have been to us more disappointing. When we alighted from the vaporetto, we walked along a glitzy promenade towards the beach made famous by Thomas Mann’s novel Death in Venice. The road was lined with shops serving boutique-style clothing and designer merchandise but with none of the classiness that we had seen in Lucca or Sorrento or Capri. Everything somehow seemed crass. All display signs and prices were in English. Everywhere we looked were groups of loud Americans making a spectacle of themselves. Even at the gelateria which, apparently, caters to this moneyed clientele, Americans crowded around, laughing boisterously and bringing home to us with an unpleasant rudeness the fact that after two weeks of traveling in the country, we had left Italy behind us and arrived in some ritzy Floridian resort such as Palm Beach or Naples. We had spent less than an hour in this place, in which the appearance of cars on the street (the Lido is the only Venetian island on which cars are allowed to ply) made us long for the medieval quaintness of San Marco and Guidecca.
Amy said, “Ok, that’s it. Let’s go back to Italy”. We couldn’t get away from there soon enough. So, I guess, I need to ask myself what all the fuss is about. Having actually gone to the Lido, I must say I was not the slightest bit impressed and should I want to see and experience what I did there, I know that all I have to do is go to Atlantic City or any one of the beach resorts on the Atlantic seaboard in the USA!
Sailing to Murano:

The island of Murano has far more interest than does the Lido. It is not far away from the island of San Marco, as the crow flies. But when one takes the vaporetto, it is a long journey indeed taking more than a hour to get there. By the time we disembarked, most of the day’s crowds were wending their way back to the main island. Shops had almost ended their sales for the day. This allowed us to admire the environs of Murano and to resolve to return on another day when we could allow ourselves the luxury of more time to admire the glass jewelry.

Despite the fact that our forays into the stores were hurried, I managed to find myself the most gorgeous glass necklace made of handblown beads. The aquamarine colors of the beads reminded me so much of the dazzling blue of the water in the canals and I felt that I simply had to have it. Alternating with white beads, the insides of which were filled with pure gold leaf, I found the necklace simply mesmerizing. However, since it was a pricey buy, I decided to sleep on the purchase. If I still felt as if I wanted to buy it the next day, I would. If not, well…perhaps it was not meant to be mine.

When we returned to Murano, the next day, the island was more crowded. Business was brisk in the stores as people succumbed to the enticements offered by a craft form that has existed on the island since the Middle Ages. In fact, Murano is so reputed for its glass works and foundries that demonstrations take place all day and visitors can actually see the techniques that go into the making of the masterpieces. While Amy and I zeroed in on the jewelry, whole sets of glasses in jewel colors (ruby red and emerald green, for instance, that cost hundreds of dollars), animals and birds fashioned in designs that include gold dust are displayed superbly on the shelves of the many showrooms. There is also a Museum of glassware containing glass objects that go back to Etruscan times. The artistry and craftsmanship involved in the design and execution of really delicate pieces of glass can best be appreciated when one sees the glassblowers in action working with material that is heated to thousands of degrees and cooled quickly.
Needless to say, I made a beeline to my jewelry store to see if the aquamarine necklace was still available for I had been thinking of it all night and decided that I must have it, after all. How delighted I was to see it awaiting my attention and, within minutes, it was all wrapped up and I was carrying it home with me—truly one of the fondest purchases I made on the trip.
Murano will also remain in my memory as a quiet and serene island, full of charming canal banks and interesting stores.

Goodbye to Venice:

Before we returned to Guidecca where we called it a night, we did make sure we stopped brieflyat Gelateria Nico at San Zaccaria to buy ourselves gelato which is reputedly the best in Venice–and it was most certainly a reputation that is well-deserved. We felt sorry that our Venetian rhapsody had come to an end.

Venice is so utterly glorious a city that it is hard to express how easily it can find a place in the coldest of hearts. So unusual in its layout, so unique in the architectural vision which has constructed the city around a series of canals and lagoons, so ingenious in the manner in which normal, non-tourist life seems to continue each day—imagine going to work daily in a water-bus—this city’s future can only be guessed. Against the soothsayers who predict that it will, one day, cease to exist (for it is apparently sinking into the ocean) are the optimists who believe that nothing so beautiful can just perish from the earth.
I was glad that I had the chance to experience Venice at leisure. None of my previous hurried visits to the city allowed me to truly appreciate its intricacies.

This time round, though I did not tour the Doges Palace, I did examine the building’s exterior, took , took the mandatory picture with the Bridge of Sighs (right) in the background and the one of the Drunken Noah lolling around one of the corners, carved in stone (left).

Of all the cities in the world, this one can be explored entirely on your own two feet. Be prepared to get lost frequently, to consult your map at every street corner, to find yourself exhausted from all the miles you will walk without even knowing it and for the fact that you will make slow progress as you pause every few seconds to admire a balcony here or a bridge there.

To follow Amy and me on the last and final leg of our travels in Padua, Italy, please click on the link below.

Pilgrimage to Padua 

Bon Voyage!

Sorrento

Come Back to Sorrento

(At Piazza Tasso in the heart of the chic city of Sorrento)

We had ear marked the next day for an exploration of the famous Amalfi Coast and the town of Positano. After breakfast, we discovered that the rains hadn’t abated one jot and another soaking day lay ahead of us. Refusing to be discouraged, we hurried off to the train station to catch the Circumvesuviana train to Sorrento from where we hoped to catch the SITA bus to Positano which is supposedly the prettiest town on the Amalfi Coast. The journey seemed to drag on. Easter Monday is also a public holiday in Italy and the train was full of families and teenagers looking for a day on the town.
At Sorrrento station, we found that the SITA buses were plying despite the holiday. Purchasing our round-trip tickets for 6 Euros each, we hurried towards a café to buy ourselves a badly-needed hot chocolate. With our fingers warmed and the rain having let up, we walked towards Piazza Tasso to get a taste of the lovely town that has been immortalized in the song  Come Back to Sorrento.

And I could see why. Like Capri, Sorrento, during the summer, is mobbed by visitors who seek its plush air and gaily festooned shops that sell all manner of fancy goods. Boutiques hawking designer clothes, jewelry and bags made even window-shopping a lovely past-time.

The Square is dominated by the sculpture of a saint and the wisteria-clad patios of the Hotel Albergo Vittoria that cover the pink walled structure create a wonderfully refreshing vista (left).

One side of the piazza had a ledge that overlooks a deep gorge (left) which conceals a road that plies down to the sea. The streets radiate from out of this main square and seem to go far into the distance. On this public holiday, there were crowds everywhere bringing a vibrant energy to the area.

We did not have the chance to linger too long, however, as we were determined not to miss the bus to Sorrento. Hordes of people had gathered in the time that we had spent browsing through the town and everyone intended to board that bus. We were pleased that we had booked our tickets in advance and found ourselves seated right in the front of the bus allowing us sweeping views of the lovely hilly landscape.

The Stunning Amalfi Coast:
The Amalfi Coast came into view once we left the chaos of the traffic of Sorrento city behind. And I could see immediately why it is considered one of the world’s loveliest coastal drives. At each sharp hairpin bend and turn, your heart leaps at the sight of the emerald green hills that dip down sharply to the turquoise sea. Because the rain obscured the clarity of our views, we were forced to make do with vistas that were only half as good as they are in the best of weather. Despite that, I took many picture hoping to do the scenery justice—only to find that they came out dreadful. About an hour later, we were at the very pinnacle of the town of Positano and I can say that my very first reaction to it was one of deep wonderment.

To Follow Amy and me on the next leg of our travels to the Amalfi Coast and Positano, please click on the link below.

Amalfi Coast and Positano

Bon Voyage!

Positano

Positano

Amalfi Coast and Positano

(Posing on the hills of the Amalfi Coastline with the stunning town of Positano in the background)

Positano is poised on a tall mountain that plunges directly into the sea pausing briefly along a sandy beach called Spriagga. The whole town, therefore, sits in tiers with the most tourist-inhabited areas set down at the waterfront. We hopped off our bus at the top of the mountain with the aim of making our way down to the town’s base but wondering all the while just how we would reach down there. Then, a friendly local passer-by told us how to go about descending to the beach. “Look”, he said, “for steps. When you see them, just take them and they will lead you downwards”.

Taking his advice, we trekked lower and within five minutes found a narrow sweep of stairs crammed between two homes. The stairs led us ever downwards, just as he said they would (left). Our progress to the bottom was slow as we couldn’t help but stop frequently to admire the views and pose for pictures. From every angle, the town is enchanting.

Positano’s structures are flat-roofed and painted in mouthwatering gelato shades of strawberry pink, pale peach, creamy ivory and peppermint green. As the stairs wound along rustic homes, none in immaculate condition by any means, we passed by wrought-iron lampposts and tiny balconies spilling forth a profusion of spring flowers.

Dominating the base of the town is the piazza that is the location for its landmark church whose domed cupola decorated with ceramic tiles gleamed in the sunlight (left).

 

Within a few minutes, we were down on pebbly  Spriagga Beach (left) dipping our toes into the waters of the Bay of Naples. Despite the seas’s turbulence, the water seemed fairly comfortable to the touch but there were no takers. Most tourists clung to the sands and the shoreline where stores and restaurants offered a variety of enticements. Though it was lunch time, we preferred to find a small deli that could offer freshly prepared sandwiches and we walked through the town’s delightful environs looking for one instead of burrowing inside a restaurant.

 Luckily, we did come upon just such a place and with proscuitto, mozzarela cheese, tomatoes and basil tucked into a crusty hero, we munched our way to the top. Frequently en route we paused to exclaim over the views , this time taking the asphalt road instead of the steps. The storefronts had admirable goods on display but, it being Sunday, most were closed for the Easter weekend, but there were enough people about to give the town a stirring vibrance.

Then, after inquiring where we could find the SITA bus to take us back to Sorrento, we parked ourselves at the bus-stop on the other edge of town (left) which offered even more beautifully sweeping views of the locations and the sea all the way to the curve of the coast which hides the town of Ravello. Though we did not stay long in Positano, we saw enough of it to know that it deserves its reputation as one of the prettiest of the Amalfi towns and we were really glad we braved the elements to see it.

Journey Back to Sorrento and Naples:
Back on the SITA bus to Sorrento and from there on the train to Naples, we discovered that life had come to the standstill for the long weekend. Every shop on Corso Umberto was shut as were all our favorite pizzerias. Since we still had a couple of hours to kill before we boarded our 8.30 pm. overnight train to Venice, we found sustenance at a pizzeria in a small and rather dodgy street right off Piazza Garibaldi where the only people who did not seem to be celebrating the holiday were the illegal immigrants who hung around aimlessly, smoking cigarettes and speaking in non-Italian tongues. This is certainly not an area I would ever advise anyone to wander about alone and I was grateful for Amy’s company. With her at my side, I often felt far braver than I really am and when we found a pizzeria that was occupied by a noisy group of drinking revelers, I was more than happy that we were leaving the city for good.

Night Train to Venice:
Picking up our bags from our hotel where we rested for a little while, we left about a half hour later to find that the heavens had opened and had showered rain in bucketsful. Just as in Bombay, so too in Naples, garbage clogged the streets and manholes bringing ankle-deep floods in minutes. It was with the greatest of difficulty that we managed to drag our duffel bags behind us on our walk to the railway station. Not only were we soaked but we dreaded what the state of our belongings would be and were thrilled to discover that, thanks to our waterproof bags, the contents were unharmed in the downpour. Still, I was relieved when a nice gentleman helped us find our train and when we settled in for the night with an English-speaking Italian girl named Eliana in our wagon, I was happy that Venice, one of my very favorite of global cities, awaited and I could not wait to get there again.

To follow Amy and me on the next leg of our travels in Venice, Italy, please click on the link below.

A Venetian Rhapsody

Bon Voyage!

Pompeii

Pompei’s Pomp and Splendor

(Amidst the ruins of the excavated city of Pompei)

A storm had accosted the Southern coast of Italy by the time we awoke, the next morning. Making a quick decision to reverse plans and go to Pompei instead of Capri as planned, we breakfasted well at Bonapace Bed and Breakfast and strolled downstairs towards the Circumvesuviana station where a day-long excursion ticket costing 5.50 Euros allowed unlimited travel all day as far away as the end of the line in Sorrento.

The train rode through the city of Naples for a long while exposing us to small apartments with cluttered balconies. Within a few minutes, outside our window, grey and overcast skies with ominous clouds hanging low obscured the summit of Mount Vesuvius (left) whose notorious volcano was active as recently as 1964 when the town of Torro el Greco, close to Pompeii was affected. It was to see the havoc wrought by its ash and lava that we were headed for Pompeii, passing, along the way, the town of Ercolano, base for explorations into Heculaneum as it was once known, another town that was destroyed by the volcano. Ercolano is also the base from which one might take a bus to the summit of Vesuvius which the energetic can then scale. However, with the weather being so uncooperative, all buses to the summit had been cancelled.
In another 45 minutes, we were alighting from the train in Pompeii and walking a couple of minutes to Porta Marina, the main entrance to the excavated city. Despite the rain, the venue was swarming with visitors, all assembled at the main Ticket kiosk to purchase tickets to the complex. The 10 Euro ticket did not include the audio guide (10 Euros for 2 or 6 Euros for one) but since our guidebooks recommended that we invest in it to bring some organization to our rambling, we did–and how grateful we were!

History of Pompeii’s Destruction:
The map of Pompeii that came with the audio guide was very helpful indeed. It is difficult to imagine exactly how vast this complex is—in fact, one is visiting an actual city that thrived in the time of the Romans, not just some museum reproduction. It was in AD 79 that Vesuvius exploded with little warning pouring its deadly lava over the unprepared city and burying it forever under endless layers of ashen rock. The roofs of the town caved under the weight of the onslaught; but beneath them the city was preserved almost intact as it had been on that fateful day. Most of our accounts of the catastrophe come from the pen of historian Pliny the Elder who found himself on a barge in the Bay of Naples from where he watched the city burn. Returning later to Pompeii when he linked forces with his nephew Pliny the Younger, he perished himself in the aftershocks that continued to plague the area for a long while. His nephew then took up the challenge of recording the devastation. The buried city remained unknown until the 17th century. Excavations began in 1748 revealing a city frozen in time.

Exploring Pompei’s Buried Glory:

As Amy and I walked through Porta Marina (so-called because it was the entrance at the city gates nearest the sea), a fine drizzle played continually making it difficult to manipulate umbrella, guidebook, map and camera in two gloved hands–because it was also very cold. Doing the best we could, we spent the morning visiting the Temple of Apollo, The Law Courts (it pays to remember that Western legal systems of jurisprudence derive entirely from the ancient Roman codes), The Macellum or Market Place, and the Botanical Gardens full of the herbs and fruit that were used for medicinal, cosmetic and culinary purposes in that era. Herbs like rosemary and lavender lent their fragrance and essences to cooking as well as to scented baths for luxurious soaking.

Following the map, we arrived at the ‘School’ or campus where students were taught the 3 Rs—the complex is designed around a quadrangle exactly like those of Western medieval colleges (Oxford and Cambridge, for instance) with columned alleys forming the kind of corridors that one associates with Gothic cloisters.

And then we arrived at the amphitheaters (left)—the large one and a smaller one near-by—where the Romans gathered periodically for theatrical entertainment. I could not help but think about the comedies of Plautus and Terence of which I had heard during my undergraduate years and, aptly enough, the audio guides provided some snippets from their plays.

 As if to dispel any misconceptions that the Roman temperament was only composed of noble qualities, at the very end of the complex was the colloseum (left) where the bloodiest of sporting events were held—gladiators in live combat with wild beats. I found it hard to understand how a people of such sophistication, such lovers of art and literature and learning, could also express such an unabashed enjoyment of violent sport. In the massive arena which seats thousands, once could well see and almost hear the blood-curdling cries that emerged from the crazed masses. It occurred to me to feel grateful for the modern customs and traditions that we owe to this Classical civilization; yet, how happy I felt that it had become extinct. I was eager to leave that scene of sadism behind to wander towards the cafeteria for a much-needed lunch as our ramblings, though taken at leisurely pace, were exhausting as the environs are vastly spread out. The food here was very mediocre and cost a Roman senator’s ransom—so be warned and come equipped with a packed lunch. However, the complex offered some respite from the incessant rain and the opportunity to use the restrooms.

Back on the excavated trail, we arrived at the Public Baths, beautifully refurbished in recent years. As we walked from one bathing chamber to the next, we understood the concept of public bathing. At a time when running water was not available in homes, public baths served the purpose of keeping citizens clean as well offered an opportunity to socialize. Men and women gathered together to shoot the breeze, their baths providing a choice of hot, cold and sauna soaks.  The extent of the ornamentation inside in the form of fresco and sculpture was quite amazing.

Also, along the same trail was the Bakery (left) where one can still see the massive grinding stones in which wheat was ground, the great dough kneading machines and the very ovens in which the loaves were fashioned. Amazing how baking techniques have changed little in thousands of years—the same steps that bakers take today to bring fresh loves to our table were taken in the time of Ancient Rome.
Then we were at the Brothel where the oldest profession in the world was carried out. Interestingly, the frescoes in this building reveal clear images of a variety of sexual positions indicating that clients could choose the exact form in which they wished to take their pleasures.

What was also fascinating was the large enclosure within which the thousands of items excavated from Pompeii have been stored—these included hundreds of terracotta amphorae, jars, fountains and bird baths, pots and pans, bowls and, in an extremely eerie turn, real casts of the people who perished in the tragedy—concrete casts that portray their exact ‘petrified’ poses and expressions at the time they met their end (left)

 

 

It was the homes called Casas and Dormus in Latin with their indoor atriums and outdoor gardens, however, that I found most fascinating. So many of them have frescoes on their walls that are still intact, almost as fresh as the day they were executed. There was Diana and there was Venus on the half-shell (above left and right), Pan and Cupid and a variety of nymphs; and at the House of Vetii was Priapus, God of the Penis! We realized how ‘religious’ the Romans were for images of their gods and goddesses were sprinkled all over their homes. I loved the layout of their houses.

All rooms opened upon a walled courtyard (left)which would have been full of yews, boxwood borders and pebbled pathways, not to mention a central fountain with decorative statues. Modern-day formal Italianate gardens are little different from this early design.

Walls inside and out were painted with a bright red pigment, much of which still remains to give the visitor an idea of exactly how the city might have looked. Some of the houses are in better shape than others—for example, the frequently-visited House of the Faun, so-called because a faun or satyr (a mythological woodland human) graces its entrance (left) .

 

In the same house was found the striking floor mosaic featuring Alexander the Great and King Darius of Persia in combat–(left)  (the original of which we had seen the previous evening at the Archeological Museum in Naples). The sophistication and the lifestyle of these ancient people was so fascinating to me that I found myself transported completely into that epoch as I trod along the gigantic rough hewn boulders that comprised the main avenue that runs through the city of Pompeii, Via dell’ Abbondanza upon which chariots and carts once plied. The town planning and road building skills of the ancient Romans cannot be faulted and the neat grid right-angled pattern according to which modern urban complexes have been designed does them enormous credit.

It took a lot of imagination to envision the many excavated artifacts and statuary that crams the Archeological Museum in Naples in situ. I couldn’t help wishing that the Italian authorities would place more replicas of these great pieces of sculpture and mosaic in Pompeii to give visitors an idea of how these priceless works of arts might have looked when they actually decorated the city. Still, I guess one has to protect such things from the merciless elements and more merciless thieves. In the Temple of Apollo, for instance, it made such a big difference to actually see the statue of Apollo in a building as it might have been when the Temple was a favorite Roman meeting place in the days of antiquity (above left).

I must stress that all this exploration was deeply tiring. I have been told that during the height of the summer tourist season there are mobiles that take visitors around the complex. Those weren’t running when we were visiting in mid-March. It was also very cold and the awful weather did not make for very pleasant sightseeing. A great number of the gates to the various buildings were padlocked, prohibiting our entry.  However, the interest contained within this complex is so great that one disregards these inconveniences and succumbs to the sheer fascination of time-traveling to another era when the Roman Empire was the most powerful in the world.

Back in Naples:
Back on the train to Naples, we arrived in the city in time to snatch a brief nap at our hotel, then go out in search of dinner. Amy used Lonely Planet to find us a suitable trattoria that took us walking for what seemed like miles through the maze of small lanes that open up suddenly into church piazzas in the city’s busy historic center. It being Holy Saturday, the eve of Easter Sunday, confectionery shops were full of pastries, cakes and Easter eggs and housewives hurried along the streets doing last-minute shopping for their big holiday meal.  These ventures into the least-explored parts of Naples allowed us to see the city in its most natural guise. We penetrated parts of the city in which ordinary Napolitans live their uncomplicated lives, arriving finally at the small Trattoria del Carmine on Via del Tribunali in the old historic quarter close to the Duomo where we were startled to find one of the priests from the Duomo of St. Gennaro opposite come inside for dinner! Obviously a regular, he was ushered inside—to a privileged table, perhaps?

We, however, settled for a carafe of the house Chianti which was excellent and used it to wash down our meal of Penne alla Carmine (the house pasta that came with a delicious Tomato and Meat sauce), a Veal Scallopini in Lemon Sauce (since Naples grows lemons in wild profusion) and Sauteed Brocollini also flavored with lemons. Indeed Naples is noted for its lush production of lemons and we passed hundreds of acres of lemon orchards on our train journeys along the Bay of Naples. Hence, it was only natural that I would try a Limoncello, the famous lemon liqueur that was invented in this region and has become one of Italy’s biggest exports. Needless to say, I relished every drop, and (much to Amy’s amusement) feeling slightly tipsy we made our way back to our hotel to call it a day hoping that the weather on the morrow would be better.

To follow Amy and me on the next left of our travels to the Isle of Capri in Italy, please click on the link below.

Captivating Capri

Bon Voyage