Everyone Loves Barcelona

I’ve never known anyone who hasn’t been enthusiastic about Barcelona, and it’s easy to understand why …

It’s a walking city.  It’s mostly on the flat, and the shopping area outside the old quarter — where Sagrada Familia is –was laid out in the late 19th century by an architect who believed in wide tree-lined streets and pedestrian zones at each corner.  As a result, streets in this area are eight lanes wide, of which two are for parking, two for car traffic, and four for pedestrians.  This doesn’t include the sidewalks … outdoor cafe heaven! It helps that Vespas are ubiquitous and some of the parking areas are set aside for motorbikes.  Someone told us that Barcelona has more motorbikes per capita than any other European city, and I can well believe it.

Many of the streets are tree-lined, and the major ones have plenty of places for pedestrians to sit.  There’s also bike lanes — 100 km of them in the city — so even through the car traffic is sequestered to a few lanes, traffic seems to move quite smoothly.

Then there’s the longevity.  The old quarter is medieval, the cathedral is Gothic.  But much of the modern city was built between the Belle Epoque and Art Nouveau, and since Spain wasn’t directly involved in the two World Wars — the only time the city was at risk was the Spanish Civil War.  That involved barricades and such in Barcelona,  but no real destruction.  And so here Barcelona is, a Paris of Iberia, the capital of Catalonia, welcoming the world.

We have seen plenty of Catalan colors, and also yellow ribbons.  The latter confused me until I saw the signage that equated the yellow ribbon with the need to free political prisoners — presumably from the Catalan attempt to succeed from Spain a year ago. Lots of emotion, but action?  We asked one taxi driver it Catalonia would secede, and his answer was “absolutely not.”  He equated it to California’s economic situation in the US – wealthy, but not so if its obvious market went away.

Interesting,

Frank  was absolutely mesmerized by the Sagrada Familia this morning. He pointed out that all the pictures that we have seen are of the outside — which is just plain weird — it was the inside and especially the stained glass windows that blew him away.  Me, I liked it all.  I also liked the fact that Gaudi wasn’t the first choice of architect – that went to another guy who quit after one year.  His original plans call for a 19th century neo-Gothic cathedral.  Absolutely ho-hum.  So if he hadn’t quit,  the resulting church would be absolutely uninteresting and indistinguishable from every other 19th century neo-Gothic edifice.

A different kind of interesting.

Twenty European Cities

Back when we were first married, Frank gave me the 1990 Foder’s guide to 20 top European cities.  Of course, this being 1990. Foder’s should properly have named the guid the top Western Euopean cities.  Prague, Budapest, both of which I have now visited, weren’t mentioned, and the city in Germany was alphabetically listed under WEST Berlin.

With that caveat, some of the cities in the book I knew reasonably well – Rome, London.

Others I had been to one or perhaps twice; long enough to cross off the list:  Dublin, Vienna, Milan, Zurich.

Over the years since then, others in the book have made it to the itinerary:  Lisbon, Madrid, Stockholm.

And finally — since 2014, in fact — only one city from that now remarkably out of date book has remained: on the to-do list:  Barcelona.

Well, we’re here.  And as if to make up for it being last, we’re here to spend Christmas in Barcelona.

First impressions:  Excellent! Wide boulevards, plenty of tree-lined avenues and room for pedestrians; every geography has its “Paris,” but Barcelona really stands up to the test. It helps that we are staying near the main shopping street, and only a few blocks from Sagrada Familia.

Yesterday, when we saw the opera house in Valencia, Frank suggested we check out what was playing in Barcelona, and we just came from a production of L’Italiana in Algeri.  Pure Rossini froth; nothing substantial, but great for the experience, if nothing else.  And here’s one for you:  Curtain was at 5:00 p.m.  I was trying to figure out if this was a Sunday matinee or what, when it suddenly dawned on me that in a country where the dinner hour gets going around 9:00 p..m., it makes sense for the theatre to be pre-dinner. So we got out of the theatre at a very congenial 9:00 p.m.

 

To Africa and Back

One problem with ocean cruises:  We move too fast.  Two days ago we were in Sardinia; yesterday in Algeria, and today in Spain.  Last country for awhile, at least.

The cruise is coming to an end, and with it, people are talking about their next cruises and, because of the date, their plans for Christmas.  Most folks are going home (USA) for Christmas, but are planning to spend the holiday itself at a daughter-in-law’s or whatever.  Very few chefs – at least not for a holiday that happens right after the cruise ends. Frank and I have other plans, but more on that in due course.

Yesterday we were in Algiers, and saw the French colonial architecture, monument for martyrs of the war for Algerian independence, the botanical garden, and not much else.  One of the amazing things about getting out of the bubble is learning about history – in this case a war – I’ve never paid attention to.  Here’s the short version:  Algeria was part of French West Africa; the French more-of-less promised the Algerian people their independence if they fought in WWII; the Algerians did and the French didn’t.  Three years of an extremely bloody campaign ensued – 1.5 million Algerians died – and the country became independent, but of course its problems were just getting started.  The current president/strong man has created peace for the past 20 years or so, but he is in poor health, and elections are in the spring.  Who knows what comes next?

Meanwhile, Algeria is a big country – in land area, we were told, the largest in Africa (I’ll have to check out the size of Congo in comparison before I totally buy that one). and an oil-rich one.  All the usual accoutrements that go along with oil:  Free education and medical care for citizens.  But very little tourism infrastructure.

Then it was time to get back onboard and head north for Spain.  We arrived around dawn, and headed off for exploration.  Valencia is famous for its oranges, and for the home of the Borgias, if that interests you.  The city dates back to Roman times; the most interesting thing (I think) is that after however many floods the city diverted its river, and turned the old river bed into green space and museums and an opera house.  Pretty neat.

We spent considerable time in the cathedral, and then it was siesta time.  Actually, lunch hour and then siesta time.  This is a cruise, you know!

 

Southern Horizons

Yesterday dawned bright and sunny, and well it should be:  We are in Sicily! Trapani, on the northwest corner, to be exact.  Frank stayed on board this morning; I eagerly headed off for Selineute.  Yes, I was last here 45 years ago, and yes, Selineute is a remarkable place.  First, after the Carthaginians destroyed the Magna Graecia city, the site really remained undisturbed for 2500 years, so there’s very little rebuilding on top of building here.  And second, the city was destroyed in a single campaign, when the city was at the top of its powers, so the inevitable temples left unfinished, et cetera, have taught archaeologists an awful lot about building techniques.  And third, the site is still mostly sheep grazing and olive trees, so a huge area has been set aside for the park, and one can look around and not see anything that presumably wasn’t there in the first century.  Almost.

That afternoon, Frank and I took a short walk around Trapani’s port area, and stopped for hot chocolate.  Then it was back to the ship, and off for Sardinia.

The port city/capital of Sardinia is Cagliari, and my tour destination was Barumini, where the prehistoric (17 centuries BCE) Nuraghi peoples built remarkable monuments from basalt.  Houses, temples, tombs have been identified; because the circular towers look (slightly) like medieval fortifications, our (extremely unknowledgeable) guide was convinced the building was a fortress.  I don’t think so.

Fascinating, however, that such an involved complex, which shows remarkable engineering skills and civic organization, was built by people none of us have ever heard of … despite the guide, I enjoyed the outing very much.

Next stop:  Africa!

One Day at a Time

So after a  week of creating our own fun, Frank and I came onboard the Viking Sun and are letting Viking Ocean Cruises do all the work until just before Christmas.

Yesterday, Frank took a well deserved “lay day,” and I signed up for the one-day whirlwind “tour” of Rome.  I was dreading what a one-day tour of Rome might be like, but actually, the tour guide did a great job, given all the circumstances.  We were on the bus more than we were off the bus, of course, but we got a glimpse of the ancient city at the Circus Maximus and Colliseum; we drove past the Victor Emmanual monument and each of the four main basilicas of Rome, and we spent what “free” time was possible at Vatican Square.  A few die-hards stood on line to get into the basilica; I remember when we just walked in and wasn’t interested in a line, even if it were “only” 30 minutes long.  Instead, I people-watched, and enjoyed Bernini’s plaza, and admired the life-size creche, which was (literally) sculpted from sand.

And too soon, it was time to return to the ship.

Last night we went to the Italian restaurant on board, which is supposed to be a big deal.  The food was great, and brought back memories.  Veal marsala! Zabiaglone! Yum! No wonder I gained so much weight when I spent a semester here! But frankly, I didn’t think the service was what Viking is known for, and Frank and I decided to avoid the restaurant for the rest of our trip.

And then we set sail.

This morning we awoke to great weather in Naples.  Our tour was to Pompeii – Frank had not been there before, and of course for me it’s been 45 years.  I had forgotten how close Pompeii is to Naples, and how close Mt. Vesuvius is to all of the above.  Our guide was NOT the finest, but it didn’t really matter; Pompeii speaks for itself.  And you really have to see it to believe it – the fact that the city is so immediate; the town so alive until suddenly it wasn’t; and modern scholarship can tell us everything we need to know and somethings we really don’t – like what the inhabitants ate for their last meal prior to eruption.

Frank found walking on the cobblestones difficult, but he hung in there, and I think he’s glad he did.  I found putting up with the guide difficult, but I hung in there as well.  Yesterday, when I was off in Rome, Frank had found a Norwegian deli on board.  Not only is it an antidote to the “regular” casual breakfast/lunch dining on board (which I find pushy-pushy-pushy), but Scandinavian waffles for breakfast and open-faced sandwiches for lunch are pretty special.  So we indulged, and tonight is the start of the next adventure.

 

 

Tarquinia- 45 years later

Morning came awfully early this morning – and in this funky hotel we are staying in, breakfast was several blocks away – but worth it once we got to it.  Afterward, Frank went back to the hotel room to take a nap; I visited the Etruscan museum a short distance away.

Etruscan art is truly magnificent.  What we have is all from their tombs, of course, and what we know of them is that they decorated their tombs with scenes of dancing, feasting, eroticism – all in all, not a bad way to go.  And the necropolis is on a hill outside of the modern town, with an incredible view – and reminded Frank of the Helman family cemetery in Pennsylvania, Brush Creek.  In both cases, not a bad place to spend eternity.

And figures on the sarcophagi are “real” portraits – individuals, warts and all (literally).  And the horses shown here, which came from a pediment, are remarkable not only in their detail, but traces of 2500 year old paint still shows on them.  Note that the horse which is in front is painted a lighter color – this helps with the perspective.  And we think perspective is an invention of the Renaissance.  Wrong again.

I was here 45 years ago, early on during my junior year abroad semester in Rome.  I loved the Etruscan necropolis – in fact, I still have  pictures from Tarquinia’s Leopard tomb hanging in the guest room.  That said, I didn’t remember/recognize the museum, the necropolis, anything – the museum has been around that long, according to the signage, but I think it has greatly changed.  Either that or my memory … never mind.

After the town, the museum, the necropolis, we set off for Civitavecchia.  The goal was to unload our gear at the dock and then proceed to the Hertz rental place to get rid of the car, but once again the satnav failed us.  We couldn’t find our way to the dock, despite phone calls, checking the website, asked directions, everything.  Finally we gave up and took the car to Hertz. There, our luck changed, and a cab came by and offered to take us to the pier for an exorbitant price that we were happy to pay.

So now we are in the lap of Viking customer service, with someone else worrying about the navigation and the details.  The week on our own was wonderful, but having someone else take care of us this week will be wonderful as well, just different.

Stay tuned …

Getting There is Half the Fun …

We checked out of our Assisi apartment and headed down Mt. Subasio one final time. I should explain that we’ve had an, um, challenging time with the navsat all week.  Our #1 GPS was lost along with my I-phone, of course.  The car has a navsat, but it doesn’t seem to have all addresses possible  … or maybe we don’t know how to use it.  That leaves us with phoning, translating, et cetera, and the reality is that direction giving is a lost art – lost in the era of GPS.  Also, we don’t have a decent map of Italy, so we’re kinda sorta stuck with what we got.

Anyway, we set the navsat for Ovieto, and we got there, but it was over hill, over dale.  And many a dusty trail.  Well, I wanted to wander country roads on this vacation; I guess it’s a matter of being careful what I ask for.  Finally we found the autostrada and made some time, and there was Orvieto on a hill on the horizon! Hurrah.

Sort of.

We didn’t have the street address for the train station which, according to the guidebook, is where we were to get the funicular to get up the hill to Orvieto.  How hard can it be to find a train station?  Not hard, as it turns out, but impossible to find a place to park! Finally we found the Hertz car rental, and since our car is a Hertz, we asked the nice man where to park and he allowed us to park in the Hertz lot.  And so we took the funicular, and by good planning the bus was waiting when we got to the top of the hill, and at the end of the bus ride was the Duomo, gleaming in the sun.

According to the guidebook, Orvieto’s cathedral is “one of Italy’s finest Romanesque/Gothic cathedrals.”  I guess that about sums it up! What was fun was that as we were visiting, a choir of nuns were practicing, and the music was really heavenly.  And the inside hasn’t been larded with later-day ornamentation, so the Duomo is quite a remarkable sight.  We enjoyed it very much.

Orvieto is built on an Etruscan city, and there’s lots to see, but not this time.  We took the bus back to the venicular, and went through the same silliness in finding our way to Tarquinia.  I was here 45 years ago, and really, really wanted to return.  And of course, Frank is up for most anything …

After many twists and turns we found ourselves on the main drag coming through the old city gate into town, when we realized that our hotel – or at least the address of the hotel – was the old city gate.  Frank got out, was told parking was in the public lot across the street (!??? when in Rome, I guess!) and after we checked in, we were walked a block away to the Tarquinia Duomo square, and to our room, which is in the second floor of an old apartment building on the square.  Breakfast is in another square, several more blocks away.

This is going to be fun.

But we got here just in time  — the sun is setting over the Mediterranean, and we didn’t get naps today.  And I promised Frank pizza for supper.  That, at least, shouldn’t be hard to find!

 

A Week in Umbria

 

It’s clear that a week in Umbria is barely scratching the surface.  A month would be more like it! But our week is over – tomorrow we leave. The good news, I guess, is that by leaving the mountains we will be returning to warmer weather … although news from home suggests that we shouldn’t complain about the near-freezing temperatures of the past two days.

This morning I climbed up to the Rocca Maggiore, the “Big Rock” and fortress towering over Assisi.  And this afternoon Frank and I went to the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli, a huge (huge!) church in the plain below the city.  Santa Maria has quite a history – it turns out that there was a little chapel there, in the woods, that St. Francis rather liked, and as a result, the monks more-or-less gave it to him.  There he lived/spent most of his time, and there — or more precisely, just nearby in the infirmary – he died.  Several hundred years later Pope Pius IV built a HUGE basilica over the little chapel – the little chapel sits in the cross of the big basilica.  The old infirmary is one of the chapels on the side wall of the basilica.  The idea, of course, was to create a place of pilgrimage – papal style.

So today, one walks into the church — which according to the guidebook is the seventh (or fifth, depending on the guidebook) largest church in the world, in order to visit the little chapel and the infirmary.

And what do you think St. Francis would have to say about all that?

 

Spoleto

We’ve had beautiful weather so far this week – cold but clear with a bright sun and blue skies.  But we woke up this morning to overcast and light drizzle.  And a forecast that suggests the same for tomorrow.  Oh, well! It’ll make the farmers happy, as the saying goes.

Weather or no, we were off for Spoleto, which turned out to be rather stressful.  First, we thought we had found a parking place – well, we had! but the parking machine took coins only and guess what we were fresh out of?  I was about to try a nearby tabacci for change when a man came up to pay for his parking.  We asked if he could change a five euro note, he said no but gave us a 2 euro piece.  Wasn’t that nice?

We started off walking – up – in the direction we thought we wanted to go, but it was very up and very far. Also very cold.  We got as far as the tourist information place, and asked the nice lady for a map and information, both of which were helpful, but neither of which took care of the hill or the cold.

After a cup of tea we ended up driving back down to ground zero – at least I think that’s what we were doing, but our GPS had a mind of its own.  Driving these hill towns is NOT for the faint-of-heart! Eventually we found our way to the park place that leads to the escalator that takes one to the duomo or all the way to the top of the mountain for the castle and aqueduct.  At that point — and because clearly there would be no view today — Frank stayed in the car and I explored on my own.  At the top of the mountain – eight escalator rides up – the rain had turned to snow and I needed wipers for my glasses.  But the aqueduct was visible – sort of – in the fog, and I had a sense of completion.  At the duomo, I took a selfie and sang a few notes in the place where the Spoleto Festival takes place.  I had it all to myself! A quick peek inside the cathedral and I was ready to head back to the car and Frank and to warm up.

So Spoleto remains a misty place, and we really didn’t see much.  I’m glad I took a pix of the castle on our way into Umbria last Saturday, because it sure was fog-shrouded today!

 

St. Francis’ Ministry

I know, I know, we’ve been in Assisi since Saturday and postponed our trip to the Basilica until today.  But it was recommended that we stay away on the weekend — Advent is a big draw for the guy who invented the creche — and the past few days we’ve been in Gubbio and Perugia, so this was the first opportunity.

I should also add that we’ve been spreading out our sightseeing – Frank does remarkably well, but not uphill — and in Umbria, everything seems to be uphill in both directions.  As for me, I’ve been doing all the driving, which is fine, but parking can be, umm, difficult. And it’s not like there is anyplace to pull over and figure it out, if you know what I mean.

Frank and I were in Assisi for about 2 hours about 20 years ago.  All we remember is the big (!) piazza and incredible beauty of the upper church.  But this time we wandered through the lower church and visited St. Francis’ grave and sort of took in the atmosphere.  Of which there is plenty, especially because a service was going on in one of the chapels in the lower church, so appropriate music was ongoing.

The upper church had many pilgrims – more of the monastic sort than the badly dressed sort, thank goodness.  The damage to the frescoes from the mid-90s earthquake is now part of the Basilica’s history; I at least couldn’t tell that damage from the damage of, you know, the past  800 years.

But one has to wonder what St Francis would have thought of such a grand edifice.

On the plazas in front of both upper and lower basilicas were life sized creches.  This is extremely appropriate, since St. Francis is credited with the first creche.  No Christmas trees or other accoutrement.  Quite correct, I thought.

We tried to visit his place of death – it’s a small chapel, but a huge (huge! 5th largest church in the world, according to the guidebook) Baroque cathedral has been built over it.  But we got there during the lunch break, so will have to reschedule.  Instead, we went to San Damiano,  the small church outside Assisi town walls where St. Francis’ ministry began.  This is where the crucifix spoke to him and told him to rebuild the church.  St. Francis took the words literally, and rebuilt San Damiano, annoying his father in the process – the father could think of better things to do with the family money than renovating churches because crucifixes were talking.

Later, of course, St. Francis realized that the order was metaphorical, and that what needed rebuilding was a church that had gotten too grand and powerful (like the aforementioned basilica?). Anyway, San Damiano remained close to his heart and later, he installed St Claire and the Poor Claires here.  This is also the place where Francis wrote “Canticle of the Sun.” It’s a small place, in a grove of olive trees, and quiet – quiet -quiet except, one presumes, the birds and a few furry friends.

I liked it very much.