Our Around The World Trip

THE PARKINSON FAMILY DECIDES TO LEAVE IT ALL BEHIND FOR A ROUND-THE-WORLD JOURNEY. "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the places and moments that take our breath away". E-MAIL US AT: OURWORLDTRIP@AOL.COM

Dispatch # 41 Home

"A year to go around the world! A whole twelve months of scenes and curious happenings in far-off foreign lands! You have thought of doing this, almost promised yourself that when you got old enough, and rich enough, and could "spare the time," you too would go around the world. Most of us get old enough; some of us get rich enough; but the time! the time! - to spare the time, to cut loose from goods and lands, from stocks and dreary desks, quit clients, patients, readers, home and friends - ay, and our enemies whom we so dearly love! Full many a promise must be broken and few the voyagers round the world."
D.N. Richardson, 1888

Dispatch # 41
Home
July 2005

As we were preparing to head home, we found that our conversations had become more nostalgic and our viewpoints more philosophical. We had learned so much about the world and ourselves. Our journey had not only made us appreciate many of the things we left behind, but perhaps more importantly, it had helped us to understand and appreciate the things that we have discovered over the past year, about ourselves and about the world around us. We visited magnificent places, saw amazing things, were exposed to fascinating cultures and religions and met many wonderful people along our journey. It will take time to fully reflect upon, and completely absorb all that we have experienced.

Now is not the proper time to begin to draw any meaningful conclusions from our experience, that is an exercise more appropriately left for some future dispatch, one written after we have had an opportunity to fully reflect on our adventure. I will, however, offer one personal observation at this time. The past year has been one of the happiest of my life. If there had been a camera running continuously throughout the trip, it may not have always have seemed that way, but all in all, the time elapsed images would show a man growing in understanding of, and appreciation for his wife and children. Being together 24/7, for good and for bad, gave us all a deeper understanding of each other. Arguably, we didn’t need to travel around the world to accomplish this, but being separated from both the comforts and distractions of family, friends, home, work, school and normal activities added greatly to our insight and education and accelerated the natural bonding process.

Speaking for the moment only as a father, the trip afforded me a priceless opportunity to spend time with my children. Although I have always tried to be active and involved as father, the normal time constraints of business, and the children’s time commitments to school and activities often left me with a few precious hours each day to enjoy the company of my children. In the absence of our world trip, I am sure that I would have had opportunities to experience many of the moments that I shared over the past year with my children, but not with such spontaneity and certainly not with such regularity. Add the excitement of sharing these moments in new and interesting surroundings and faraway places and it was the recipe for a true “once in a lifetime” parental experience.

More than ten months after we had left the United States and over a year since we had lived at home in Chicago, our 747 wide body began its slow descent towards the landing strip at O’Hare International Airport. For all of us, but perhaps mostly for Elizabeth and I, the last moments of our trip were a jumbled bag of strong emotions. We were excited to see family and friends, proud to have completed our circumnavigation without any real incident or injury, and energized to start a new chapter in our lives. At the same time, we were filled with intense feelings of melancholy and sorrow, sorrow that our trip of lifetime had come to an end.


Our travels took us through twenty-five time zones to fifteen different countries on five different continents. We traveled over fifty-two thousand miles, most covered by our forty separate flights, but thousands of those miles were explored at ground level in a variety of vehicles. We stayed in over sixty different apartments and hotels. Along our journey, we traveled on planes, from large commercial jets to small twin propeller planes; helicopters; cars and vans, from mini-vans to Range Rover safari game vehicles, trucks and buses, from campervans to rickety, smoke belching buses, to the open flatbeds of Thailand’s ubiquitous songtaos; trains, from bullet trains and subways to slow chugging steam engines; boats, of all sizes, shapes, and modes of transport, from motorized ferries and cabin cruisers to outboard driven Thai longboats, as well as by more graceful vessels like the New Zealand tall ship, Wm. Tucker Thompson, and the Egyptian felucca. During our travels we expanded this list to include river and ocean kayaks, canoes, bamboo river rafts, Japanese rickshaws, Thai tuk-tuks, and an assortment of cable cars, gondolas, trams, bicycles and carts.

From time to time we found ourselves on the backs of lumbering elephants, both Asian and African, swaying camels, braying donkeys, lively horses, and even an ostrich. We swam with dolphins, sea turtles and penguins, as well as swam, snorkeled and dove among an astonishing variety of marine life in places like Hawaii, Thailand, South Africa and the Great Barrier Reef of Australia, especially the Great Barrier Reef of Australia. We saw an amazing array of wildlife all along our journey, but none more spectacular than that which we encountered in the far corners of the damp Australian rainforest and while on safari in the arid wilderness along the border of South Africa and Botswana.

We visited dozens of World Heritage Sites, witnessed great natural wonders, marvels such as the geothermal wonderland of Hawaii Volcanoes National Park; the sacred Aboriginal grounds surrounding the imposing monoliths of Uluru and Kata Tjuta in the Australian outback; the Great Barrier Reef teeming with life and color; the vibrant rainforest of the Queensland Wet Tropics region of Australia; the majestic mountains, glaciers, sounds and fiords of southwestern New Zealand; the stunning beauty of places like Cape Town and Knysna, South Africa, the Spanish Costa Del Sol, the islands of the Phuket Sea off the coast of Thailand and the Bay of Islands in northern New Zealand; the verdant rolling landscapes of the Cape Floral Region of South Africa and the Ring of Kerry in Ireland; Victoria Falls, the awe-inspiring natural wonder shrouded in its veil of thundering mist; and the fertile and captivating landscapes of southern Spain, Italy’s Tuscan region, the Burgundy and Normandy regions of France, the countryside of western portion of The Netherlands.

We were also fortunate to have had an opportunity to see some of the many spectacular man made wonders of the world, wonders like Sydney’s iconic Opera House and Harbour Bridge; the ancient temples, shrines and pavilions of Kyoto, Bangkok and Chiang Mai; the spectacular jungle-encircled temple complexes of Angkor Wat, Cambodia (truly one of the highlights of our trip); the magnificent Pyramids of Giza, the great Egyptian temples of ancient Thebes, and the splendid monuments of Philae and Abu Simbel; Roman architectural masterpieces, The Colosseum and The Pantheon; The Vatican with its towering basilica and its breathtaking Sistine Chapel; the beautiful historic centers of Pisa, Sienna, San Gimignano and Florence, Italy; the imposing Moorish castles and fortresses of Spain, especially the Alhambra in Granada; the magnificent cathedral of Seville; the ornate Palau de la Musica Catalana in Barcelona as well as the whimsical architectural achievements of architect, Antoni Gaudi, including Sagrada Familia, which dominated Barcelona’s cityscape; the French medieval fortress towns of Mont-Saint Michel and Vezelay; icons of the Parisian skyline like the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur and the Cathedral of Notre Dame; famous English tourist destinations such as Westminster Abbey, Parliament, Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle and the Tower of London; Hong Kong, the tribute to modern urban planning on steroids; and monuments like those we found in Cambodia and on Robben Island, off the coast of Cape Town, South Africa, testaments both to the cruelty of man and the never-ending power of the human spirit.

Periodically, we took a moment to voluntarily inject ourselves with a dose of adrenaline with activities like zip-lining, skydiving, scuba diving, bungee jumping, riding mountain luges, surfing and bridge climbing. Still other times, our adrenaline came most unexpectedly, finding ourselves on the receiving end of an elephant charge in South Africa, being herded off the plane after our flight from Cairo because of a bomb threat, and perhaps the most harrowing of all, riding in cabs through the streets of places like Bangkok and Cairo. Sometimes our exploration would take us on a subterranean adventure like climbing through glow worm caverns in New Zealand, or through narrow, dark and dusty entrances leading to the burial chambers of some of the great pharaohs of Egypt.

We enjoyed a lifetime’s worth of memorable sunsets. Glorious sunsets of yellow, orange, pink and purple reflecting off of blue waters and white sandy beaches in places like Hawaii, Australia, Thailand and South Africa. Dramatic evening displays set against a variety of stunning natural backdrops such as the rainforests of Australia, the green, lush jungles of Cambodia, the majestic, snow capped mountains of New Zealand, the tawny grasses of the savannah of South Africa, the rolling vineyards and olive trees of Tuscany and the fertile undulating hillsides of Ireland and France.

We were definitely on vacation, and I would not want to suggest otherwise. However, some of the most memorable experiences we had came when we diverted ourselves from the tourist trail to the back streets and country sides, where we had the most genuine encounters and memorable experiences. We saw many wonderful things along our road, but we also took time to expose ourselves and our children to the situations of those less fortunate in places like the black townships outside of Johannesburg and Cape Town, South Africa, the rural villages of Zimbabwe, Thailand and Cambodia and to urban poverty in places like Bangkok, Thailand, and Cairo, Egypt. Some of our most memorable experiences resulted from visits to places like an orphanage in Soweto, a Cambodian village and a simple rural schoolhouse in Zimbabwe. Less than a month after the devastating tsunami, we spent three weeks in Phuket paying witness to the incredible resiliency and indomitable spirit of the Thai people.

Throughout our travels we met intriguing people, made many new friends, were treated with exceptional compassion and found ourselves on the receiving end of many random acts of kindness. We tried, with varying degrees of success, to immerse ourselves in the culture at each of our destinations. Regardless of the result, we thoroughly enjoyed the effort and we returned home with a much deeper appreciation for countries we visited, their people, their history and their culture.

Inevitably, we found ourselves making lists of our favorites. In many instances, picking a few from the many was a difficult thing to do, but here are some of the categories we chose and our top picks:

Top Airlines
Perhaps the only category in which a consensus was easily reached. The best airline in the world is Cathay Pacific. We also agreed that we would give special honors to Bangkok Airways and Qantas.

Top Destinations
On safari in Madikwe on the border of South Africa and Botswana
Angor Wat, Cambodia
Cape Tribulation and the Great Barrier Reef, Australia
Canal Boat Trip through the Burgundy region of France
Chiang Mai and Phuket, Thailand
Kyoto, Japan
San Gimignano and Siena, Italy
Aswan, Cairo and Luxor, Egypt

Favorite Lodgings
Tau Game Lodge-Madikwe, South Africa
Waikoloa Hawaiian Village-Big Island, Hawaii
Ferntree-Cape Tribulation, Australia
The Conlon Mill, Ireland
Ryokan-Kyoto, Japan
Marriott-Phuket, Thailand
Alahambra Parador San Francisco, Granada, Spain
Dromoland Castle, Ireland

Favorite Cities
Sydney, Australia
Paris, France
Queenstown, New Zealand
Cape Town, South Africa
Tokyo, Japan
Madrid, Spain
London, England

We all enjoyed an incredible learning experience. By stepping outside of our comfort zones and into unfamiliar environments, we received a unique education, one that has forever changed and expanded our vision and understanding of the world around us. As parents, Elizabeth and I were able to witness the development of our children as they gained confidence by living outside their normal routine. We marveled as they met the daily challenges of adaptation and understanding and as they developed a mature appreciation for other countries, their people, customs, cultures, religions and histories. To have seen some of the world, and to have been able to see it not only through our own eyes, but also through the astonished eyes of our children was truly a unique and wonderful experience.

Thank you all for joining us on our own personal “Walkabout.”

July 20, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dispatch # 40 Ireland

“Dance as though no one is watching you, Love as though you have never loved before. Sing as though no one can hear you and Live as though Heaven is on Earth.”
Gaelic proverb

Dispatch # 40
Ireland
June 2005

“Brilliant Scenery, Lovely Days and Grand Company”

Following a very energetic week in London, we spent the last ten days of our trip relaxing and soaking up the ambiance of Ireland. Few have visited this island and not returned smitten by this beautiful country, its gregarious people and lyrical heritage and we were no exception. Our relatively short time on the Emerald Isle was highlighted by a stay in a majestic Irish castle and, thanks to the generosity of my business partner, Sean Conlon, and his sister, Fiona, five glorious days on the picturesque grounds of their Irish manor.

Before we departed on our trip, one of the anticipated highlights for the kids was our plan to stay in an authentic Irish castle. After landing in Shannon, we rented a van and headed towards Newmarket-on-Fergus in the County Clare. Our destination was the venerable Dromoland Castle, the former home of the O’Brien family, one of the great noble Irish clans who, at times, ruled southern Ireland.

The castle and its grounds were spectacular. The enormous, slate gray, towering and turreted structure was a wonder to behold. We had promised the kids an authentic castle and Dromoland delivered. It had everything that we could have hoped for, centuries of rich history, impressive battlements, magnificent interior furnishings, enough suits of armor to outfit an army and a few ghost stories thrown in for good measure. We immediately set about exploring the thousands of square feet of dramatic Gothic architecture. There were high-ceilinged great halls, galleries lined with giant oil paintings of the O’Brien family lineage, and plush sitting rooms complete with crackling fires in oversized stone fireplaces. Our rooms were meticulously furnished with beautiful wood paneling and trim and decorated with wonderful period furniture and historic accoutrements. Once we had recovered from our initial awe struck state, Elizabeth and I sprung into action. Assuming that the proprietors adhered to that bothersome international accord of “you break it, you own it,” we quickly went about the room moving the numerous crystal and other delicate pieces up and out of harm’s way.

From our rooms, we had a direct view of the main section of the castle and the surrounding rolling green castle grounds. While we were admiring our view, the porter, a gregarious old Irishman named John, delivered our bags to the room. He was a delightful gentleman with an easy laugh. However, the tempo of his rapid fire and animated conversation, combined with a thick Irish brogue made him nearly impossible for us to understand. So, we nodded our heads a lot and made sure to laugh whenever he did. It was an experience that would repeat itself often during our stay in Ireland, and one best summed up by Bella after John had left when she said “Geez, I thought they spoke English here.” Periodic difficulties with translation aside, we found the lyrical nature of the native accent pleasing to the ear, and the legendary Irish humor and imaginative expressions to be infectious. Among the many lyrical adjectives that we enjoyed hearing in conversation were “brilliant,” “grand,” and “lovely.” These adjectival descriptions were used frequently, applied to people, places and things, and were always offered in a manner that was not only pleasing to the ear, but also seemed to exemplify optimistic Irish spirit that we encountered on a daily basis.

After we had secured our baggage from the porter, we set off to explore the grounds that included woods, ponds, a river, archery and clay shooting areas, and a world-class golf course. We went swimming in the indoor pool before retiring to the castle for lunch in its gallery full of overstuffed furniture set around a crackling fireplace. A smell of wood smoke and old rugs and tapestries hung in the air which was periodically broken by a rush of cold, damp outside air as guests passed through the nearby doorway.

It was Father’s Day back home, and there could have been no finer setting for one to be King for a Day. That evening, in anticipation for our formal dinner in the castle’s dining room, we all dressed up as best we could given our limited wardrobe selections. Before we left, Maddie assigned each of us a royal title for the evening. Having been bestowed with regal monikers befitting such an evening, the Lords and Ladies set off for dinner. Although I was politely asked to borrow one of the castle’s dinner jackets, everyone else passed inspection and we enjoyed a wonderful, five-course meal complete with candlelight and harp music. Slow, formal dinner affairs such as these are not designed with children in mind, but our kids did a great job of being patient and minding their manners. The children were so well behaved in fact that they received numerous compliments from our neighboring tables as we departed. Back in the room, with the kids in bed, Elizabeth and I finished the enchanted evening snuggled up in thick white robes, sipping Celtic Crossing, a delicious honey flavored Irish whiskey, and gazing intently across the lawn at the majestic profile of the moon lit castle.

The next morning we bid farewell to the castle and our kind hosts. Our next destination was to be Kenmare, but before we started our drive in earnest, we elected to make a stop at the Bunratty Castle and Folk Park. Bunratty Castle is one of Ireland’s more popular tourist attractions. The great rectangular castle with its imposing square corner towers, built in the early 1400’s, had been restored to its original medieval glory complete with drawbridge. Surrounding the castle was a delightful folk park with meticulous re-creations of early Irish villages, complete with working shops of period craftsmen, schoolhouses, farmhouses, and thatch roofed cottages. One of the highlights for the kids was the schoolhouse where a kindly, silver haired schoolmaster provided the kids a short course in Gaelic and a brief history of the prehistoric, Viking, Norman and native Irish societies. Overall, this side trip was perfect for the kids and we all had a great time exploring the grounds in the bright sunshine of a (rare) cloudless, blue-skied day.

From Dromoland we drove through beautiful countryside on our way to the town of Kenmare passing along beautiful expanses of rock strewn green hillsides, distant gray mountains, thick woodlands, rushing waterways and blossoming flora.

The Shelburne Lodge in Kenmare was a lovely 18th century country house set within ample grounds which included flower and herb gardens, an orchard, and, most importantly, an enormous, sprawling old evergreen tree that served as a make-believe castle and fort for the kids and provided hours of outdoor entertainment. During our stay in Kenmare, we began each day with a generously portioned, full fry Irish breakfast. After recovering from the post-prandial lulls brought on by these triple-bypass breakfasts, we would set off on day trips which included explorations of Kenmare and the surrounding countryside as well as a road trip along the famous Ring of Kerry and the Iveragh Peninsula.

Kenmare itself was a wonderful, historic town with brightly colored one and two story wooden buildings with traditional hand painted signs, housing a wide assortment of shops, restaurants and pubs. In the middle of town was a pleasant triangular public green full of local activity. Adjacent to the green was the grand Holy Cross Church, the spires of which we would periodically use to readjust our bearings as it could be seen from any part of town. One of the days we were in town was a market day and the public green and surrounding streets were full of vendors selling their produce and crafts. After a filling “halftime” (noon) lunch at one at a quaint little diner in town, we set off to explore the local outdoor market.

One vendor in particular was selling framed, hand painted verses inspired by the Irish national treasure, the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells, completed by Irish monks in about 800 A.D., is an elaborately illustrated and ornamented manuscript, and is one of the most famous books in the history of Ireland. Isabella was particularly interested in what this vendor had to offer. Elizabeth and I found it altogether appropriate and fitting that after careful consideration, our deeply sensitive and refreshingly free spirit, Bella, chose the following framed verse:

“Dance as though no one is watching you,
Love as though you have never loved before,
Sing as though no one can hear you,
Live as though Heaven is on Earth.”

It was the perfect verse for Bella. She has such a fun and free spirit, and we have often found her alone in a room signing and dancing in a celebration of her wonderful imagination. As an adult, I find myself marveling with pleasure at the spontaneity and imagination of my children. I often wonder when, and perhaps more importantly, why, I lost the wonderful ability to act spontaneously, to sing or dance in public for no particular reason, as though no one was watching. Whatever the explanation, one of the joys of parenthood is watching my children celebrate life without inhibition, walking into a room to find Bella twirling, or Maddie singing, or Carmen acting out a scene from her imaginary tale, or to witness Frankie explode into his “happy dance,” sometimes announced, but always spontaneous. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had the ability to launch into a happy dance whenever the mood struck us?

One of my favorite experiences during our stay in Kenmare was an evening spent sampling a couple of Kenmare’s many traditional Irish pubs. We took the family to dinner at “Casey’s,” a relatively upscale pub and eatery on the outskirts of Kenmare. While we enjoyed our dinners of meat and potatoes and fish and chips, we were treated to a performance of traditional Irish music by a three-person ensemble playing accordion, flute and violin. The lyrical folk music alternated between festive and the soulful. It wasn’t long before Bella, true to her motto, was dancing and twirling around our table in front of the fireplace. Our other children joined in the festivities and soon all were dancing to the approval and pleasure of the local patrons, and with a ferocity that would have made the Lord of the Dance, Michael Flatley, proud.

Later, after we had the children back home and in bed, I ventured back into town for a pint. I purposely chose the most dilapidated pub that I could find. I pulled up a stool at the bar, ordered a Guinness and enjoyed the ambiance. That evening, the pub was a men only affair. There were ruddy faced, silver haired old patrons, racing forms in hand, periodically drowning out the fiddle music as they regaled their mates with loud, animated stories. In the corner was a group of younger men playing darts and watching a televised soccer game. The atmosphere was perfect for this accidental tourist. Before long I had made my acquaintance with the gregarious old man seated next to me at the bar. He wanted to know all about life in the United States. He bought me a beer, but when I tried to reciprocate, he appeared offended, so I chose not press the matter any further, and accepted his hospitality.

It took my full concentration to understand him, his already thick Irish accent amplified by the noticeable effects of a several Guinness. He told me all about his friends and family members that were in America, seemingly expecting me to recognize one of the dozens of names he offered. Although he had never been to our country, he spoke of it with a sense of kinship and enthusiasm. After a couple more pints of Guinness, the only thing clear to me was it was time to take my leave, but I did so with the satisfaction of having experienced a small part of Irish culture.

While we were in Ireland we enjoyed reading some of the editorials in the national Independent that concerned the recent debate in Irish Parliament concerning the proposals to combat drinking in the country. The tenor of the articles suggested that lawmakers had lost touch with the common man in their efforts to appear politically correct as a card-carrying member of the European Union. Although the authors were serious, the contents of some of the articles provided some wonderful entertainment. One author offered the following lament, “Women are making these things happen. The decline of the Irish pub reflects the decline of the Irish male, and his pleasures, which were once sacrosanct…we don’t even seem to speak the same language anymore. Since when, for example, did having four or five pints become a ‘binge?’ We used to have to drink vast quantities of alcohol over several days, starting perhaps in the center of Dublin and waking up on the outskirts of San Francisco, before we were officially on a ‘binge.’ And only if you made a habit of it, committing a few ‘spectaculars’ along the way could you be classified as a ‘binge-drinker.’ Women want to eat and men want to drink. It is an ancient struggle.”

Another author asserted that the new law’s definition of binge drinking meant everyone was an alcoholic. Here are excerpts from his article, “It used to be that an alcoholic was a reclusive guy, one who drank in private all day long. Alcoholics were not people who drank with other people. They were rarely known to get pissed full stop. There is joylessness to their drinking. The lad who periodically lets off some steam, celebrates, gets pissed, acts like a maggot, embarrasses the family and gets into a fight is not an alcoholic. The café bar proposal is confusing. This is a plan whereby lots more places would be licensed to sell drink, but they would sell it in a different environment. It is apparently a healthier context for drinking, a more European way of drinking, which apparently is better and does not constitute the demon binge done in order to lighten the mood. However, I would assert that it is a more alcoholic way of drinking. Alcoholics are not romantic hell raisers of legend, but depressives who tipple away all day long keeping themselves topped up. I’m not sure why the French have become some kind of great role model for drinking. Go to Paris and look at businessmen popping in throughout the day for a glass of champers. Just because we do all our weeks’ drinking in one go doesn’t make us any worse than someone that tops off throughout the day. And who says the Spanish who seem to stay vaguely pissed all the time are any better than us. The bottom line is I’d rather go out and get locked now and then, than sip my way through each day.” Perhaps only in Ireland could such passion be openly expressed over a subject like drinking, and a debate regarding the proper definition of “binge drinking” become a priority topic of national discourse.

Kenmare was also ideally located to explore the coastline of the Kenmare River, and the famous Ring of Kerry. One of our road trips took us along the coastline bordering the Kenmare River, which really was not a river at all, but rather a deep fiord connected to the sea. Passing along the narrow, winding roadway, we marveled at the scenery, the river’s pewter colored water was covered by mist. Landward, we were greeted with views of cows and sheep sprinkled across the undulating green hillsides strewn with large gray boulders with the distant shapes of the fog shrouded mountain peaks of the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks acting as a backdrop.

There was a moist, salty feeling to the air as we arrived at our destination, the Domquinna Riding Stables. Maddie, Bella and I took a long ride along the shoreline while Elizabeth stayed behind to supervise Carmen and Frankie who delighted in riding ponies around the stable grounds. Although the names of Maddie’s and my own mount escape me, I do recall Bella’s. “Billie” was its name and it was a particularly stubborn horse. About half way through our ride, “Billie” decided that he had gone far enough. No matter what Bella did, no matter how hard she tugged on the reins or how determinedly she poked it with her heels, that horse had no interest in moving. With the assistance of our guide, however, “Billie” finally was persuaded to complete the trek. We rode for quite some distance along the rocky shoreline before finally turning back. The guide led us on a short cut that required us to cross over the muddy, kelp laden, river bed that had been exposed by low tide. Back at the stables, Carmen and Frankie had a big time riding their ponies, “Katie” and “General.” So much so that ultimately we had to pry a tearful Frankie off the back of “General.” A short distance down the road from the stables we came upon a pair of men hand shearing sheep in a field. The kids sat on an old stonewall and watched the men as they grabbed the bleating sheep and shorn their winter coats.

Another of our day trips took us along the coastline of the Iveragh peninsula. Known as the “Ring of Kerry,” this narrow strip of roadway is a popular driving excursion. There was much natural beauty to see, but I found it particularly difficult to enjoy the drive because of the seemingly endless series of oversized tour buses that frequently roared past, often forcing me to put two tires on the nearly nonexistent shoulder of the road. It was however, a scenic passage. Bordering the narrow road were seemingly endless, moss covered, stone walls. After passing in and out of a series of canopies of moss-covered trees, the view opened up to the sea. To one side of the road, below the steep drop off, we could see miles of contorted seashore, sculpted over time by wind and wave. The craggy stone toes of the coastline could be seen reaching out into the slate colored waters of the Atlantic. Inland were the misty outlines of green, rolling and rock strewn hills and pasture lands. In the distance, the peaks of the Macgillycuddy Reeks mountain range appeared and then disappeared in the slow moving gray mass of clouds. Periodically, a sudden gleam of sunshine would pass through the cloud cover catching a distant hillside, illuminating it like a spotlight, and revealing patches of fuchsia, heather and the purple flowered “fairy fingers” of the Digitalis. After a while, the contour of winding road with its hairpin turns began to take its toll on our young passengers. Having learned our lesson during some of our other notably twisting excursions such as Chapman’s Peak Drive and the roads to Hana and Cape Tribulation, we decided to turn around and head home before some felt the need to leave their fish and chups along the roadside.

As we loaded up for our trip to Bunclody, Elizabeth and I agreed that it was hard to believe that only six more days remained in our trip. When we had planned the adventure, 290 days abroad seemed unimaginably long. Much like a typical vacation where the first few days seem to unfold at a leisurely pace, but final half rushes by, so had our trip unfolded. Ever since we had left Australia after the first of the year, the days had seemed to pass by with increasing velocity.

Anxieties about our return notwithstanding, our final days in Ireland, the final days of our trip, were spent in a magical setting. My business partner, Sean Conlon, had graciously offered to allow us to stay at his idyllic spread located just outside of Bunclody in the County Wexford. Situated on over sixty acres, the “Mill” as he referred to it, was a beautiful patch of Irish heaven. His sister, Fiona, who lived at the Mill, was the consummate hostess. We were put up in the main lodging house, one of several on the grounds, that once was a working mill, but now has been converted into a luxurious residence. Along side the mill house ran the clear waters of the Slaney River, full of deep pools, fast shallows, and undoubtedly, a fair amount of trout. Scattered around the grounds immediately surrounding the Mill house are several attractive stone buildings, some of which served as storage, but one of which served as Fiona’s full time residence.

Along the river’s edge runs a dirt and stone road lead from the entrance to the compound to the Mill house. A short distance down the road was another lodging house. Trails lead from the Mill house through the hills comprising the back acreage. These trails provided us endless hours of hiking and exploration. Each day we hiked to the peak of particularly tall hilltop, sat in the tall grasses and took in the breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside, its green rolling hillsides rising up from the banks of the meandering River Slaney.

The weather was very cooperative and we spent our last days in Ireland under brilliant sunny skies. So unseasonably warm that one brilliant afternoon we decided to venture a swim in the river. We hiked up the road and across a three arched stone bridge in order to reach the other bank of the river, which appeared to provide a more gentle entry into the rushing stream. To say that the water was cold would be an understatement. It was a hoot to watch each of the kids as they gingerly waded into the icy water. They each would let out a scream, before drawing in a deep breath and jerking up their arms. Although the water was frigid, the kids were undeterred. The little polar bears waded around, splashing and shrieking the entire time. We all waded around the shallows, our legs and feet numb under the chilly waters. While some of us searched for interesting stones in the clear waters, others used butterfly nets in an attempt to catch minnows. After Maddie, Bella and I had each dove underwater on each other’s dare, we all retreated to the grassy banks to warm up under the “halftime” sun. We rested on the banks of the river and had a picnic lunch as fat black and white cows grazed around us.

The Mill was a perfect place to renounce life’s pressing matters and revel in the beauty of the rural Irish countryside that had inspired the likes of Yeats, Shaw and Beckett. It was such a relaxing setting. Each day I would walk alone to the top of the nearby hill and sit on the edge of the trail, aside the golden stalks of wheat, and gaze out over the countryside, allowing my mind to wander. During these quiet moments, I found my mind was drawn to reminiscences of our spectacular experience. When we had entered Paris two months ago, I had felt weary of travel, but now I felt anything but a readiness to conclude our trip. The excitement that I felt about reuniting with friends and family seemed to be outweighed by a sense of melancholy as I considered the inevitable end to our wonderful journey.

With the exception of our day trip to Kilkenny and periodic forays into the nearby village for groceries, our final days were spent frolicking on the grounds of the Mill. Exploring the grounds and back trails on foot and via the Conlon’s four-wheeler, playing games of hide and seek, swinging on the big tree swing near the river, picnicking along the river’s edge, chasing Fiona’s three dogs around, catching minnows, playing Pooh Stick races (we tossed carefully chosen pieces of tree branches into the river and then ran along the river bank tracking our entries to the finish line) and enjoying family dinners in the warmth of the Mill house. In the evenings, we would play card games, read books and tell stories to each other. At night, we would lie in bed listening to sounds of the night and the rushing waters of the River Slaney, a melody of nature that served to lull us and gently invite us to sleep.

Let us say thank you to all of you for following along with our adventure. What began with the simple goal of keeping in contact with family, soon turned into a labor of love as we attempted to share our travels and experiences with family, friends and the variety of new visitors who heard about our journey or accidentally hit upon our web log. Although I have begun to pen a final dispatch, this will be our last posting sent from abroad. Our final months following our return to Europe from the Middle East were memorable; our grand time in Tuscany; our scenic drive from Florence to Paris; our exciting days in Paris; the relaxing week in the countryside of Normandy with wonderful side trips to the D-Day beaches, Mont St. Michael, and Monet’s home and gardens in Giverny; our canal boat trip, one of the highlights of our world adventure, a truly magical week living on a houseboat and piloting it down the Yonne River and canals in the Burgundy region of France; our inspirational week in The Netherlands reuniting with our Dutch family in the picturesque countryside of the eastern portion of The Netherlands; an action packed week in jolly old London; and finally, two brilliant weeks in the lovely and grand island of Ireland. Cheers to you all and God Bless!

NEXT DISPATCH. WE ARE COMING HOME!

July 20, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dispatch # 39 London, England

Dispatch # 39 London, England June 2005 “Magnificent Palaces, Loathsome Towers and Memorable Dates” It was a relatively short drive from Borculo near the eastern border of The Netherlands to Amsterdam on the western side. Before we could go to the airport, however, we needed to find the office of Renault. After two months, it was time to return the van that we had driven throughout a good portion of Western Europe. During our trip preparation, Elizabeth ran across a car-leasing program while surfing the Internet that seemed too good to be true. The program, Renault’s Eurodrive, offered a full-sized mini-van with an extended lease term. Not just any van either, a brand new seven passenger, fully loaded mini-van for hire. Originally, we had planned on flying between destinations in Europe and renting cars as needed, but once we did some calculating, we discovered that the costs of the lease program, when compared to the costs of the various individual car rentals alone, was half of the expense. It also afforded us a great opportunity to tour the beautiful countryside’s of Italy, France and The Netherlands and to investigate some the beautiful cities and towns along the way. Two months ago, we picked up our new van at Rome’s Fiuminicino airport. Renault did not have a local office, so we met the representative outside one of the terminals. When it got around to signing the paperwork, I noticed that the majority of the documents clearly treated this as a purchase of a new van. Accompanying the sheaf of documents, which by the way included a promissory note from us to Renault for $ 55,000, was a one page agreement that purported to clarify the legal relationship as a lease and not a purchase, subject, of course, to terms and conditions listed in two point font on the back side of the document. When I asked for a little more comfort that I was not really purchasing a new van, the Italian representative laughed and said, “Don’t worry, just return the car to Amsterdam.” Perhaps, I would have found his assurance a bit more comforting if it hadn’t been for the fact that while we were conducting our “meeting” at a small table in the corner of an airport snack bar; the representative was clearly distracted, periodically looking over my shoulder into the terminal and motioning for his colleagues to retrieve this or that; and he kept interrupting our conversation to make cell phone calls. After a considerable amount of effort (read driving around lost) we found the address of the Renault “office” in Amsterdam. The address we were seeking was displayed on the second story of a windowless aluminum clad industrial building set atop a gas station. There was no signage and no one answered when I knocked on the door. So, as you might imagine, my curiosity (read anxiety) about how this story would end was heightened. The cynic in me was waiting for the proverbial “other shoe to drop” as we attempted to return our “purchased” (wink, wink) van after two months and 8,000 kilometers of hard use. As I sat on the steps, my mind replayed the scenario, we found it on the Internet, never met with anyone until Rome, signed a purchase contract and promissory note and gave our credit card and bank account information as security to a harried and disheveled representative at a snack bar at the airport in Rome, and we have arrived in Amsterdam to a nondescript warehouse with no sign of activity. To my surprise and complete relief, a large, gregarious Dutchman, Hans, arrived a half an hour later and introduced himself as our Renault representative, took our keys, stamped our promissory note “cancelled” and drove us to our departure terminal. It would have made for a better story if we had been stuck with the car and our bank account had been drained of thousands, but in keeping with most of our trip, everything worked out fine and Elizabeth’s discovery of the lease program turned out to be one of the best deals of the trip. We flew from Amsterdam to London on one of the European discount air carriers, Easy Jet. The fare was substantially lower than any offered by the larger, longer established airlines. In fact, when we found the airfare on the Internet, we were stunned. The fare was ten Euro, or around thirteen Dollars. Discount carriers like Easy Jet and Ryan Air have revolutionized the European market with their deeply discounted, no-frills, air transportation. Upon our arrival at London’s Gatwick airport, our seasoned band of explorers immediately sprang into action and within a short period of time, one not imaginable at the beginning of our trip; we had passed through the airport, collected our luggage and were heading towards London town. During our trip, we had taken the opportunity to divest ourselves of several pieces of checked luggage, a number now down from six to two. However, even with this lightened load, these remaining bags when combined with our carry-on luggage meant that we still had a cart full. Is it just my imagination, or has every luggage trolley in the world been designed to pull hard to the left. No matter how many times I stopped to reposition the bags or changed the direction of the force that I was exerting on the cart, it would inevitably head to port, as though drawn by a powerful magnetic force. No matter what we tried, the end result was always the same. As we waited for the train, Bella and Maddie were treated for various cart related injuries, lacerated shins or bruised heels while I stood groaning and massaged my aching forearms. We had a jolly old time in London. After availing ourselves of London’s public transportation options, taking a combination of two above ground trains and the London Underground, we arrived at Waterloo Station. From there, it was a long, but manageable walk to our hotel, the London Marriott County Hall located on the South Bank of the Thames, directly across from Parliament. It was a great base from which to explore London and we had stunning views out our windows of both the historic, Westminster and the famous “Big Ben” clock tower as well as the ultra modern, London Eye, London’s giant “Ferris“ wheel observatory. Each day we would walk out the front door of the hotel and we would immediately be surrounded by sea of pedestrians working their way across the Westminster Bridge. Between the two lanes of foot traffic, the wide expanse of Bridge Street was full of the red double decker buses and the iconic black taxis for which London is famous. One of our first observations was the remarkable diversity of London’s residents. Walking along London’s crowded streets; we came upon people representing almost every conceivable ethnic background. Just along the two block span of side streets flanking our hotel, we encountered restaurants specializing in Indian, Thai, Indonesian, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Turkish and traditional English fish and chips. We ate as well in London as we did anywhere during our trip. We also quickly came to the realization that London would be the most expensive stop along our journey. Although we were fortunate to be able to use a substantial portion of our Marriott Rewards points for our accommodations in London, the relative weakness of the U.S. Dollar against the British Pound meant that we still shed a lot of Pounds during our stay in England. When we made an estimate of how much our world trip would cost, we never took into account the possibility that during our time abroad, the U.S. Dollar would lose nearly twenty-five percent of its value against most foreign currencies. As a result, our trip would end up costing tens of thousands of dollars more than we had anticipated. No one was more excited than the girls when we finally arrived at our hotel in London. Although they may have shared some of their parents’ eagerness to see the wonders that London had to offer, their exceedingly high level of excitement and enthusiasm was due to the fact that their close buddies from Chicago, Austen and Isabelle Friend, were going to arrive with their grandparents in London in two days. Along our journey, we have been blessed by a few familiar faces from back home, Todd in Sydney, John in Johannesburg, Steve who joined us in Phuket, Thailand, our relatives, Doug, Sabrina and Louise and our neighbors from Chicago, Jane and Bob, who visited us in Tuscany, Italy and, most recently, the week spent with our Dutch family. In each instance, the children had been as excited, if not more, than Elizabeth and I. However, we were approaching the eve of a very special event. This would be the first time in over ten months that the girls had seen any of their friends from home. The anticipation was palpable. Before we departed on our trip, we had tried to consider what affect leaving friends and classmates would have on the children, especially, Maddie and Bella. During our travels, we had encouraged them to correspond with their friends through email. They made a concentrated effort, but the distance and lack of daily contact clearly put a strain on the relationships they had left behind. Along the way, Maddie and Bella often wondered out loud whether their friends, with few exceptions, had forgotten them. Most of the time, their apprehensions were not readily apparent. However, once in awhile, at the end of the day, they would voice their concerns, usually accompanied by tears, that their buddies back home had moved on without them. Elizabeth and I would sit on the edge of their beds late into the night trying to comfort them. So, as the arrival of old friends from Chicago grew near, Bella’s and Maddie’s emotions seemed to alternate between anxiety and excitement. In their minds, this would be a litmus test. Would this long awaited interaction be comfortable, would it feel like they had never been apart, or would it be awkward or distant? When Austen and Izzy finally joined us at our hotel, we could have lit up London with the amount of energy and excitement that filled our hotel room. Fortunately, the reunion was a success. They all seemed to get along as though the time and distance that had passed was of little consequence. It was great to see Bella and Maddie so happy. They all spent the first couple hours talking a mile a minute as they caught up on each other’s lives. Over the course of the next few days, we enjoyed joining Austen, Isabelle and their grandparents on various sightseeing tours, including trips to the Tower of London and Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. Before and after the arrival of our comrades from Chicago, we enjoyed activity packed days exploring a small portion of London’s many interesting tourist attractions. I am afraid we missed far more of them than we saw, but time and children’s attention spans were finite. We tried to hit the high points, the London Eye, Westminster and Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, St. James’ Park and Green Park, Windsor Castle, the Tower of London and, of course the item on every visitor’s list, Legoland. We began with a sunset ride on the London Eye, which is, for those of you who unfamiliar with this tourist destination, a gigantic observation “Ferris” wheel, actually, the largest such wheel ever built. The Eye was located right next to our hotel, opposite the Houses of Parliament on the South Bank of the Thames. We stood in the sleek, glass observation capsules, which were attached to arms of the great wheel that moved ever so slowly, taking well over a half an hour to complete its revolution. The views of London were magnificent. Below us was the wide dark expanse of the River Thames. From the river’s banks, London stretched out in each direction to the horizon, the orange light of the setting sun cast a magical glow on the spires, towers and rooftops of the city skyline. One of the many highlights of our time in London was our visit to the infamous Tower of London. Loaded with bloody history, the Tower of London has been a royal palace, fortress and prison, as well as the home of the crown jewels. We learned early on during our sightseeing in London that briefing our kids with a mixture of tales involving scandal, intrigue and good dose of beheadings, was a sure fire recipe to extend our children’s’ attention spans. We traveled from our hotel to the Tower by way of a riverboat excursion, passing landmarks like St. Paul’s Cathedral with its glorious dome, the Shakespeare Globe Theatre, the Tate Museum and the illustrious Tower Bridge. Entering the walls surrounding the Tower of London, we passed under the “Traitor’s Gate” where we paused to read some carefully selected gruesome and unsavory stories of London’s loathsome past, much to the kids‘ delight. Once inside the fortress walls, we explored the grounds. We visited places of dubious note like the Bloody Tower where Richard III was said to have killed his two nephews, aged ten and twelve, in order to clear the way for him to assume the throne, and the Tower Green, now a peaceful lawn surrounded on two sides by handsome Tudor buildings, where Lady Jane Grey, the sixteen year old queen was executed by order of her rival for the throne, Queen Mary I. On the Tower Green the girls took turns placing their heads on the chopping block used in the executions of two of Henry VIII’s unfortunate wives, Katharine Howard and Anne Bolelyn. It was good gruesome fun. Although the Tower is now known mostly as a site of imprisonment, torture and murder, it actually has another, lesser known, noble past. In the middle of the fortress grounds stood the formidable and majestic White Tower. The massive White Tower was a typical example of Norman military architecture. It was designed by William the Conqueror to protect London and assert his power. Construction of the White Tower began in 1080 and continued through the reigns of various succeeding monarchs. Its ten story high, whitewashed walls and four turreted corner towers gleamed in the bright midday sunlight. Mixed throughout the crowds of visitors were the men in the familiar square black hats and red and black tunics, the royal crest of Queen Elizabeth emblazoned on their chests. Yeoman Warders is their official title, but most of us would know them as “Beefeaters.” Hopping across the green lawn next to the White Tower were several large, black ravens. Apparently, legend has it that Charles II was warned that should the ravens ever leave the Tower, the monarchy would fall. Not one to tempt fate, he ordered that a small population be kept inside the walls, wings clipped of course, to insure the longevity of the monarchy. The tradition continues to this day. As we were wandering the grounds we happened upon an acting troupe that was staging a reenactment of the plot by Guy Fawkes to blow up Parliament and all of its members. The kids had a great time listening to, and in some cases participating in, the interactive dramatic show. We followed the actors around the Tower grounds as the story progressed from protest, plot, betrayal, capture, and interrogation to final execution. Following Fawkes’ execution, we took a tour of the Jewel House where we were saw, among other things, a dozen gold and jeweled royal crowns set behind thick plates of glass. The most impressive crown being the Imperial State Crown containing over 2,800 diamonds set below a giant blue sapphire. We were tricked during our tour by one of the guides who approached Maddie and asked her if she would like to wear the Queen’s crown. She looked at us with eyes the size of saucers as she followed the guide around the exhibition stand. Unfortunately, much to her chagrin, the closest she was to get to the crown was the plate glass casing. The illuminated crown cast a vivid reflection on the glass wall opposite the exhibit and Maddie was the perfect height for the reflection of the crown to appear to be sitting on her head. While the rest of the family marveled at the crowns, scepters and robes, Frankie and I spent his time examining the exhibits of armor, swords and medieval weaponry. Sweet! At the end of the Tower tour, the kids found (surprise, surprise) the gift shop. Maddie picked out a book on the gruesome tales of the Tower of London and another full of nasty tidbits about London’s sordid past and Bella and Carmen met a stuffed bear dressed in the uniform of a Palace Guard that they could not live without. Meanwhile, Frankie experienced one of those Shirley MacLaine moments of total consciousness, having an immediate realization that he was, in fact a knight trapped inside a pirate’s body. Gone was the feathered pirate’s cap that had been a fixture on his head for months, and in its place, was substituted the fearsome plastic helmet of a medieval warrior, which together with red tunic and wooden sword transformed our little buccaneer into a knight of the round table. It was an outfit that he would refuse to shed, even at bedtime, for days to come. Just across the river from our hotel was the masterpiece of gothic and medieval architecture, the Palace of Westminster and its iconic Big Ben. We learned that although the huge clock tower of the Palace of Westminster is popularly known as Big Ben, the name actually refers to the clock tower’s fourteen-ton bell, named after Sir Benjamin Hall who was the Commissioner of Works when it was installed in 1858. Each night, after darkness fell, we were treated to an enchanting view of the up lit façade of Westminster and its famous clock tower, the black hands of clock dials set against the clock’s brilliant white face, the light of which beamed through the lightly fogged evening sky. In the mornings, we would wake to the fairy-tale sound of Big Ben‘s tolling. We spent portions of a couple of mornings and afternoons strolling around Westminster, sitting on the grass of Parliament Square enjoying an ice cream and people watching. The Palace and Abbey were such a grand set of buildings; I never grew tired of gazing at them, especially the Abbey‘s intricate transept. It was with an ample sense of awe that I contemplated that travelers like us have been marveling about this place for over a thousand years. It was said that this was the political and spiritual heart of England. It was a religious shrine, the seat of government and the place where all of Britain’s monarchs have been crowned for the last millennium. Surrounding the square were statutes of some of the notable statesmen from the past. Our personal favorites were those of Winston Churchill, shoulders hunched under the cloak of his famous overcoat, in the middle of a deliberate stride; a seated and contemplative Abraham Lincoln (the only non-British subject to be so honored); and the life like statute of the notorious Oliver Cromwell. Keeping in mind my adage that gory equals gripping, the kids found the statute of Oliver Cromwell statute most interesting when they learned the story of one of the worst grudges in British history. Cromwell presided over England’s most famous republican experiment, which began after a particularly bloody and vicious civil war in the mid 17th century. Upon his death, Cromwell was buried in Westminster Abbey. However, when the monarchy for which Cromwell was responsible for overthrowing was ultimately restored in 1660, the new king ordered Cromwell’s body exhumed after which it was ceremoniously hanged, drawn and quartered and beheaded for good measure. Of course, it would not be a proper trip to London without a visit to the Buckingham Palace. We strolled along Birdcage Walk before dipping into the leafy and inviting St. James’s Park, a wonderful urban oasis full of wide lawns, shading trees, tranquil ponds and well maintained, brightly colored flower gardens. We stopped along the way to feed some of the swans, geese and pelicans that wandered freely along the pedestrian footpaths. After taking an ice cream and coffee break at one of the outdoor cafes, we pressed on through the park until we reached London’s most famous residence, Buckingham Palace. We lingered for quite some time watching the pomp and circumstance of the changing of the Palace Guard. The guards, dressed in their red tunics, white shoulder straps and belt, black pants and tall bearskin hats, pulled low over their brow, marched from the nearby Wellington barracks to the Palace. The formal military drill that made up the changing of the guards was precisely choreographed and clearly full of tradition. The older girls were inspired to mimic the guards’ march as they passed and of course, what would a trip to Buckingham Palace be if they didn’t take a moment to try to get the posted guards to break their frozen stare. Transportation in London was as much an excursion as it was a necessity. During our time in London, we had the opportunity to ride in the traditional black sedan taxis. Their design has been constant for decades and the exclusive manufacturer of these London icons only makes taxis. The interior of the passenger area was enormous. The real attraction, however, was the cabbie. As if supplied to the City of London by some central casting agency, every cab driver that we encountered was eerily similar. Each was a Caucasian male, appearing to be in his fifties, speaking with a heavy cockney accent and extremely gregarious. The rides were full of non-stop chatter. In most cases, we found the interaction enjoyable, although there were times when we knew the gentleman behind the wheel was trying to communicate with us, but we couldn’t for the life of us understand a word he was saying. Although there was a time or two, at the end of a long day of sightseeing, that I would have preferred to observe some silent reflection (insert, grab a quick nap) on our drive back to the hotel, but this was never in the cards. These guys were relentless, and they could talk a wood horse to sawdust. In addition to cab rides, there were the red double-decker buses and of course, the “Tube,” London’s Underground subway system, which is one of the most elaborate in the world. It was every bit as complex and far reaching as the subway system we encountered in Tokyo. From our “home base” at Waterloo Station, we could easily travel by rail to anywhere within or outside the city. And there was something unique about London train stations. The main terminals were huge, there were platforms and tracks everywhere and the stations were full of people bustling about in each direction under the sunlit roof of the station’s greenhouse-like architecture. Near the heart of London proper was Trafalgar Square, which on the evening we visited, was full of Londoners seated on the steps enjoying a last bit of sunlight at the end of a warm spring day. Surrounding them was the impressive monument to Lord Admiral Nelson, who with cunning tactics and brazen disregard for odds, soundly defeated Napoleon’s French armada at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. The overwhelming destruction of the French fleet played a large role in the shaping of world history. His fleet lost, Napoleon had to abandon his plans to invade and conquer Britain. With the French navy out of the picture, Britain was free to rule the seas and accelerate its global colonization. Nelson was mortally wounded during the battle and his remains were given a state funeral after which he was interred in St. Paul’s Cathedral. In the center of the square stood a column nearly two hundred feet tall. On top of the column was a twenty-foot statute of the intrepid naval hero. Surrounding the base of the column were the sculptures of four huge lions. It was a fitting monument to a time when Britannia ruled the world. Time now for another episode of “That’s So Carmen.” It seems as though not a day goes by without our diminutive five year old providing some sort of comic relief. In this instance, we were all lounging on the bed in our hotel room, watching television. Carmen’s growth during our journey has manifested itself in many ways, one of which is her relatively new insistence on using the potty alone without any assistance. For the longest time, the routine involved us helping her take off her pants and underwear and then assisting her up until she had a firm perch. We would then allow her some privacy and await the familiar call of her little voice announcing “Papa (or Mama) it’s your favorite time of the day!” This was our signal to return, help her finish her business and then get her dressed again. Lately, she has asserted her independence, handling the entire process by herself. On this occasion however, she had clearly experienced some difficulty getting her underwear and pants back on. She emerged from the bathroom, and in her serious voice exclaimed, “I’ve seen London and I’ve seen France, NOW WILL SOMEONE HELP ME WITH MY UNDERPANTS!” Speaking of Carmen, she has developed a strong interest in written messages and postal services. Lately, whenever we arrive at a new destination, she hoards any stationary and envelopes she can find and squirrels them away in her “bag of occupyment.” She spends a considerable amount of her free time drawing pictures for each of us. Thereafter, she signs, seals and delivers letters to everyone, often leaving them in inconspicuous places like a shoe, under a pillow or in a backpack. She is the self-proclaimed “mail lady” and she takes her job very seriously. All she requires in return is that we too write a letter and deposit it with her for circulation. Since I am on the subject of new developments, Frankie has added a nimble and energetic routine to his daily regimen. He calls it his “happy dance.” His performances are usually spontaneous, but on occasion, he can be coaxed into presenting it on a moment’s notice. Try if you will, to imagine a three-year-old version of Mel Gibson’s character in “Braveheart” displaying the rapid footwork of Jennifer Beals in “Flashdance.” We have found that the best way to keep the kids engaged in a historic place like London is to periodically provide them with some non-educationally focused outings. This time it was trips to Lego Land in Windsor, Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum and Mary Poppins, the Musical in London. Madame Tussaud’s has been entertaining young and old alike for over a hundred years. Having never been to a wax museum, the girls had a great time walking among the life sized figures, posing for pictures with the likes of Madonna, Queens Victoria and Elizabeth, John F. Kennedy, Tony Blair, Princess Diana and Marie Antoinette (along with her guillotine, of course). The day trip to Windsor took us by train to the gates of Windsor Castle, the historic mainstay of British royalty. We walked around the perimeter of the imposing fortress, which has served as a residence to English monarchs for centuries. According to the brochure, it is the oldest and largest castle in Britain containing over a thousand rooms. But the Castle was not the real reason we had come to Windsor, it was that lesser known jewel of Britannia, Lego Land. We were impressed by the size and scale of the reproductions of Legoland’s wonders of Europe, done completely with one inch colored building blocks. In addition to the models, there were games, mazes, imagination stations and discovery zones offering all sorts of fun and interesting activities. The amusement park had a variety of age-based thrill rides and roller coasters. After weathering through a rainy morning, we spent a fun filled afternoon taking in all of the attractions. On our final night in London, I had the distinct pleasure to escort Carmen, Isabella and Madeline to the Prince Edward Theatre in London’s lively West End district, on a date to see the world’s most famous nanny, Mary Poppins. We were treated to a wonderful musical stage production of Disney’s Mary Poppins. For me however, on special nights like these with my daughters, the destination is really secondary. The real fun is watching the girls prepare for the outing. There was a genuine excitement in the air as they scurried around trying to find the perfect “fancy dress,” primping and experimenting with makeup and accessories. Knowing full well that the days when my daughters will act so excited about spending an evening with their father are short-lived, I soaked up every treasured moment of our last night out on the town in London. NEXT DISPATCH. IRELAND

January 09, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Dispatch # 38 The Netherlands

Dispatch # 38 The Netherlands May-June, 2005 “De familie tijd (Family Time)” Completely rejuvenated after our canal boat trip in Burgundy, we loaded up the van and departed from Chatel Censoir, France. Our destination was Lochem, the Netherlands and the drive would turn out to be the longest of the trip. Although the drive from Florence to Paris was longer, we spread the driving time for that trip over the course of several days to alleviate the pain of traveling with four children without the aid of an audio/visual tranquilizer. Our fourteen-hour road trip took us through northern France and portions of Luxembourg and Belgium, before we arrived at the border of The Netherlands. Along the way we passed through the thick, heavily forested Ardennes, the site of some of the most brutal fighting between the Allies and Germany during World War II. As we past, we peered into the darkened forest floor, trying to imagine how difficult it must have been to fight through this seemingly impenetrable natural barrier. Even today, the dense woods contained an eerie sense of foreboding. It was strange to drive through the now empty border crossing checkpoints, large stations that have become obsolete with the new European Union treaties permitting free transfer between countries. It was especially interesting for us as we had been traveling within the European Union for months and had never been required to show our passports. You may recall that when we flew from Cairo, Egypt to Barcelona, Spain, there was a tip that a bomb had been placed on our plane. When we arrived in Barcelona, there had been a considerable amount of confusion on how to handle the passengers. In the chaos following our release, we had apparently gone up the wrong set of stairs, because we emerged into the terminal near the gate for our flight to Rome, Italy. We never had to pass through immigration in Italy because we had come from another EU country, Spain. As a result, there was no record of our entering the EU and to date; we had passed though Spain, Italy, France, Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands without having to show our passports. We assume that this would continue through England and Ireland until we left for home later in the trip. I remain mildly concerned that we will be met upon departure by a savvy Irish immigration agent who will note the large gap in time since our last passport check in Egypt and the fact that we have never officially entered the European Union. Just inside the Dutch border, we stopped at the American Military Cemetery outside of the village of Margraten. Although we had arrived too late to enter the main gates, we found a farm path that led through a field to the outer boundaries of the cemetery. From our vantage point at the edge of the cemetery we could see the impressive white marble memorial tower standing guard over the burial grounds. Beyond the tower were wide tree-lined malls with large burial plots on each side. As we had witnessed at the D-Day cemetery in Normandy, the rows of over eight thousand perfectly aligned white marble crosses stretched out in each direction. From Margraten we continued through the southern and eastern portions of the country until we reached Lochem, which was situated just west of the German border. Lochem was an hour’s drive north and east of Arnhem and Nijmegen, and a couple hours drive directly east of Amsterdam, which is located on the opposite, western end of the this diminutive nation. The focus of the other legs of our journey has been sightseeing, exploring and absorbing as much as we could at each destination. Our focus for this portion of the trip was less ambitious in scope, but more meaningful in nature. We had come to The Netherlands to reunite with old friends. As a result, some of you may not find this dispatch very exciting to read, but let me assure you, we had a wonderful time in the Netherlands. We accomplished what we came here to do, spend lots of time with our Dutch family. When I was a senior in high school, Gabriella Franck, an exchange student from The Netherlands, spent a year living with our family. Gabriella fit right in with our family and she quickly assumed the role of the daughter my mother never had. We had fun experiencing and enjoying our senior year together. By the end of her stay with us we had all grown to love Gabriella as a member of our family. It is safe to say that the feelings were mutual because in the years following, two more members of the Franck family traveled to the United States and spent a year with the Parkinson’s. First, her brother Joost joined us, followed later by their younger sister, Stephanie. So, over the course of six years, we had a unique opportunity to get to know three members of the same Dutch family. During the same time period, adding to these experiences was a family trip to Canada to meet the family of Gabriella‘s older sister, Monique, and my graduate school backpacking visit to The Netherlands where I spent time with Joost in Den Haag and the Franck family at their country home in Borculo. I am not sure about the experience of others who have either hosted an exchange, or lived with another family overseas, but our experience was particularly enjoyable. Although I had formed a close bond with the Franck family in general, and Gabriella, Joost and Stefanie, in particular, with the passing of years, I eventually had begun to lose track of my Dutch brother and sisters, their lives and families. So, it was with a bit of trepidation that I planned our reunion. Although I approached this part of our journey with optimism, truth be told, I was uncertain as to how we would interact after so many years. My anxiety proved to be entirely misplaced. Our reception was wonderful. To my delight, after a brief period of reintroduction, I felt as though I recaptured a large amount of the familiarity and warmth that I had once shared with my Dutch family almost thirty years ago. Our families took an instantaneous liking to each other, and our hosts went out of their way to make us feel welcome. When we first arrived, Gabriella and her two daughters, Marjolein and Willemiek, met us at our campground. The combination of being released from a cramped van after fourteen hours and finally meeting people that they had heard Elizabeth and I talk about for the past couple weeks, meant that our kids were on fire. I don’t know that I have ever seen them so full of energy and silliness. Frankie was literally running around in circles, roaring at the top of his voice. Meanwhile, Carmen, Bella and Maddie were all talking over each other, jabbering a “mile-a-minute” at our Dutch hosts. I watched with amusement, Gabriella’s and her daughters’ wide-eyed reaction to our band of “amped-up” American hooligans. I am sure that there were some interesting observations shared by Gabe and her girls during their ride back home. In a way it was a perfect introduction to American children for Marjolein and Willemiek. As our band of six was too large to be accommodated in her home, Gabriella found us a great campground, called Landgoed Ruighenrode, which was located on the outskirts of the nearby town of Lochem. The facility reminded us of some of the splendid campervan parks that we had visited in New Zealand. It was a huge park. Lots for campers were intermixed with new modular homes. The amenities of the camp included restaurants, pools, a lake, activity center, bike rentals and much more. Unfortunately, the weather proved to be much too cool to make use of the pools or lake. We were, however, able to make use of a nearby indoor water park which provided complimentary admission to guests of the campground. We stayed in a brand new, nicely furnished, three-bedroom modular home located adjacent to a playground. The place was perfect for our family. We spent most of our days exploring the camp, taking long walks, playing at the playgrounds, and visiting one of the nearby picturesque Dutch villages. Our evenings were spent enjoying the warm hospitality of Gabriella’s and Wouter’s home. Tasty home cooked meals were followed by relaxing evenings spent in adult conversation while the children played nearby. I teased Gabriella that she had kept the secret of her cooking abilities from her American family for the entire length of her stay. She reminded me that she was there to experience American culture and cuisine (insert cheeseburgers, macaroni and cheese, steak and potatoes) and felt no obligation to broaden our appreciation of international cooking. It was the first time that we had the opportunity to meet and get to know Gabriella’s three children, Marjolein, Jasper and Willemiek. The kids were the consummate hosts to our children. Willemiek was Bella’s age and she, along with Bella and Maddie, got along like three peas in a pod. They loved to walk over to a nearby playground and would spend hours in a little wooden play fort talking and playing card games. Although Marjolein and Jasper were seventeen and fourteen respectively, they were extremely kind, patient and attentive in their interaction with our younger children. All our girls loved Marjolein and she would spend hours playing down to our girls’ levels, especially Carmen, who could not get enough of Marjolein’s attention. Frankie, meanwhile, was in seventh heaven hanging out with another, albeit much older, boy. He had spent most of his trip surrounded by the girls, and playmates of the girls. So, when he found Jasper, an immediate “boy crush” developed. Frankie would follow Jasper’s every move around the house to the point of being in clear violation of all international stalking laws. However, to Jasper’s credit, he never complained. Frankie loved to sit on his lap while he surfed the Internet and played computer games. Stefanie graciously took time off of work, drove from Arnhem to Lochem and spent several afternoons and evenings with our family. We also took a day trip to visit her home in Arnhem. While her husband, Sjoob, was at work, we joined Stefanie and her son, Tommie, and visited a wonderful open-air museum called the Openluchtmuseum. The Openluctmuseum was set on a large plot of land and had all sorts of interesting exhibits and old fashioned buildings, mills, laborer homes, farmhouses and assorted shops. There were many historic buildings sprinkled around the campus. Working windmills, workshops of potters, wooden shoe makers, wheelwrights, carpenters, blacksmiths, and bakers. All of the shops and their tradesmen were dressed in period costumes and were actively fashioning their respective crafts. There were some delightful playgrounds incorporating period specific equipment from the early 1900’s. In addition, scattered around the heavily forested grounds were beautiful gardens and ponds. It was so nice to be with Stefanie. She has such an easy way about her, her sense of humor and seemingly infinite supply of patience (for the antics of our children) made for a fun and relaxing day. After our splendid afternoon excursion we retired to Sjoob and Stefanie’s home. After a nice dinner, Elizabeth and I talked with Sjoob and Stefanie late into the evening while the children frolicked at a nearby playground. It is always fun to see friends, but there is something special, something more genuine about the experience if you are able to visit them at their home. It always makes the connection a bit stronger, to be able to visualize where they are when you are talking to them on the phone or exchanging an email. With that in mind, we accepted the kind invitation of Joost and his wife, Rianne, to visit their home in Deventer. They also had a handsome home, filled with a warm and gracious atmosphere. They were understandably proud to show us their new addition to their home, which included a beautiful modern kitchen, and family room, as well as, a wonderful outdoor patio area adjacent to the kitchen. The most impressive thing about the addition for me, being handiwork impaired as I am, was that Joost had done the majority of the work himself. I am always envious of craftsmen and those who can build things with their own hands. After a nice lunch, Joost, Rianne and their youngest son, Lex, gave us a walking tour of the attractive town of Deventer. As we left their home, I felt a sense of sadness, thinking about how much time that I had allowed to pass without making contact with such a good friend as Joost. Random Observations. Reunions and family hospitality aside for the moment let me offer some random observations about our time in The Netherlands. We are convinced that the Dutch rank as some of the friendliest people in the world. Without exception, we were treated with extraordinary hospitality and affability and by the end of our time in The Netherlands all of the Parkinson’s had become quite smitten. There was not a person that we met who did not greet us a welcoming smile. The Netherlands had a distinctly gracious and inviting atmosphere about it and the physical landscape was equally inviting. Driving in the area we passed rows of fertile, luxuriant farm fields and past tidy brick farmhouses with steep roofs of tile or thatch, divided light paneled windows framed in white and bordered with forest green shutters and surrounded by immaculately maintained and landscaped grounds. As we followed the winding, narrow, tree-lined roadways, we came upon quaint stone villages with brick streets chock full of smart specialty shops. We loved the fact that almost everyone seemed to be getting around by bicycle. Groups of school children, businessmen in suits, young and old, filled the bike paths. The portion of the country that we visited was designed for biking. There were bike paths everywhere, along every highway, road and street that we traveled. In town, the bikes lined the streets and sidewalks. It seemed a testament not only to the Dutch sense of environmental responsibility, but also to their inviting laid-back lifestyle. Our home was hooked into cable television, which was a treat for the kids. They had spent many months on the road with their only connection to the animated world being our miniature DVD player and a limited supply of DVDs that we had purchased along the way. We spent our mornings in our pajamas, eating breakfast and watching cartoons. But not the cartoons that they had grown used to in the U.S.; they were the cartoons that Elizabeth and I had watched when we were young. Classics like “Top Cat,” “Deputy Dawg,” “Atom Ant,” ‘Yogi Bear” and “Snagglepuss.” I was surprised at how much the kids enjoyed watching them, but I was even more surprised at how much fun I had reviewing these timeless classics. I could not help but think wistfully back to simpler times when harmless phrases like “Heavens to murgatroid” were a part of this young American’s lexicon. Although the focus during our stay in the Netherlands was family time and not sightseeing, we did have the opportunity to make a couple side trips. The Doolhof hedge maze in Ruurlo was an interesting attraction. It was an enormous hedge maze with so many turns and dead-ends, that it was easy to get lost. The kids seemed to have little difficulty finding the observation tower located in the middle of the maze, but Elizabeth and I were forced to resorting to drawing arrows and notes in the dirt paths to keep our bearings. It was a nice, sunny day and we played several challenging games of hide and seek with the kids, including Willemiek, who had the day off from school. Afterwards, we had some ice cream before stopping at a nearby restaurant famous in the area for its pancakes. These unique pancakes were nothing like we were used to back home. They were very thin, deep fried and full of tasty ingredients. The pancakes were similar to a crepe in thinness and taste, but larger than the size of a dinner plate. We had wonderful combinations of apple, sugar, and cinnamon, as well as pancakes mixed with ham, bacon and cheese. There were dozens of varieties to choose from and all were piping hot and delicious. As parents, Elizabeth and I were impressed by how kid-friendly we found most of the restaurants. With few exceptions, the restaurants all had nice outdoor play spaces for the children to romp around while we waited for our meals. What would a visit to the Netherlands be without a touring a working windmill? We had seen dozens of the fan-armed giants during stay, but we had yet to see one up close. Gabriella took us over to one of these remarkable structures located just outside of Lochem. Although the windmill was over 150 years old, it still was in operation. Apparently a favorite source of locals looking for freshly milled flour and grains. We climbed up the rickety wooden ladders, through a labyrinth of whirling wheels and groaning pulleys, past a huge, slowly turning grinding wheel to the top of the mill. As we watched the fans slowly turn, we looked out over a pastoral setting of green fields and grazing cows. God may have made the Netherlands, but the Dutch made it livable. As we drove into Amsterdam, their elaborate earthworks, dikes and levees impressed us. This is a nation where a good portion of the country is below sea level. Over the centuries, the industrious Dutch reclaimed the land from the sea. While we were there we read an article about recent innovations in engineering and home building in Amsterdam. To put it simply, newly constructed homes were being built with a clever series of pontoons that would allow the homes to rise with the water in the event of a flooding. Before we bid you farewell from the Netherlands, allow me to offer, as you know that I like to do, a brief bit of history. The Netherlands’ early history is linked with Belgium and Luxembourg; the three were known as the 'Low Countries' until the 16th century, when the present-day Netherlands' boundaries were roughly drawn. In the late 16th century the region's northern provinces, inhabited by recent converts to Protestantism, united to fight the Catholic Spanish rulers. Philip II of Spain sent the cruel Inquisition to enforce Catholicism, and war broke out in 1568. Prince William of Orange led the revolt of the Netherlands and after 80 years of conflict, the provinces of North and South Holland (areas around modern day Amsterdam) allied to expel the Spaniards. As a result, the term “Holland” became synonymous with the independent country that emerged in this corner of Europe. Amsterdam emerged onto the European stage in Holland's most glorified period (from about 1580 to about 1740). During this time period, the Dutch navy joined those of England, France and Spain to dominate the world's seas. During this “Golden Age” for the Dutch, an extraordinary amount of wealth was generated by the Dutch East India Company, which sent ships to the Far East in search of spices and other exotic goods. Meanwhile, they established settlements in places like the Cape of Good Hope (modern day South Africa), Indonesia, Surinam, the Antilles and New Amsterdam (today's New York) and established trading posts throughout Asia. This wealth in turn stimulated the arts and brought renown to painters such as Rembrandt. But it didn't last. In 1795 the French invaded and Napoleon appointed his younger brother Louis as king. When the largely unpopular French occupation came to an end, the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, incorporating Belgium and Luxembourg, was born. The first king, William I of Orange, was crowned in 1814, and the House of Orange rules to this day. In 1830 the Belgians rebelled and became independent; Luxembourg did the same soon after. The Netherlands' modern history saw the country lapsing from global prominence into comfortable obscurity; it began to put into place innovative social programs, many of which survive today. The Netherlands was able to stay neutral through WWI but couldn't exercise the same privilege in WWII. The Germans invaded in May 1940, and imposed a harsh and brutal occupation upon the Dutch that would last for almost five years. As a history buff, while in Deventer I personally enjoyed seeing the span of the bridge that had been the setting for the World War II movie “A Bridge Too Far.” We had seen the real “bridge too far” while we were visiting Arnhem. Not sure if it has anything to do with being such a small country, but the kids loved the fact that many of the farm animals that we saw along the roads appeared to be miniature in size. Breeds of small horses, small, longhaired cattle and diminutive sheep seemed to be the norm. Throughout our world trip, shopping for provisions has been outing that seemed to provide unusual enjoyment for the kids. Whenever we stayed in a self-catering apartment, there was always a considerable amount of enthusiasm surrounding a trip to a store, any store. In our village in the Netherlands, the local store was equipped with miniature shopping carts designed specifically for children. In case you were wondering, the rest of the Netherlands, including the Dutch themselves, appeared to be full-sized. Anyway, the children loved going to this store, pushing their undersized carts around and taking turns searching for an item on our shopping list. They would each get an assignment and then off they would go, disappearing down different aisles in search of their item. On one occasion, Frankie was gone for a disturbingly long period of time. Having aroused the concern of his family, an all points bulletin was called and our team dispatched in opposite directions in search of our missing-in-action shopper. When finally located, he had a cart full of women’s bras, or “boo-boo’s” in Frankie-speak. Not being a buccaneer that is easily persuaded to abandon his treasure, he spent the rest of the shopping trip walking up and down the aisles with a cart full of “boo-boo’s” leaving an assortment of clearly perplexed Dutch parents and store employees in his vapor trail. Carmen continues to carry her satchel of miscellaneous toys, souvenirs and assorted novelties wherever we go. She calls it her “bag of occupyment” and she never ceases to amaze me with some of the items she pulls from that purse. Maddie and Bella have proven to be voracious readers and they continue to devour books along the way. Elizabeth and I realize that there could be much worse things to spend money on, and we can‘t help but feel a twinge of guilt when the Maddie sadly announced that she didn’t know if she could make herself re-read the same book for a fourth time. Meanwhile, Frankie continues to harass his sisters with anything long and pointed that he can get his hands on. Sticks, broom handles, butter knives, it doesn’t make a difference to him. We are convinced that he was a pirate in another life. On one of our last afternoons in the Netherlands, the entire Franck clan gathered at our camp for a party and barbeque. While the children played, the adults laughed and told fun stories of our times back in the U.S. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings of my trip. After spending most of the past ten months in the company of strangers, Gabriella, Joost, Stefanie and their wonderful families provided a connection to something that we had missed during most of our journey, family. I am hopeful that we will not allow as much time to pass before reuniting with them again. NEXT DISPATCH. LONDON, ENGLAND

December 30, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dispatch #37 France

Dispatch # 37 France May 2005 “A Magical City, Inspiring Beaches and Rejuvenation” Notre temps était en France merveilleux! Our time in France was wonderful and it had two welcome, but completely unexpected results. First, the people we met and our experiences in France served to shatter all of our preconceived notions and stereotypes about the French. Second, our adventures in France, especially our week on the canal boat in Burgundy, which proved to be one of the highlights of our world trip, served to totally re-energize our travel weary troupe. After three glorious weeks in Tuscany, we loaded our van with luggage, squeezed in our family of six and Aunt Louise and headed northwest toward the Alps and on to Paris. Our time with Sabrina, Doug and Louise in Tuscany had passed too quickly, but the pain of saying goodbye to family was, in part, softened by the fact that we still had Louise’s company to enjoy for another week. We were not sure what she was thinking when she signed up to take the three day car trip with our family to Paris, but we were glad to have her along. It was especially meaningful for Elizabeth to have more time with one of her special soul mates. Our three-day road trip from Tuscany to Paris took us through the scenic beauty of northwestern Italy and southern France. Along the way we made two overnight stops, first in the French alpine ski town of Chamonix-Mont Blanc and then in the historic city of Beaune. Chamonix-Mont Blanc lies in the heart of the French Alps. The jagged peaks of Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe, stood sentinel over the quiet ski resort town of Chamonix. We arrived late in the evening and found a quaint little hotel situated along a rushing mountain stream. The icy cold mountain air, mixed with a light but persistent cold, misty rain shocked our systems. We had not been in a cold climate for several months, but to make matters worse, in an effort to lighten our load, we had shipped our entire cold weather gear home after our trip to Japan in early January. We threw on layers of clothing and a light jacket and set out to explore this quaint alpine village. Unbeknownst to us, we had arrived during a local holiday and, therefore, most of the shops and restaurants were closed. Unfortunately, the local holiday, combined with uncooperative weather meant that we quickly retreated to the cozy confines of our hotel for the evening. The next morning was cloudy, but dry and we walked into town seeking a hearty breakfast at a local restaurant before hitting the road. Our options were limited as most establishments were closed for a holiday, but we did find one that seemed interesting. It was interesting to be sure, but not because of anything unique on the menu. Our waiter and the owner of the restaurant could scarcely have shown greater disdain for us in general, and for our children in particular. In short, our hosts gave us the distinct impression that serving us breakfast was one of the single most painful and disgusting things they would ever have to do. Not knowing at the time what we know now, we chalked it up to the first in what was expected to be a long list of personal affronts during our stay in France. We had already allowed ourselves to be brain washed into expecting rude and arrogant behavior by the French. Such generalized characterizations having been repeatedly reinforced in our minds by American newsprint and television. Our first exposure in Chamonix could not have been any more stereotypical if it had been scripted in Hollywood. What we know now that we didn’t know then was that during our entire time in France, our breakfast in Chamonix was prove to be the only episode of rude and condescending behavior by our French hosts. Given this fact, it was, therefore, fitting that the episode would occur on the morning of our first full day in France. As a result, we steeled ourselves for more such incidents, we committed ourselves to learning more French with the hope that our crash language course would reduce the number of future confrontations and over the course of the next two travel days, we practiced French words and phrases in the car. Do you ever wonder about the thought process that goes into compiling an abbreviated list of key phrases to be included in a travel guidebook? For example, the book that we were using certainly contained many words and phrases that would prove useful during our time in France, but also included in this relatively short list of “key phrases” were things like “I have been stung by a jellyfish” and “I refuse the injection.” As you might expect, entries like these provided lots of laughter during our road trip as we plotted the strategic use of such nonsensical phrases during our stay in France. We agreed that if we found ourselves in a bind, unable to effectively communicate with our French hosts, we would just shout, “I have been stung by a jellyfish!” and see where things went from there. My favorite phrase, however, was offered by a travel writer in an article we had extracted from the New York Times and tucked into the pages of our guidebook. The writer suggested that if the reader learned only one phrase in French, it should be this one, which loosely translated, went something like this, “pardon me sir, I apologize not only for interrupting your day, but for the fact that I am not French, and as such should not expect you give me so much as the time of day, but I humbly request your assistance…” The silly thing about this phrase, other than the fact that it was entirely too long to commit to memory, was that the writer was stone cold serious about using it. We jokingly wondered aloud whether we shouldn’t we just learn something easier and more directly to the point like; “pardon me sir, would you mind lowering your fine French trousers so that I may kiss your French bum”? Did this writer really expect us to grovel at the feet of strangers each time we needed directions or some assistance? We are happy to report that we never had to avail ourselves of such silly, contrite phrases. With the exception of our first day in Chamonix, we would find the French to be delightful, and would we be treated graciously, with warmth and kindness throughout our month long stay in France. The people that we met completely broke all of the negative stereotypes. Even our periodic experiences with Parisians were nothing short of friendly and enjoyable. The second evening of the road trip to Paris found us in Beaune, France, the historic capital of Burgundy. Beaune was an enchanting town, with handsome stone buildings, cobblestone streets, smart shops and chic restaurants set within the fairytale architecture of the Middle Ages. The focus of the town is the region’s famous and expensive wines, and there were numerous cellars showcasing some of the most celebrated vineyards in France. We only had one evening to stroll around the town, but we were very impressed with what we saw that evening. On our way to dinner we stopped in one of the town’s charming public squares so the children could enjoy riding an antique carousel. As we waited, we noticed the string of attractive gray; stone buildings surrounding the square, many with steep, distinctive, colorful and decorative shingled roofs with mosaic patterns of greens, yellows and black. The steeply pitched rooflines were capped at each end by ornate iron spires. Unfortunately, I don’t know the difference between Romanesque, Gothic and Renaissance architecture. So don’t hold me literally to my descriptions, but one thing was for sure, Beaune was beautiful. We enjoyed our first restaurant dinner in France; an event that we would come to learn was nothing short of a gastronomic celebration. Although each portion was relatively small, the servings seemed endless, each level a delight. The big moment came when the kids tried escargot. Bella reminded her siblings that if they could eat a Mopane worm in Zimbabwe, they could eat a snail in France. Although each chew and swallow was treated like a moment of personal triumph, it certainly did not hurt that they were soaked in a rich sauce of butter, cream and garlic. The potty training efforts continue with Frankie. He is getting better each week and he has become more accustomed to wearing “big boy” underpants. Still, keeping anything on him is a challenge. Trying to put socks and shoes on him is like trying to shovel frogs. As has been the case throughout our trip, his body seems to reject all forms of foot cover. Whenever we return to our hotel room, he immediately begins stripping as he stumbles his way into the room, shoes flying, falling on his back tugging at his socks. Then, provided that he still has enough energy, the pants are promptly discarded. Each time we try to dress him is a like scene from a documentary, a poor native, stolen from some lost civilization, being forced by his captors to wear clothing for the first time. He squirms, and wrestles as he puts the room, and in some instances the entire floor of the hotel on notice that he is being violated. One instance in particular was amusing, as Elizabeth was trying to dress him, Frankie is shouting “help, someone is putting pants on me, help!” Not sure who he expected to come to his rescue, but referring to his mother as “someone,” some nameless assailant was enough to break the tension and fill the room with laughter, much to the chagrin of our trousered victim. Carmen continues to charm. The normally stoic French passersby seem to be as taken with Carmen as were our hosts in other countries. Her diminutive size, big brown eyes and dimpled cheeks seem to draw attention wherever we go. For those of you who have been following us, you should now know that Carmen is a world-class snuggler. She has an amazing ability to nuzzle up to you finding the perfect position before curling herself up like a cat. However, she seems to be growing increasingly jealous of competition from her younger brother. Case in point, while we were relaxing on our beds in the hotel in Beaune, I was giving Frankie some loving when Carmen crawled up to me, pulling her thumb from her mouth and looking very serious, she announced “okay, now that you have snuggled with the boy, come snuggle with the bunny!” As we say amongst ourselves, “that’s so Carmen.” Maddie and Bella continue to go a great job of staying engaged and interested. They have taken time to read about each of our destinations. As opposed to their younger sister, they rarely complain about our lengthy walking tours or our trips to museums and points of historical interest. In fact, in many instances they have been able to offer interesting observations and insights. Overall, they have been enjoyable and motivating travel mates for Elizabeth and me. Having the opportunity to see different parts of the world has been amazing, but I must say, that seeing it through the eyes of our children has been a uniquely wonderful experience. The next day we finished our drive to Paris. Visiting the City of Paris for the first time is exciting for anyone, but it was especially exhilarating for Isabella. Before we departed on the trip, we all wrote down the places we were most excited about visiting. There was only one entry on Bella’s list, Paris. So, as you might expect, Bella was particularly animated as we neared the city limits. Finally, as we crested a hill on the outskirts of Paris, Bella saw what she had been waiting to see, the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. She screamed with genuine enthusiasm, jumping from her seat to get a better view of the Parisian icon. “I have been waiting my whole life to see this!“ our grizzled nine year old exclaimed. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived at our hotel, much of her initial exhilaration had been sapped by two hours of stop and go Parisian traffic. Situated on the famous Champs-Elysees, our hotel was budget buster. Although we had used a significant amount of our credit card “points” to book a room on this swanky boulevard, we didn’t have enough for our entire stay, and, as you might imagine, the cost of lodging and dining in Paris ended up being very high indeed. But, it was worth every Euro. Our time in Paris was magnificent and “living” on the Champs-Elysees for five days made it all the more enchanting. We didn’t see all of Paris, but it was not for lack of trying. We walked further and longer than we had before and believe me that is saying something. This unusual amount of stamina was in part due to the condition of the City. Paris, another Olympic hopeful, was in prime condition for its eagerly anticipated visit by the IOC selection committee. It seemed as though every building façade, every bridge, and every monument had been power washed and fresh paint had been added where necessary. The City of Paris absolutely gleamed. The litter free streets and subways glistened, the parks were meticulously landscaped and manicured, and the canine feces landmines for which Paris had become infamous were nowhere to be found. Another explanation for our endurance was seemingly endless supply of neighborhood cafes and outdoor seating that provided us with ample opportunities to rest and refuel. Paris was wonderful for long walks. Each sunny day we would emerge from our hotel, hidden in the shadow of the Arc De Triomphe, the largest triumphal arch in the world, built to commemorate Napoleon’s victories in the early 19th century, and begin our explorations by enjoying a leisurely stroll along the venerable Avenue Des Champs-Elysees. After grabbing an espresso and some pastries, we would head off towards one of the many highlights that awaited us in Paris. Wonderful places and points of interest like The Eiffel Tower, the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, the Louvre, Sacre Coeur, the Musee d’Orsay to name a few. Unlike some cities where the destination is the focus, in Paris we found that the journey through the City to our destination to be every bit as interesting and visually delightful. At the end of each long, but satisfying day, we would find ourselves walking back along the wide, brick, grand avenue of the Champs-Elysees, the flicker of hundreds of splendid street lamps lining the boulevard, the Place De La Concorde and its Obelisk of Luxor at our backs, the illuminated Arc De Triomphe awaiting us in the distance. We all agreed that it was hard to imagine a more inviting and beautiful urban pathway in the entire world. One bright, sunny day we walked along the impressive George V Avenue, working our way toward the Place De Alma and the banks of the Seine River, periodically catching glimpses of our destination, the iconic creation of Gustave Eiffel. The neighborhoods were charming, as only Paris neighborhoods can be. Passing along the tree-lined street with its row and row of handsome stone buildings, we happened upon numerous outdoor cafes, white clothed tables full of patrons and tourists sipping wine and soaking up the mid-day sunshine. Having first met Elizabeth 25 years before at Alma College, we thought it was fitting to pause at the Place De Alma for some pictures. Looking at Elizabeth against the backdrop of Seine and the Eiffel Tower beyond, I could not help but think that she was every bit as beautiful as the day that I had met her. Crossing over the Seine at the Pont de L’Alma, we paused to take in the view. From the bridge we could see the sleek silhouette and elegant lines of the Eiffel Tower, or as Frankie called it, “the Evil Tower.” Below us lay the wide, slow moving waters of the River Seine spanned by stately iron and stone arched bridges in each direction. Each bridge was a work of art in itself. The riverbanks were lined on each side with colorful tugboats and barges gently rocking in the wake of a passing tourist cruiser. Finally we reached the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by long, wide green lawns dotted with people enjoying a leisurely spring day. Viewing the Eiffel Tower up close for the first time is quite inspiring. Gustave Eiffel’s incredible feat of 19th century architecture, with its sleek, yet powerful iron skeleton is impressive by modern standards, and I can only imagine the wonder it produced at the time it was constructed. The huge iron girders held together with millions of iron rivets, some the size of manhole covers. We sat in the lawn area for a while gazing in wonder before we decided that it was time to join the long line of tourists waiting to climb to one of the observation decks. There were three options, first level which looked plenty high, a second level around mid height and the observation deck at the top. When I asked the kids which level they wanted to go to, I was met with an immediate answer, “the top!” Of course they would want to go all the way to the top. What did I expect from my little band of thrill seekers? We huddled in a cramped elevator for our ascent to the top. Along the way I could not help but wonder whether the cable and pulley system being used to lift us was a stunningly accurate modern reproduction, or possibly the same system and components that had been used for the past hundred years. Up we climbed to the Tower’s vertigo producing top level where we were met with awesome, panoramic views of the entire City of Paris and beyond. A guide at the top told us that on this clear day, the view was somewhere in the range of 40 miles in every direction. Even though we spent well over an hour at the top, the kids did not want to leave. In addition to the magnificent views, they were thoroughly enjoying some quality time with their Aunt Louise. After we finally persuaded the troupe to move on, we descended to the first level in order to perform one the perfunctory tourist errands at the Eiffel Tower, a visit to the Tower’s post office where the kids picked out post cards to be sent, postmarked “Tour Eiffel.” After our visit, we retreated to a patch of lawn nearby and while the kids played on the lawn with Louise, Elizabeth and I set out to survey the array of handcart, food vendors. We gathered up baguettes, cheese and meats and returned with a picnic lunch. Other picnic parties and lots of couples sharing romantic embraces on the lawn surrounded us. This spring day in Paris seemed to have a uniquely dreamy feel to it. One of my favorite moments in Paris was lying on my back in the thick green grass of the park, Bella and Carmen resting their heads on my stomach, and gazing at the majestic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower against a background of a bright blue sky broken periodically by fluffy white clouds slowly floating past. The warm sun, the relaxing afternoon, the magic and romance of Paris seemed almost edible that afternoon. It has been said that Paris feeds the senses and nourishes the soul. On this particular day, I could not have agreed more. Our other excursions took us to some of the other famous Parisian landmarks. We spent an afternoon at Notre-Dame, admiring Victor Hugo’s “symphony of stone,” with its intricate façade, gothic ramparts, dramatic flying buttresses, imposing bell towers, kaleidoscopic, colossal, circular stain-glass windows and elaborately carved arched entrances encircled by various angels, demons, saints and martyrs. One entrance in particular featured the moment of truth, the soul of a recently deceased awaiting final judgment, a line of saints on one side and a ghoulish band of frightening, horned beasts on the other, some dragging terrified souls to hell. Scenes like these when combined with the sinewy forms and the horrifying faces of the gargoyles leaning over the sides of the cathedral scowling down upon the crowds made me wonder how any 14th century pilgrim could have helped but be paralyzed with fear as they stood before the enormous cathedral. We found Notre-Dame to be wonderful combination of alluring, majestic beauty and forbidding and intimidating detail. We entered the interior of this gothic masterpiece, greeting the imposing cathedral with the same awestruck wobble that I am sure visitors have been displaying for centuries. Mouths agape, we marveled at the stain glass windows, magnificent artwork in themselves, depicting stories of biblical significance, visual aids that were presumably once used to edify the uneducated congregations. With Aunt Louise in town with us for only a few more days, we made an effort to give Elizabeth and her sister some time alone. On a couple of evenings, Biz was able to wander the City of Lights with her sister, unimpeded by four tired children and an equally exhausted (and presumably grumpy) husband. On another evening, I took Carmen and Frankie back to the hotel so Biz, Louise, Maddie and Bella could do a “big girls” evening out. First they visited the stunning, white marble domes of the Roman-Byzantine marvel that is Sacre-Coeur. Perched on a hilltop overlooking Paris, the attractive exterior and fascinating, biblically themed, mosaic covered interior, are second to the main feature of Sacre-Coeur, the views of Paris from its marble dome. After soaking up Paris from afar, the girls headed back into the heart of the City to the Musee d’Orsay, to view some of its magnificent collection art by the likes of Monet, Manet, Cezzane, Van Gogh, Renoir and Matisse. Maddie and Bella declared that their visit to the Orsay, with its Impressionism collection, the largest in the world, was one of the main highlights of their time in Paris. One of the disadvantages of having very young children in Paris is that we were not comfortable taking them to any fancy restaurants, of which Paris has its share and more. The attention spans of three and five year olds are not conducive to fine dining. Having already endured the stares of disrupted fellow patrons at some of the less formal eateries around town, we were sure that our upper crust Parisian hosts would not appreciate a visit by our posse of Vandals. So, each evening, as we passed some of Paris’ many world famous gastronomic temples in route to some relatively unremarkable take-out joint, Biz and I would offer each other a consoling shrug and sigh. Part of the challenge of carting four young children around the world is keeping them engaged. There are only so many museums and points of historical and architectural significance that they can entertain before you need to break it up with something totally kid related. Throughout our journey we have taken time to engage in activities that had absolutely no educational value, but were a delight for the family. Places like Dreamworld and Wet-N-Wild in Australia and Tokyo Disney Sea in Japan. So, when it became apparent that our young traveler’s attention spans were waning, we loaded up the van and drove to Paris Disneyland. There is nothing quite as fun as watching your children, smiling from ear to ear, running hand-in-hand, dancing and twirling their way to the front gates of an amusement park. I will not forget the look on Frankie’s face when he saw his hero, Captain Hook, waiting for him on the other side of the turnstile. He ran up to the notorious buccaneer, hugging him around the leg, beaming with eyes of wonder and excitement. We spent an energetic day racing between rides and other attractions. Carmen proudly completing her first shriek filled “big kid” roller coaster ride and declaring it the “best day ever.” We even were able to carve out a special night for me to join Louise, Maddie and Bella for a long awaited visit to the Musee du Louvre. Everyone joined in our long walk to the Louvre; we passed block after block of handsome, cream colored, stone buildings with their long, narrow, vertical divided glass windows, terra cotta colored awnings, and stone turrets and majestic cupolas capped with steep black spires. We paused at the Place De La Concorde to admire the Mont Des Mers Fountain with its wonderful aquatic sculptures of carbon and gold, as well as, the golden tipped Obelisk of Luxor, looking so out of place from its original setting, adjacent to its sister obelisk, the one we had recently admired guarding the entrance to the Temple of Luxor in Egypt. We then pressed on through the splendid Tuileries Gardens where we decided to take a rest by the ponds adjacent to the L’Arc du Carrousel. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we enjoyed a few more people watching moments. As the children played around the gardens and ponds, the adults sat on benches and in chairs surrounding the ponds, faces turned up to the sun, enjoying a glorious spring afternoon. Nearby, a vendor in his blue beret was packing up his weather worn, wooden handcart for the day. I watched as he carefully piled the miniature wooden sailboats into the cart, carefully stacking each vessel so as to make room for their colorful, but faded cloth sails. After our rest, it was time for the main event, a tour of Louvre. The plan was for Elizabeth to take Carmen and Frankie back to the hotel while the rest of us explored the great museum. Carmen protested her exclusion. “I want to go to the luge!” she declared. Once we explained to her that it was museum and not an adventure sport, she reconsidered. “Oh, it’s another place with lots of pictures on the wall?” “Never mind.” The Louvre is lodged in the largest palace in Europe, constructed over centuries by a series of French rulers and is home to over 400,000 works of art. The size of the structures and its enormous collection of art simply defy my description. We could have spent several weeks inside the Louvre and not seen its entire collection, but since we only had a day, we had to come up with a realistic short list of famous works. We engaged in our own game of “Masterpiece,” each of kids armed with our short list of treasures and a map of the museum. I am slightly embarrassed to admit that we quickly serpentined past countless, priceless objects d’Art and antiquity, offering little more than glazed, casual glances as we sought our personal highlights, da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, The Winged Victory of Samothrance, Venus de Milo, Donatello’s Madonna and Child, Michelangelo’s Slaves and the Rembrandt collection. Although we had only scratched the surface, we saw what we could until closing. We are glad that we took the opportunity to orchestrate “big girl” date nights in order to expose Maddie and Bella to some of the wonders of the world of art like the Prado in Madrid, the Picasso Museum in Barcelona, the Egyptian National Museum in Cairo, the Vatican Museum in Rome and the Musees du Louvre and Orsay in Paris. Given their ages, we have been heartened by their apparent enjoyment and appreciation of art. Our relatively brief time at the Louvre having come to an end, we departed through the distinctive glass pyramid of I.M.Pei, walking out into the night and being immediately struck by the sight of an illuminated Paris shimmering before us. As we past along the Champs-Elysees we could not help but be smitten by the grandeur and beauty of the “City of Light.” After eight months on the road, everyone seemed to be showing signs of travel weariness. Astonishments and wonders aside, I was growing tired of the constant movement, and with less than two months left in our trip, my thoughts had, for the first time, began to consider all of the things that we would need to address upon our return. There was a part of me that was seriously considering cutting our trip short, but I could not help but wonder what we would be missing if we did. In the end, I was so thankful that I did not act upon this impulse, because unbeknownst to me at the time, some of the best was yet to come. We bid our last tearful goodbyes to Louise before she headed to the airport for her journey back to the United States. The time with Louise had been special for all of us and especially so for Elizabeth. From Paris we traveled to Normandy. We found the region of Normandy to be delightfully pastoral with green landscapes of rolling hills, forested valleys, orchards and fields full of fine looking dairy cows. We stayed in a delightfully situated self-catering apartment in a tiny Norman village of Connelles. The drive from the main highway to our accommodations took us through a series of quaint little French villages with their attractive two story stone buildings intermixed among half-timber cottages and shops. Places like Val de Reuil, St. Pierre de Vauvray, Herqueville and St. Etienne de Vauvray. We stayed on the grounds of the Le Manoir des Deux Amants (the Manor of Two Lovers). Our home in Normandy was in a beautiful, pastoral setting. From our half-timbered, stucco sided Norman style building, nestled along the banks of the Seine, we could relax in the sunshine and watch groups of geese and swans pass down the river amidst a Spring flurry of white, fluffy, cotton-like spores that were falling from the nearby trees. We enjoyed a relaxing week, took walks, played along the river’s edge, took out rowboats and tried to catch some of loudest croaking frogs we had ever heard. Our cottage served as a perfect home base for several side trips around the Normandy region. One of our day trips was particularly special for me. I am an avid history buff, history channel junky, have read many books about World War II in general, and D-Day in particular, been captivated by all documentaries on the subject, and absorbed in films like Saving Private Ryan and The Band of Brothers. The trip to the beaches of Normandy was a great thrill for me. In an effort to make the excursion interesting to the kids, Biz came up with a great idea. We woke the girls up early in military fashion and hustled them out of the bedroom for an early morning briefing on our objective. We used maps of the D-Day invasion and assigned them units. Maddie was to lead the Rangers in their assault on Pointe du Hoc, Bella was the 101st Airborne Division whose assignment was to parachute behind enemy lines and link up with the invasion forces of Utah Beach and Carmen was in charge of the amphibious assault on Omaha Beach. The sudden excitement, our refusal to break from military character and the newness of the approach helped to hold their interest at least for a while. I briefed them on the assault as best that I could and then offered a short history lecture on the undertakings of that Day in June 1944. During our “briefing” we tried to explain some of the history of D-Day. On June 6, 1944, the Allied Expeditionary Force launched Operation Overlord, the largest military operation in the history of the world. As the dawn broke on that cloudy, stormy day, more than 5,000 ships and landing crafts, holding 50,000 vehicles and over 150,000 men floated on the horizon just off the beaches of Normandy. Overhead, over 11,000 planes had roared, dropping hundreds of tons of bombs and thousands of parachuting members of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. We tried to have them imagine what a sight it must have been, especially for the German defenders, as they gazed in awe at the spectacle surrounding them that morning in June over 60 years ago. Maddie and Bella seemed interested in not only the details, but in my apparent enthusiasm on the subject. They reminded me that I have often said that war, and the pain and suffering that comes along with it, is a horrible thing. Something to be avoided at all cost. I tried as best I could to suggest to them that although this was certainly true, that our involvement in World War II came as close as we would ever get to a “good war,” fought for the right reasons. Our first stop along the D-Day history trail was at the American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer situated on the cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and the English Channel. One of the many cemeteries granted by France to the United States in perpetuity, without taxation, this cemetery site covers over 170 acres of meticulously landscaped grounds and contains the graves of 9,387 of our military dead, most of whom gave their lives on the first dreadful day of the landings, or in operations that followed in the first few days after the initial assault. At one end of the poignant memorial is a semicircular colonnade, at its center, a bronze statute “Spirit of American Youth.” Along the walls of the semicircular garden on the east side of the memorial were inscribed the names of over 1,500 soldiers still listed as missing in action on the peninsula. At each end of the colonnade were large maps and narratives detailing the military operations of that historic period. Although the maps and murals engraved in stone offered a wealth of historical information, the real lesson was embodied in the white marble markers situated in perfect perpendicular and diagonal lines, stretching out almost endlessly in each direction on the smooth green lawn. Both Elizabeth and I found this sight to be a surprisingly moving experience. We had no relatives buried here, had not lived through the tragedy, and yet, we both found ourselves welling up with tears and emotion. Our children, clearly confused by our reaction, walked up to each of us, giving us a hug, presumably waiting for an explanation. As we stood in the colonnade facing the cemetery, there was a beautiful reflecting pool in the foreground; beyond were the massive burial plots, surrounding a circular chapel in their center and at the far end of the graveyard, two large granite statutes representing the fellowship of France and the United States. The bright white marble grave markers of Christian crosses and Jewish Stars of David, set against the graceful contours of the emerald green grass of this peaceful resting site, radiated in the bright afternoon sunlight. Walking through the middle of one of the plots, we passed markers of two brothers killed in action in Normandy, and another pair of crosses marking the resting place of a father and son killed within days of each other. Perhaps the most poignant markers, however, were those bearing the simple inscription “Here rests in honored glory, a comrade in arms known but to God.” We paused among the rows of grave markers perfectly aligned in every direction and gazed past the bluffs overlooking Omaha beach to the azure blue waters of the English Channel beyond, and found ourselves deeply moved by the setting. Having been deeply impressed by the peacefulness and reverence of the setting, I could not help but feel that it was a fitting memorial to the extraordinary services and ultimate sacrifice of the men and women who had been laid to rest in the honored ground. Elizabeth and the kids having gone ahead, I lingered at the edge of the gravesite. While I stood there, I observed a large group of school children each holding a bouquet of flowers filing up to the steps of the nearby memorial. I was intrigued by the sight and moved closer. It was a group of French school children; my guess would be that they were eleven to thirteen years old. They were standing and intently listening to their teacher who was giving them a historical lesson about the events of D-Day and the Armee de Americain. Their level of attention impressed me. No one was snickering or fooling around. No one seemed to be daydreaming, they all appeared to be very interested in what they were being told and they all displayed a surprising appearance of solemnity. After he concluded his lesson, the children walked slowly to the nearby graves, pausing in front of them before laying their bouquets at the front of the markers. It was a very touching and enlightening moment for me. No matter what we choose to believe at home, the French have not forgotten the deeds of our forefathers, nor does it appear that they intend to anytime soon. Standing on the viewing platform at the edge of the cliff overlooking the beaches, we could begin to get a sense of the obstacles that the American landing forces faced in the early morning of June 6th, 1944. The beaches are wide at low tide, a long expanse from the water’s edge to a formidable natural barrier of grassy bluffs, some reaching over 100 feet from sea level, riddled with hollows and trenches. Further down the shore we could see the sheer cliffs that met the beach’s edge, which, as a result of confusion and mistaken landings, confronted the first waves of infantry that stormed onto “bloody Omaha.” We left the cemetery and drove down to the beach that still is known by its code name, Omaha. We walked along the now peaceful dunes. From the beach we could see a few remnants of the German defenses. Some of the German cement gun pillboxes and gun encasements still haunt the otherwise picturesque shoreline. The tide was out which exposed a deep expanse of sandy beach. A group of French children were frolicking in the sand nearby. I stood at the water’s edge and tried unsuccessfully to imagine the terror and fury that had once consumed this killing field. As we walked along the beach, it was eerie to think that 60 years ago, thousands of young men lost their lives attempting to cross this same bit of sand. With the exception of the sounds of breaking waves and the occasional excited laughter of the nearby children, the beach was now quiet, offering little hint of the terrifying combat that once took place there. Historical accounts tell a harrowing tale of what it was like to be on that same beach in 1944. As a result of the well placed mines and obstacles, many of the Allied landing crafts were destroyed before ever reaching the beaches, others had to pull back and move further down the beaches away from their planned delivery points, and still others mistakenly dropped their gates in water too deep for the soldiers to stand and as a consequence hundreds of men drowned moments after disembarking their landing craft. In the first waves of the attack, the boats that did make it through the labyrinth of mines and barricades dropped their gates amidst unrelenting machine gun and artillery fire, many of the soldiers being mowed down as soon as the gates dropped. If they were able to make it out of the water, the soldiers were forced to cross an expanse of beach under a barrage of heavy artillery triangulated on the beach and mortars pre-ranged for maximum destructive effect. Catastrophically short on their own supporting tanks (many of which hit mines or were swamped in route to the beaches) and any heavy artillery, the Americans were pinned down on the Omaha beaches. Those who had survived the run from the boats to the sand were paralyzed with indecision and fear (many of the front line officers had been killed in the first moments after disembarking). The command from Colonel Taylor designed to rally his surviving troops gives a sense of the conditions of the moment: “There are two kinds of people on this beach, the dead, and those who are going to die--now let’s get the hell out of here!“ If it were not for thinking of the commanders of a nearby destroyer flotilla, the landing at Omaha could have been a total disaster. The flotilla moved dangerously close to shallow waters and opened up a deafening barrage of close range heavy gunfire on the German gun emplacements and forces occupying the grassy ridges and cliff tops. By D-Day plus four hours, one of the main stongpoints had been knocked out by the naval fire and the battered and disoriented infantry stormed up the Colleville gap. Casualties were extremely heavy and the fighting remained murderous throughout the day. Later we drove along the narrow coastal highway past Norman brick walls, hedgerows and quaint stone villages, ancient slate-fronted houses, many of which appear today as they did when the first Allied soldiers broke through the German front lines seeking shelter and muster points to regroup for the expected counter-offensive. The trauma and sacrifice of D-Day has seeped into the fabric of the coastal Norman’s life. The drive along the coastline is peppered with museums and memorials. We stopped at several of the many monuments that dot the route. At one stop, while the kids played in the sand, I climbed up to look through the window of an old German gun emplacement, now converted into an Allied monument. I peered through the rectangular opening facing the beach, getting a sense of the wide field of fire that it provided the defenders and how vulnerable the invasion infantry must have been, trying to imagine the terror and fury of that morning. Another stop was on a high bluff overlooking the town of Arrowmanches. It was here that the Allied Expeditionary Force constructed its first real supply harbor. The story of the construction of the harbor is extraordinary. In short, the Allies had constructed artificial anchorages in England, towed them across the English Channel, sunk over sixty ships as a foundation and then secured the piers with massive concrete supports that were literally poured into the bay at Arrowmanches. Vestiges of the amazing prefabricated port could still be seen in the harbor. The great structures once used to supply the Allied forces with reinforcements and supplies in the days and months following the invasion now serve as a manmade reef. The kids were great throughout the day. Maddie and Bella could tell that this was a special excursion for me, and feigned or not, the Maddie and Bella did a wonderful job of showing interest in the activities of the day as we took them from cemeteries to monuments, to the beaches and bunkers of Normandy. Returning home we followed the River Seine as it meandered it way through the region, passing through charming Norman villages with shops filled with creamy cheeses, for which this region is well known, sausage emporiums, and alluring bakeries. This was BYOL territory. Bring your own Lipitor, because if you spend much time in this region specifically, and France in general, you better be prepared for some heavy creamed, rich, buttery, sausage-filled, triple by-pass specialties. Now, speaking as a Chicagoan of the Saturday Night Live “Superfan” genre, there are no finer words in the English language than “encased meats,” so this was dangerous territory for me. I had throughout our trip been trying to lose weight. Up until we arrived in Italy, I had successfully dropped twenty pounds and was feeling better about my shape. Unfortunately, I hit a bit of a snag in Tuscany and by the time we left France my fate had been sealed. In my defense, I would challenge anyone to spend two months in Italy and France and not put on a few “stones.” Although my weight gain relapse was most unfortunate, the food was so very good, and I spent little time regretting my setback. Another of our side trips was to Giverny, the home of Claude Monet during the last 40 years of his life. Maddie and Bella were especially excited to see the setting that was Monet’s inspiration for many of the beautiful paintings that they have recently seen in the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. We arrived at the famous green trimmed pink house with its distinctive green shutters. The home and gardens have been restored and are now lovingly maintained by the Claude Monet Foundation. The interior of the home has been restored using the original vibrant, single colors that he favored. The walls of the home were covered with his extraordinary collection of Japanese wood block prints and copies of many of his most famous works, the originals of which are scattered among the renowned art museums of the world. The real attraction, however, was the magnificent gardens. We followed a gravel path through rows of brilliant blooming flowerbeds and vine covered trellis to the famous lily pond. Bella, whose middle name, Linnea, was taken from a story we had read about these gardens years ago, seemed to feel a kindred spirit with this splendid setting. The beauty of the blossoming gardens, the peacefulness of the pond and the fragrance of the blossoms made for a magical setting. The lilies seemed to drift serenely on the tranquil pond under the shadows of large willow trees. At one end of the pond was an old green wooden rowboat tied off to a pier as though the old master himself had just returned from a leisurely float. At the other end of the pond was Monet’s famous arching, wooden, Japanese footbridge, the object of so many of his works. We tried to imagine Monet sitting for hours tracing the changing light during the summers in the French countryside, having 30 canvases working at the same time. It was not difficult to imagine how Monet had found his inspiration here. Resting on an antique, green painted bench, shaded under the span of a flowering tree, Elizabeth and I gazed across the sun speckled lily covered pond toward the arched Japanese bridge, covered and entangled with a myriad of flowering vines, and felt a soul soothing peacefulness passing over us. It was a wonderful moment of meditation that was broken by the squeals of Frankie and Carmen wrestling over something really important, like a stick. On our return we stopped in the village of Vernon. Spreading out our blanket in a grassy area near the banks of the Seine, an area shaded by the long shadow cast from the remains of a nearby 12th century castle we enjoyed a picture perfect, Kodak moment, picnic lunch. After lunch we laid in the sun soaking up the ambiance. That is, until our post prandial lull was abruptly interrupted when a crazy teenage French moped rider decided that the quickest route between the street and her friends was right through the middle of our picnic. “C’est la vie.” One of the more edifying parts of our trip has been to watch young children, without the benefit of a shared language, interact and communicate on a refreshingly basic and innocent level. Completely devoid of any preconceived prejudices or ideas about each other, children can provide a wonderful lesson to all of us. We had seen this illustrated time after time throughout our trip, usually it involved Carmen and another little girl whom she had never met. This time it was the turn for a little French boy and Frankie to offer us with a message about the best of human nature. We were visiting a play space in St. Lo when a young French boy approached Frankie. As he spoke to Frankie in French, he gestured excitedly to Frankie about the nearby covered slide and play fort. They paused there together looking at each other, Frankie turned to us and said “he is my friend,” we nodded, and away they went up into the labyrinth of chutes and ladders. Although neither spoke the other’s language, we heard an endless series of excited, bilingual shouts, roars and laughter coming from the play tubes. Sometimes we forget how much we can learn from our young children. Our final day trip from our wooded setting in Connelles was to Mont-St-Michel. In route we passed through the “bocage” landscape of hedgerows lining the Norman fields, the same hedgerows that had proved murderous for the Allied advance in the early days and weeks after the D-Day invasion. Along the way we stopped in a relatively non-descript French town, one not highlighted on any of our maps as a place of historical significance. I mention this because what we found in the center of town was inspirational. At town center was a statute to an American officer that had lead the forces that liberated the village in 1944. This was not a designated stop along the “D-Day Le Choc” historical route, there were no souvenir shops catering to potential Operation Overlord tour groups, just a small French village, one of many that still honors the memory of one of its liberators. We continued south and east until we had neared our destination. There far in the distance, across a sheep covered pasture and green expanse of low-lying farmland loomed the isolated, granite fortress city of Mont St-Michel. The astonishing abbey and fortress rise from the surrounding landscape like a volcano. It had been described as one of the most spectacular sights in Normandy, and it did not disappoint. According to medieval cannons, the Archangel Michael appeared one night in 708 AD to Aubert, Bishop of Avranches, instructing him to build a church in Michael’s honor on the islet known as Mont Tombe. Apparently the Bishop had some difficulty understanding the message, perhaps mistaking the apparition for a dream, because the Archangel had to return three more times to repeat the command before finally deciding to burn a hole into the Bishop’s head for good measure. Shortly thereafter, the charred cleric founded a church, the site was consecrated and the building of the cathedral began. Over the centuries, pilgrims from across Europe visited the site, and a terraced, fortress city slowly took shape around the base of the small island. For centuries, the townsfolk, pilgrims and clergy passed from the island to the mainland each day during low tide when the water surrounding the island receded a distance of 10 miles off shore, revealing the hard packed mud and sandy bottom of the bay. In the late 19th century, a pedestrian causeway was constructed from the mainland to the islet. We arrived during low tide and it was amazing to see the entire bay empty. After we had spent a considerable amount of time frolicking in the sand and tide pools, we crossed the bridge and entered the imposing fortress village through a small gap in the medieval ramparts (an entrance that is covered by water at high tide) and followed a steep incline along narrow, stone streets, passing under a number of grand stone archways carved in the rings of inner walls. Along the steep alleyways, we passed cafes, shops, restaurants and a number of 14th and 15th century half-timber homes and clusters of stone monastic buildings, the path narrowing and becoming more steep the closer we drew to the abbey. We spent the rest of the day exploring this intriguing wonder before retreating back along the causeway as the bay began to slowly refill. Reflecting back on our time in Normandy, we would whole-heartedly recommend the region to anyone looking for a region in France to camp themselves for a week or two. We found this home to artists of both the canvas and the kitchen to be full of charm, spirit and history. As I had mentioned earlier in this dispatch, by the time we were leaving Paris, both Elizabeth and I were growing weary of constant travel. We had seriously discussed the pros and cons of ending our trip early in order to tackle the logistics of our planned move from Chicago to Ann Arbor. But, the realities of handling our affairs back home were really just an excuse. For the prior eight months, we had been moving from place to place, maintaining an extraordinarily active schedule, exploring day after day with little down time. We had tired of living out of suitcases, in generally cramped quarters, and sleeping in unfamiliar and uncomfortable beds. With this in mind, the rejuvenation we experienced during our weeklong canal boat trip in Burgundy was nothing short of miraculous. The boat trip was extraordinary and it served to completely revive our weakening spirit and gave us new energy and enthusiasm to continue the journey. A canal boat trip was a multi-generational success. Elizabeth and I reveled in its leisurely pace, the camaraderie it engendered and the marvelous beauty of the countryside we encountered. The children had an absolute ball living on the boat for a week and seemed to draw surprising enjoyment out of assisting with the relatively mundane tasks involved in effecting our passage. For example, they thoroughly enjoyed, even argued over, the opportunity to assist the lock keepers in opening and closing the numerous locks we passed through each day. They loved jumping on their bikes and riding along the towpaths that bordered the canals and rivers, and through the quaint little villages that we passed along the way. They were always energized to make our daily trips into the nearby villages to get provisions like bread, cheese, meat and dry goods. For that time of year, May, the weather could hardly have been more remarkable. A series of warm, bright sunny days lifted our moods and provided plenty of occasions for outdoor activities. Most evenings, we would moor within view of some quaint French village, enjoy our sunset dinner on the rooftop deck and then retire below for a rousing game of cards. At night, the cool evening air would fill the cabin and we would be serenaded to sleep by the chirping and croaking sounds of the local insects and amphibians. One evening we drove mooring stakes into the riverbank and spent the night in a heavily wooded area in complete exclusion. We built a campfire at the river’s edge and spent the evening telling stories in the flickering light of the blaze. We began in the town of Mingennes and ended in Chatel Censoir. Our first day, we were all very excited to get underway. While the rest went shopping for provisions, I got the “quick” course on piloting a 13 X 4 meter vessel. The first lock, a 10-foot drop, was stressful. As we were waiting for the lock to open we began to drift with the current and we soon found ourselves lodged diagonally in the canal. With the help of a wonderful couple from Belgium, we were finally able to free our boat and pass into our first lock. Once we passed through the first lock, we seemed to find our comfort zone. Maddie and Bella did a great job of tying us off in the next two locks and just like that, “Voila” we were a seasoned canal boat crew. We loved the boat. It had lots of space in the cabin below and plenty of area on the open deck above. The boat had dual controls, a set down below and another on the sun deck, which is where we spent most of our time. The kids all took turns steering the boat, much to their enjoyment. We motored down the Yonne River, and with the approaching sunset shimmering on the surface of the calm river and casting its honey glow on the white poplar trees lining the riverbanks, we pulled alongside a floating pontoon mooring, nestled alongside a pleasant campground, and watched the sunset over the river. On day two we motored from Bonnard to Auxerre. Wow, what a difference a day can make. We passed through eight locks with little or no trouble or stress. The girls performed like well-trained, well-disciplined naval personnel, tying us off, holding us steady as the locks filled, and untying us, all with relative ease. Along the way, we took the opportunity to make use of the bikes that we rented. At one of the locks, we unloaded the bikes and the children rode along the dirt towpath that borders the river, disappearing for stretches of a time, but always rejoining us at the next lock. We arrived at one of the locks to discover that it was French Mother’s Day and the European Union national referendum day, so we had to wait for a few hours for the lockkeeper to return from lunch and voting. We made use of the time by having a leisurely lunch on deck and then exploring the nearby village of Gurgy in search of a shop well known for its escargot. Unfortunately, the “Escargot to Go” shop was closed, but we had a fun time riding around this charming, stone village. Just before sunset we arrived in Auxerre, the largest French town that we would encounter during our trip. Appearing to be right out of the Middle Ages, Auxerre was an attractive town with plenty of architectural appeal. Towering on a hilltop overlooking the river were the stonewalls and spires of the ancient, Gothic Saint Etienne Cathedral. Arching stone bridges could be seen in each direction spanning the river, which at this point had widened considerably. We squeezed in along the banks near town and spent the evening “mooring and exploring.” We enjoyed a nice sunset dinner on deck as the bells of the cathedral tolled in the background. The kids loved feeding the ducks that surrounded our boat looking for bread and other handouts. Frankie continues to abhor clothing. He is most comfortable when he is naked. The only condition we placed on his nudity was that he had to wear a life jacket when he was roaring around up on deck. I am sure this made for quite a sight for passing boaters, our naked Captain Winky (as he is affectionately referred to by the crew) climbing up and down the ladders between decks and racing from bow to stern. We soon discovered that canal boating is a very social endeavor. Each evening, after we had moored, strangers from nearby boats would approach, extra beers in hand, say hello and introduce themselves. Because most of the boats covered the same distance each day, these new friends would stay with us for the entire week. We met so many nice folks from many parts of Europe and the world, including kind strangers from Belgium, England, Ireland, Italy, South Africa and Australia. On our third day we passed from the Yonne River into the Canal du Nivernais. The scenery remained stunning, green rolling pasture lands and hilly banks. The canal was more narrow, but still sufficiently wide to allow two boats to pass from each direction. Once again, we passed through many locks. We adopted a routine at the locks where we would take the bikes off while we wait for the lock to fill and Biz and three of the kids would ride along the tow path to the next lock. Meanwhile, one of the children and I captained the boat, actually soaked up sun, occasionally looking up to make sure that we were somewhere near the middle of the canal. When we arrived at the next lock, the bikers would rally, grab our ropes and tie us off. Then we shuffle up the bike team and I would repeat the exercise with a new first mate. We moored early that day along side the entrance to a famous winery, carved into abandoned quarries situated on a hillside near the river. The winery was deep within an old granite mine, the granite once towed by animals along the canal to Paris to build its many stone masterpieces. Now, the quarry is a winery where over five million bottles of the local vintage are stored. Later, we rode our bikes into the nearby towns of Vincelottes and Vincelles where we explored the picturesque, rustic stone villages, bought our daily supply of fresh bread, quiches, meats and cheeses and wine from local shops and then enjoyed a brilliant ride back along the green, tree canopied canal road. The day was full of blue skies, warm sun, and tasty ice cream breaks. We ventured into the sleepy little town of Bailly in search of the studio of a local artist of some renown, Georges Hosette, but his gallery was closed that day. Returning to the boat, the scene from the tops of the hills lining the canal was breathtaking. Drawn by the allure of the nearby winery and already somewhat intoxicated by the surrounding beauty and a wonderful day, Biz and I took a chance. We asked Maddie and Bella to watch Carmen and Frankie while we walked up the hill to visit the winery. Leaving our children for even a short time required extensive planning. Before we left, we conducted a man overboard drill, showing Maddie and Bella the proper way to throw the life ring, made everyone put life jackets on, locked all the hatches, except for the one leading to shore and said a prayer. Our visit to the winery was brief, and we had lingering doubts about our decision throughout, but we managed to take a quick tour through the chilly granite cave and taste a couple of wines before we headed back to the boat. Since we really have had very little time together alone during our trip, even a half-hour was fun and exhilarating. Of course, we could not stop worrying that something terrible would befall our children while we were gone, but lingering concerns notwithstanding, we had a perfectly wonderful, albeit brief, date at the Bailly winery. After spending nearly two days at Bailly, we decided to move up the canal a few miles for the evening. We passed through a couple more locks and then moored alongside a park near the town of Vincelles. It was a pleasant little town that seemed to spread out in each direction from the village chapel. We played games in a nearby park, kicked a soccer ball around, and tried a little fishing off the dock before retiring to our deck for some delicious steaks and (for the adults) some wonderful home grown red wine as we watched the sun set behind the stone village. We played cards by candlelight and then retired to our bunks, the sound of a nearby waterfall providing a perfect background for sleep. The next day we traveled from Vincelles to Mailly Le Chateau. A full-time lockkeeper tended each of the locks along the canal. The keepers live in state-owned, small brick and stone homes built alongside the locks. Each keeper puts their own personal touches to their houses and the locks. Many were elaborately landscaped. Most of the keepers had something to sell to the passing boaters. Items like syrup, bread, wine, home-canned vegetables and fruits to name a few. Madeline and Bella love to assist with the locks and the keepers were great, letting them turn the cranks to open and close the lock doors. Often the keepers would engage the children in casual conversation while they waited for the locks to fill or empty. This simple, relatively menial task became a highlight of each day as we passed through lock after lock. Before we departed, we ventured into Vincelles to shop for our daily fresh provisions. We happened upon a farmer’s market in the village square and loaded up on more baguettes, fresh vegetables and a couple of garlic roasted chickens. Another gorgeous day ensued filled with leisurely bike rides, card games with the Captain and plenty of nice scenery to absorb. When Carmen and I were alone on the boat, we enjoyed long conversations mixed with card games, puzzle assembly, and sporadic boat steering. Carmen was the perfect travel companion and a darn good first mate as well. Frankie and Carmen had invented a game to pass the time. The “fisherman” game was basic, but provided hours of entertainment for Frankie. Standing on the deck above, Frankie would toss a rope down the hatch to the girls who would tie something like a stuffed animal or a spoon. Then they would shout “fish on” and Frankie would excitedly yank it his catch and put it in a bucket. Along the way we passed more beautiful stone villages, charming chateaus, and rustic manor homes with thick thatched roofs, colorful shutters, and flower boxes full of all sorts of vibrant visual delights. Between the towns we passed through pastoral settings, fat brown and white cows grazing along the river banks, and verdant rolling hills broken periodically by patches of thickly wooded areas and splashes of bright red wild poppy fields. Near dusk we arrived at the seemingly deserted village of Mailly le Chateau. A picturesque parish set high on the banks of the river. From the river we followed sets of steep stone steps leading up a hill to an impressive castle overlooking the countryside. We encountered no one along the way. The shops were closed and there was no traffic. At the summit, we rested and soaked in the breathtaking view of the river below and the surrounding valley. We had chosen to moor outside of the village, along the river, using mooring stakes so that we would be completely alone for the evening. We camped close to a 16th century stone arched bridge and near a small shrine dedicated to St. Nichols, the patron saint of barges. We gathered up firewood and, after enjoying a sumptuous dinner of garlic roasted chicken and curried potatoes, enjoyed had an enchanting evening around the campfire under a canopy of brilliant stars. Our final leg took us to Chatel Censoir. Along the way we made an impromptu stop, pulling along the banks of the river in a secluded area near a beautiful stone arch bridge. We moored under the shade of an enormous oak tree, took our table off the deck and set it on the shore, and enjoyed a glorious picnic lunch in the pastoral setting, sipping wine while the kids rode their bikes. It was just this type of moment that epitomizes the relaxing nature of our canal boat experience. We had arrived a day early so we spent the day moored and did a day trip to the enchanting hilltop town of Vezelay. Vezelay was one of the charming, picturesque and history rich French towns that we visited. This striking medieval village sits high on a hilltop. As we headed towards our primary destination in Vezelay, the famous Basilica of St. Mary Magdalene, we followed the steep, narrow, winding, cobblestone streets. Passing through thick 12th century stonewalls, we encountered intriguing retail shops and restaurants along the way. It was here that we happened upon the gallery that represents the artist, Georges Hosette, exclusively. This was the artist that we had heard of during our boat trip, and we had seen some of his works in the little village of Bailly earlier in the week. We fell in love with an oil painting he had done of a stretch of the river that we had just traveled and had it shipped back home. The dramatic Basilica of St. Mary Magdalene crowns the top of “eternal hill” as we came to name the long winding stretch leading upwards from the base of the village to the cathedral. The basilica is one of Europe's largest and best-preserved Romanesque churches. Erected in the 12th century in Mary Magdalene’s honor, the cathedral purports to guard the bones and relics of Mary Magdalene. The church is an important stop along France’s pilgrimage trail and is one of the holiest places in French Christendom. Its Romanesque stone exterior was ornately sculpted with biblical scenes and an inspiring, intricately carved scene called “Christ in Glory.” Entering the cathedral, we were greeted by the hushed tones of a mass in progress. The white robed clergy, dwarfed under the towering, sixty foot high vaulted arches, passed back and forth across the altar, chanting, and swinging incense cauldrons as a large choir filled the cavernous cathedral with wonderful religious songs. We sat in the back and watched the ceremony steeped in tradition and mystery unfold. It seemed a fitting end to a magical week in France. As I suggested earlier, our canal boat experience seemed to get better and better each day. At week’s end we found ourselves more relaxed and energized than we had been for quite some time. Just when we were growing weary of the travel and beginning to look forward to returning home, we had one of best weeks of the trip, which served to completely rejuvenate us. We are now looking forward to the remainder of our trip with renewed enthusiasm. When we planned our trip, we wondered whether allocating a month to France was too much. In retrospect, we harbored no misgivings, judging our time in France to be perfect, not only in duration, but in experience. The only misgiving or regret that I have was that I was never able to find an opportunity to shout in French, “Help, I have been stung by a jellyfish!” NEXT DISPATCH. THE NETHERLANDS We look forward to keeping in touch with you. If you have a moment, please email us at ourworldtrip@aol.com.

December 19, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Dispatch #36 Tuscany, Italy

Dispatch # 36 Tuscany, Italy April-May, 2005 “Under Tuscan Skies in the Center of the World, the David and a Family Reunion ” For three weeks we made our home in a farmhouse outside of the small Tuscan village of Montespertoli. Thanks to our friends, Sandro Cuircina and Vicky Jader, who made their home available for us to rent, we were able to enjoy three delightful weeks in one tranquil location, which was a rare treat for our group of traveling nomads. Our time in Tuscany, however, produced mixed emotions. We loved the area, the farmhouse and the relaxed lifestyle. We had not been any one place for an extended period of time for quite awhile. Having an opportunity to settle in as we did, it made us homesick for a lifestyle away from constant movement. Although we remain excited to see France, The Netherlands, England and Ireland and the wonders that await us in each of these locations, we have grown weary of the constant traveling. Our lifestyle was best summed up by, who else, little Carmen, in a conversation we had one afternoon in the town square of Montespertoli. We were in the middle of our daily routine, a trip into town to buy some provisions, a cappuccino and a round of delicious gelato from the local gelateria. As we were sitting in the shade watching the locals stroll about the square, Carmen returned from playing with a local girl. She sat down next to us and sighed. “Having a good time?” we inquired. “Yah, but I can’t understand a thing that the Spanish girl is saying” Carmen replied. Elizabeth and I exchanged amused glances. “Carmen, what country are you in right now?” I asked. She thought for a moment and then she let out a big sigh, shrugged her shoulders, smiled and she said, “You know, I have no idea.” We thought it was a perfect response, indicative of our ever-changing lifestyle. Most importantly during our stay in Tuscany, we were able to meet up with friends and family. Our neighbors, Jane and Bob Bistry, who were traveling with Jane’s parents, sister and brother-in-law, met us in Siena for an afternoon. It was a pleasure to meet Jane’s relatives and we appreciated them sharing some of their vacation time with us. Later in the week Elizabeth’s sisters, Louise and Sabrina, and Sabrina’s husband, Doug, joined us. It was wonderful to finally see family after ten months! We reveled in the laughter, conversation and familiarity. It reminded us how much we enjoy our families and how much we miss them. Having a house with a yard and lanes to explore was a special treat for us. Having spent three quarters of a year on the road, moving from place to place every few days and living in relatively confined spaces, the kids enjoyed the luxury of having an entire house to spread out in and a yard to play in. Frankie was especially energetic, playing for hour’s outdoors, usually wearing his pirate hat. On the warmest days, we let him play with the hose, which he did with an absolute relish. His favorite past time by far, however, was the little red bench swing. It didn’t matter how long we pushed him in that swing, he would always ask for more. Between the two of us, Elizabeth and I must have gone outside to give him a swing at least a dozen times a day. You may have gathered that during our stay in Tuscany, the weather was very cooperative. It was, perhaps, unseasonably warm, but this meant days of bright sunshine filled with lots of outdoor play and exploration. It also meant warm daytime breezes full of wonderfully fragrant scents provided by hillsides full of beautiful flowering trees and bushes. The evenings were comfortably cool and we were treated to some spectacular Tuscan sunsets. Everyone we’ve ever met that has traveled to Italy has loved it. Before we arrived, we had gathered that Tuscany was a special place, but we were afraid that our experience might not live up to our rising expectations. Italy reveled itself in subtle ways during our time there and we too were taken in by her beauty and unchanged lifestyle. We found Tuscany to be a charming and relaxing. For us, Tuscany seemed to belong to the past, to a culture and lifestyle that has remained relatively unchanged for centuries. The villages we visited in the hills outside of Florence were strung together like pearls along the “just-over-one lane wide” country roads that ran through the region. We had an opportunity to visit many of the surrounding towns and villages during out stay. Each village was centered on a plaza, surrounded by delightful shops, restaurants, a pharmacy, a bakery, a supermarket, and most importantly, a gelateria. There were no shopping centers, no huge discount stores or malls. No matter how small, each village had a vibrant town center and each little storefront was occupied by a business. Each shop seemed to honor the other’s specialty. Rather than being put off by the inconvenience of having to visit several stores for our provisions, we found it very enjoyable. One shop for the bread, another for cheese, another for meat, another for pastries, and so on. We enjoyed biking into town to collect our fresh food for the day, selecting our favorite shops from the tiny stores that lined the square. I had a favorite butcher shop, Elizabeth a favorite cheese store, Maddie had her favorite shop for strawberries, Bella couldn’t pass the local bakery without buying a cake or treat and Frankie and Carmen always left town with a baguette in hand and a belly full of gelato. Having a gelato every day, and enjoying it in the relaxed environment of the town square, was a ritual that we will greatly miss. The local square of our adopted town, Montespertoli, also served as the daily central meeting place for the residents of the village. The town plaza was perfectly outfitted with a small outdoor café serving coffee, snacks, beer and wine, a gelateria nearby and lots of benches and shaded areas. It seemed as though the entire town would turn out each day in the late afternoon, shopping, strolling, snacking, and conversing well into the evenings. Old men and women sitting in groups on park benches provided a glimpse of a seemingly timeless way of life in this small Italian village. Each day, amid children riding bikes and playing, we watched multiple generations of Italians engaged in animated conversations and enjoying each other’s company. Often we would observe three generations of Italians strolling arm-in-arm around the square. Their sense of family and community was evident. We thought about how unfortunate it is that much of this has been lost in so many towns around America. The proliferation of mega malls, superstores and discount chains has drawn us away from our town squares and shuttered our ma-and-pa businesses. The value our culture has placed on industry and convenience has left us with little time to stroll and to talk with one another. In our opinion, the loss of our “downtowns” back home has come at an even greater cost than just the empty storefronts of lost small businesses that could no longer compete; it has to varying degrees cost us our sense of community. Someone once said “The god who created the hills around Tuscany was an artist” and we could not agree more. The lighting outdoors seemed to provide a uniquely vibrant and broad spectrum of colors. The patchwork of grape vines, olive groves and grazing fields not only made for picturesque visual images; they filled the air with a pleasant, earthy aroma. These sensory perceptions, combined with gentle days, filled with lots of sunshine, created the impression that everything around us was growing before our very eyes. Although we thoroughly enjoyed relaxing at home, we couldn’t resist taking some day trips in the area. In addition to visiting several nearby small villages and towns, from our base in Montespertoli, we also visited several of larger and more famous cities in the area. We had the opportunity to visit Florence four times, and we traveled twice to each of San Gimignano, Pisa and Siena. On these day trips, we would pass through Chianti country, with its cream colored farmhouses, terra cotta roofs, emerald green fields spotted with patches of wild, bright red poppies, farm lanes lined with narrow cypress trees, and rolling hills dotted with olive trees and lined with grape vines. Ultimately we would arrive at beguiling places like San Gimignano and Siena, where we were greeted by picturesque, hilltop, walled cities, hemmed in by russet colored medieval walls, and crowned with majestic stone towers. Once within the city walls we would follow the winding, narrow streets and alleyways made of rough-hewn paving stones, and lined with quaint restaurants and retail stores tucked into “been-there-forever” buildings. Each town that we visited was centered on a beautiful piazza, which still served as a gathering place for its citizens just as it had for centuries. Although my descriptions of the Tuscan villages and towns that we visited sound very similar, that is simply due to my finite vocabulary. In actuality, we found each town to be quite different, and to suggest otherwise would be like saying “Seen one Michelangelo, seen them all.” After exploring the historical points of interest we would find a seat in the wide-open, sun-soaked piazzas and soak up the relaxed atmosphere that permeated the plaza. In order to enter Siena, an alluring relic of the Middle Ages, we had to pass through medieval gates and walk down stone streets, past Gothic churches and historic two-story stone buildings, all of which stood the shadows of the ancient fortress towers which stood sentinel over the town. One of the main highlights of our visits to Siena was lounging in the sun in the middle of the fan shaped, sloping public plaza, the Piazza Del Campo. The huge brick piazza, terminus for a maze of winding narrow streets, was lined with restaurants and shops. The piazza floor was divided into nine segments, each with its own distinctive brick pattern (the nine segments apparently represented the Council of Nine that once governed the city). It was in the Piazza Del Campo that we met up our neighbors from Chicago, Bob and Jane Bistry. They recognized us from afar when they spotted a family sitting on the bricks in the middle of the piazza with pizza boxes spread out around them. While we enjoyed a glass of wine with Bob and Jane during our first visit, Madeline and Isabella joined Jane’s family in climbing to the top of the Torre Del Mangia bell tower which stood three hundred and thirty feet above the bustling Piazza Del with its splendid Fonte Gaia fountain below. Maddie and Bella enjoyed the climb so much that they repeated the feat a few days later when they guided Elizabeth, Doug, Sabrina and Louise to the top of the tower. While we were in Siena, we visited Siena’s famous Duomo (cathedral), with its distinctive façade of alternating bands of black, white, green and pink marble. Inside the cavernous Duomo and far below the dramatic vaulted ceiling, which was painted blue with gold stars, we were able to view rare works of painting and sculpture. Although we agreed that our favorite visual delight was the imposing octagonal pulpit designed by Nicola Pisano with its marvelous mosaic inlaid marble flooring and ornately carved wooden panels. Off the main altar we explored anterooms, which served as libraries, some lavishly frescoed, and most containing rare religious works of art and centuries old hand painted and scripted bibles. Our resident scholar, Madeline, was especially intrigued by the enormous, over-sized and elaborately hand painted bibles with their faded pages. I left the anteroom several times and each time, I returned to find Maddie intently studying the ancient texts. Fully expecting a memorable quote or weighty observation that I could include in my next dispatch I asked “So what do you make of these?” She considered the question for a moment, then pointed excitedly to the small pieces of tattered paper that stuck out from the bound pages, and said…(drum roll, please) “Check out the funky medieval post-it notes!” Siena was a wonderful city to walk around. We spent hours exploring the side streets and alleyways. Along the way we passed several small plazas that were adorned with the colorful flags and emblems of some of the ancient city’s seventeen contradas, or parishes. Each neighborhood had its own crest, colors and animal mascot. From speaking with some of the residents we learned that there are intense ancient rivalries between the contradas and within each parish, the loyalty to the residents is fierce. The biggest event of the year in Siena is the Palio, a combination of the Kentucky Derby and the Mardi Gras. It is held twice a summer on July 2nd and August 16th. In preparation for the race, tons of dirt are brought into the Piazza Del Campo and the plaza is transformed into a racetrack. Tens of thousands of spectators pack the plaza. Drawn by lot, ten of the seventeen contradas are represented in the race. Prior to the race, there is a grand spectacle with a parade of pageantry, drummers, banner bearers, and uniformed members of each contrada dressed in colorful costumes dating back to the times of the Renaissance. Prior to the race, the contradas compete in such things as synchronized flag throwing, an ancient competition that Sienese youth practice from an early age. The winner of the ninety second long race captures the “Silk Palio” and the celebration in the winning neighborhood apparently continues for days and even weeks after the race. Our trips to San Gimignano were some of our favorite excursions. The town was as intriguing as its name was difficult to pronounce. We trying about a half dozen different pronunciations, we settled with “San G.” Thirteen ancient stone towers dominated the medieval skyline of San G. There once were 72 of these imposing fortress towers, which must have been an awe-inspiring sight for Roma-bound pilgrims and travelers as they approached the city from the surrounding countryside. The town has managed to maintain a vibrant atmosphere even though it is over 700 years removed from its heydays. As with all of the Tuscan cities that we visited, the serious nature of the fortress fortifications was softened by quiet narrow, winding streets leading to relaxing and harmonious piazzas. In San G, we lingered in some of the main piazzas, the Piazza del Duomo and the nearby Piazza della Cisterna (named after the well that stood at the heart of the town) munching on slices of thin pizza and soaking up the Tuscan sunshine. We traveled to Pisa on two occasions as well. As with most pilgrimages to Pisa, we went there to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We were not disappointed. The famous tilted structure was set in a wide-open green space called the Campo dei Miracoli or the “Field of Miracles.” Approaching the Tower we were struck by not only its fabled slant, but also by its shear architectural beauty. Set against a perfect blue sky, the stone Tower with its intricate façade leaned before us like an elegant white birthday cake gleaming under the bright mid-day sunlight. The delightful Duomo and Bapistry, which shared the Campo dei Miracoli with the legendary Leaning Tower, were wonderful architectural masterpieces in and of themselves. The Duomo, with its intricate white façade and dramatic columns, was one of the finer buildings that we saw during our stay in Italy. However, our eyes were continuously drawn back to the Tower. Construction was begun in 1173, but the Tower had begun to sink in the sandy subsoil before the structure was half completed. Apparently, the Pisans did not let a little thing like structural integrity bother them and they continued during the course of the next hundred years to finish the six-story tower. The Leaning Tower of Pisa has been thumbing its nose at the natural laws of gravity ever since. Speaking of gravity, the “heretic” Galileo Galilei was a frequent visitor to the Tower. He used the Tower as a part of his then controversial experiments on the subject of gravity. Although a major stabilization project had just been completed, we are happy to report that famous Tower has been shored up to a prudent, but infinitely photogenic lean. For most visitors to Tuscany, side trips such as the ones we took to Siena, San Gimignano and Pisa are merely a warm up for the big event, Florence. When Italy consisted of dozens of principalities, its art treasures were concentrated in many small capitals, each blessed with the patronage of a papal representative or a ducal family. Consequently, cities like Florence, thanks in part to its benefactors, the Medici family, became a treasure trove of exquisite paintings, statues and frescos, which were displayed in churches, monasteries and palaces. Our first trip into Florence was a bit frustrating. The traffic and congestion was a turn-off. We found ourselves lost several times, and once we found parking at the centrally located terminal station, convenient for exploring the city, the crowded, narrow sidewalks and a gauntlet of street vendors made it difficult for our little band to get to our destination, the sculpture of David at the Galleria dell Accademia. Clearing a path through the narrow, congested sidewalks and alleyways was a simple as turning on Carmen’s “Scuzzi Siren. “ Once Carmen had learned that “Scuzzi” meant, “Excuse me, “she became adept at sitting in the seat of the double stroller, singing “Scuzzi, Scuzzi” in a little sing-song voice that sounded vaguely like the tone of a European police siren. The initial hassles aside, viewing Michelangelo’s sculpture of the biblical figure, David, up close made our first sputtering foray into Florence well worth the effort. Someone famous once said, “After seeing the sculpture of David, there is no reason to see any other sculpture.” We could understand why. Created by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) at the age of 29, the David ensured Michelangelo’s place as one of the great Renaissance artists. Set under a glass skylight portico, the David stood seventeen feet tall and was magnificent to behold. We marveled at Michelangelo’s detailed reconstruction of the human form, and his immense talent for expressing monumental power and grace through the male nude. The subtlety of the sling draped across his back seemed to emphasize the strength of David’s intellect over his brute force, and yet the pose of the muscular figure displayed a real sense of physical power. Chiseled from a single piece of marble, the David was an unusually moving piece of art. We found ourselves mesmerized by the giant. While others came and went, we sat on the floor, against the wall opposite the sculpture and soaked up the beauty of the David. We found the statute and its meditative pose, so fluid and graceful, mesmerizing. Personally, I was not prepared for the size of the sculpture or for the incredible detail of the carving. Michelangelo’s detail of the musculature of the human anatomy was exquisite, and it appeared as though the master had chiseled every vein and muscle into his work. We sat for well over an hour and a half gazing at the David while Isabella and Madeline sketched their impressions of the masterpiece into their journals. After a thrilling audience with The David, we returned to the streets of Florence and pushed our way through some of the congested surrounding neighborhoods, only to be initially under whelmed by the city. This was in part due to the congestion and part to our unfamiliarity with the city. So, we retreated back to the hills of Tuscany with the sinking feeling that we might end up being the first travelers not to declare Florence one of their favorite cities. For most of us, the highlight of our first trip into Florence was the David. But, for Frankie, his first encounter with Florence was a life changing experience. Recently we have been trying to potty train our son not only because we felt it was time, but also because we needed to free up some luggage space that up until recently had been devoted to our stash of disposable diapers. So, when Frank announced in no uncertain terms that he had to go “Pee-pee” we scrambled to find a public restroom. What started out as a simple side trip quickly turned into a mad dash as each set of directions we were given resulted in a dead end. As Frankie’s plaintive cries of “I gotta go, I gotta go!” mounted we finally saw a sign for public lavatories that directed us down a dimly lit alleyway. Unfortunately, the facilities were locked; a small handwritten sign told us that they were closed for a couple hours for repair. For Biz and I the choice was obvious. We wheeled Frankie around, pulled down his pants and instructed him to go in the alley. We were cognizant that this was not the best lesson to teach our potty trainee and we were a bit apprehensive about being discovered by other tourists passing along the adjacent street, but we had no choice other than to introduce Frankie to what would turn out to be the wonder of outdoor urination. We drew some consolation from the fact that based on the stains and smell in the alley; we were certainly not the first bi-peds to make similar use of this public way. At first Frankie was hesitant, seemingly aware that he was doing something out of the ordinary. But his hesitancy was quickly replaced by an excited smile. “This is cool Papa,” he said as he went about his business. As his Grandma Baker would say, “Your are a real Eur-a-pee’in now.” Unfortunately, this simple emergency call of nature has turned into a real problem for us. Frankie enjoyed the experience too much and on numerous occasions I have looked out of our window at the farmhouse only to spy Frankie trying to write his name on the side of the house or the tile patio. When he “goes” he takes his pants and underwear off and since he can’t put them back on by himself, we always know when he has snuck in another outdoor adventure. At this point, we are unsure as to whether we will ever be able to convince him to use indoor plumbing again. The second trip into Florence, Elizabeth did on her own with Maddie and Bella. She had read about a “behind the scenes” tour of the Palazzo Vecchio and signed up for a “big girls” date. Having learned from our mistakes during our first trip into Florence, the second drive into the city ended up being a piece of cake enabling the girls to spend the afternoon exploring the streets of Florence as pedestrians. The following are excerpts from the big girl’s notebooks. On our way we passed the majestic Duomo and Bapistry of Florence, Ponte Vecchio, and the Piazza della Signoria before we finally reached the Palazzo Vecchio. Not knowing what to expect, we were pleasantly surprised by the tour. Our guide was a handsome Italian clothed in Renaissance period costume. He had taken the character of Giorgio Vasari, the celebrated Renaissance artist, architect, civic planner and designer of the Palazzo Vecchio. The thespian tour guide never broke character during the tour, much to everyone’s delight. He provided us with a glimpse of the hidden galleries and rooms of the structure that had once been an elaborate palace of Florence’s ruling Medici family. He led us down special passageways and through ornate galleries and special rooms such as the gallery where the frescoes of Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci were supposed to have been completed. He told us that the closest that these two masters ever came to displaying their work in the same location was during a project commissioned by the Medici to have the two rivals fresco opposite walls in one of the Palazzo Vecchio‘s galleries. The display of the preliminary sketches, known as cartoons, by the two Renaissance heavyweights drew spectators from throughout Europe, but alas, the competition took place. Michelangelo was called to Rome by the Pope and according to our guide; Da Vinci gave up because he found painting in fresco too difficult. As we stood in the great hall where Da Vinci and Michelangelo had been commissioned to simultaneously fresco, we tried to imagine what the already stunning gallery would have looked like had these masters completed their projects. The girls’ second trip to Florence was such a wonderful experience and their enthusiasm so infectious, that we decided to all return the next day to give Florence another chance. What a difference it was. We were glad we returned. The driving directions were set. Our movement between each point of interest was, by now, well-rehearsed and fluid, thanks to the big girls mapping out lots of short cuts to avoid much of the congestion. Having cracked Da Firenze Code, we were able to more fully enjoy and appreciate beauty and history that has made Florence world famous as a center of Renaissance art and culture. We passed along the winding cobbled streets, which periodically spilled out, into enclaves of sunny piazzas. As we walked we could peer down the labyrinth of side alleys festooned with drying laundry hanging from the two-story stone buildings. The highlight of this adventure was our visit to the enormous Duomo of Florence, which was a dramatic cathedral with a colorful marble façade of reds, whites, greens and pinks. A magnificent red-tiled, octagonal shaped dome that towered over the surrounding neighborhood capped the top of the Duomo. Across from the Duomo was the Bapistry, a relatively diminutive circular Romanesque style marble building. But the building was not the focal point, it was the stunning bronze doors that were decorated with intricate carvings of Old Testament stories. We stood for a long time marveling at the detail and beauty of these doors, which were an exquisite example of Renaissance craftsmanship created by Lorenzo Ghiberti over a span of twenty-eight years. According to our guidebook, Michelangelo, who was a hardened art critic and well known for his disdain of other artist’s work, declared the doors “Suitable for the gates of heaven.” We realized that we had exposed Carmen to a lot of new stimuli when we found her off on her own playing the imagination game of “street performer.” Throughout our travels we have seen many street performers, each with their own unique brand of entertainment. The children have always enjoyed taking time to observe the performances and to place a donation in the performer’s tip bowl. We have also been confronted with many people who are down on their luck, pleading for money from passersby like ourselves. We hadn’t put much thought into the impact of these experiences until we found Carmen outside the farmhouse, seated against the wall of the house, wrapped in a blanket, with a Fisher Price five key play piano and a tip bowl in front of her and a baby doll wrapped and lying next to her. “What are you doing honey?” I inquired. “I am a street actor” she replied. “Do you want to give me a tip?” Apparently the swaddling child had been added for sentimental effect (just as she as seen countless times during our journey). She pounded out a tune on her multicolored toy keyboard and then without saying a word, pointed me in the direction of the tip bowl sitting next to her. Once her brothers and sisters realized that Carmen was getting real money as tips, the game caught on quite quickly. Soon Maddie had assumed the role of a street statute like the ones she had seen in Barcelona, Bella had dug out all of her temporary tattoos and offered them for sale and Frankie, well Frankie took a minimalist approach and just plopped himself down on the sidewalk and periodically asked “You wanna give me some money?” Relating the story of Carmen “the street performer” reminds me of another story I hope you will enjoy. Earlier in the week while in Florence, while Maddie, Bella and I were off gazing at The David in the Galleria dell’ Accademia, Elizabeth was passing the time by strolling Carmen and Frankie up and down some of the nearby shopping streets. In the process, she passed the same woman several times. The woman, seated against a wall and holding a baby in her arms, would ask them for money each time they passed. Although they had already donated to her once, she continued to make the same plea during each successive pass. After several passes, Carmen turned around in the stroller and said to Elizabeth “Well, she’s really not much of a street performer is she!” The real highlight of our time in Tuscany was seeing some of our family. Spending time with Doug, Louise and Sabrina was exactly what we needed. During our trip we have missed our family, so having a chance to see some of them after so many months was inspirational and therapeutic for our souls. It was especially nice for Elizabeth to be able to spend some quality time with Sabrina and Louise. There was a twinkle in her eyes and an extra lift in her step during their visit. It would be difficult to describe in words how meaningful it was for all of us to have them travel so far to spend time with us. During their stay we took the opportunity to celebrate Uncle Doug’s 50th Birthday, which we knew we would miss later in the month. The girls were very excited to present Doug with their homemade cards and display their banners. We had a cake decorated in town and had family celebration after dinner one evening. It was not only a celebration of a birthday, but for us, a celebration of family. Although Elizabeth had to share the family with the rest of us, they did have one opportunity to have an all Baker-side big kids day in Florence. They took in all of the sights, including a visit to the world renowned Uffizi (nearly all of Florence’s finest art is stored there including the world’s finest collection of Renaissance paintings), and even managed to enjoy a leisurely sun-soaked Italian lunch complete with wine and adult conversation. We can only hope their stay was a fraction as special to them as their visit was to our family. Parting was difficult, the time passing too quickly, but it was eased by the fact that Louise stayed on with us for another week traveling with our gang from Italy to Paris before returning home. Other Random Memories From Our Time In Tuscany. When we first arrived in Tuscany, we thought that it would be fun to rent bikes, but we had a devil of a time finding a place that rented them. We had to drive to a town about 20 kilometers away to find some bikes to rent. After our first attempted family trip into town we realized why no one rented bikes in the area. Unless you are training for the Tour de France, you have to be nuts to try to ride your bike around here. The hills almost killed us and we ended walking our bikes most of the way into town. If the hills weren’t difficult enough, we also had to be very careful of passing traffic on the narrow roads, as there was no shoulder to which to retreat. After our failed family outing, I found myself riding alone into town each day. I still had to walk a few hills each time, but over the course of three weeks I was able to make just a little further each day before surrendering to the slopes. Since riding into town was primarily an uphill exercise, we came up with a new plan. I rode my bike while Elizabeth drove the kids and the other bikes into town. Once we were in town, we would take turns riding around the town center and exploring the alleyways and side streets. After a gelato, some shopping and a few pony rides on the electronic carousel horse, Maddie, Bella and I would ride our brakes from town back to the farmhouse while the others followed in the van. Italians keep their pizza simple, a very thin crust, a light coating of sauce and a sprinkle of cheese is their staple pie. Not what I would have ordered back home, but boy was it delicious. I am not sure if it is the earthy scenery, or being outdoors all day in the glorious weather, or just simply the freshness of the food, but we have all agreed that everything seems to taste better in Italy. One of the most cherished pastimes of Italians is eating. No matter how much pizza and pasta you have had in your life, you’ll never taste any better than the food in Italy. We were not accustomed to seeing red poppies growing wild in large patches along the roadsides. They were everywhere along the winding back roads and nestled among the verdant rolling hills of the region and we were continually captivated by their beauty. We loved to just sit and watch the locals carrying on conversations in the public square. The Italians were so animated in their conversation. The use of a wide range of intonation and vigorous hand gestures was uniquely Italian and fun to watch. Casual conversations about mundane subjects looked to the casual observer like heated arguments over topics of great importance. While we were staying at the farmhouse, we decided to assign each evening with a theme. There were game nights, arts and crafts nights, story telling nights and play nights. The personal favorites of Elizabeth and I were the play nights when the girls would dream up a script, cobble together costumes from our limited wardrobes and, after some rehearsing, would present us with a multi-act play or musical. The wonder of their imaginations and their surprising ingenuity was only surpassed by their enthusiasm and their refreshing lack of inhibitions. My contribution to the daily schedule was “Vegas Night” which much to the chagrin of Biz was an instant hit with the kids and we had a difficult time getting the kids to end the games and go to bed. Vegas night was so popular in fact that we began to notice that the kids had revised the written schedule hanging on the wall by replacing other planned nights with more Vegas nights. As we have mentioned, the kids loved playing outdoors at the farmhouse. One of the many imaginary games they created was “store. “ One of the girls, usually Bella or Carmen, would set up a storefront on the window sill which opened up into the yard. The store would offer a wide range of used toys and kitchen utensils for sale. The girls would collect items and offer them for exchange at the makeshift store. Frankie put a different spin on the game. He practiced his shoplifting techniques. While the girls were in the midst of a transaction, the little man would sprint into the window, grab a toy and amidst the screams and protests of his sisters he would sprint off into the yard, laughing and roaring all the way. We loved shopping at local market, the Coop, a wonderful little grocery store with everything we needed to prepare delicious meals at home. The store was small, but it had one or two brands of everything we required. We realized that there was genius in this simplicity. Having twenty or more options for every item as we have back home is actually more confusing than it is liberating. We used the Coop for general items and then walked around the town square gathering up fresh breads, produce, meats and cheeses. We only bought what we needed for that day’s meals, returning each day for another supply of items. We loved making pasta meals, interchanging different pastas with different sauces, carbonara, Bolognese, mushroom, cheese, marinara, pesto. The kids even ate spaghetti Bolognese for breakfast! Some of the special memories of our delightful stay in Tuscany were sitting outside, taking in the fragrant smell of flowering trees and bushes and enjoying moments when companionship, wine and good food came together on our sun dappled cottage overlooking the fertile rolling countryside. We found the Italians to be extremely friendly and helpful. They made our experience relaxed and comfortable. They were exceedingly patient as we tried to cobble together Italian words and were quick to offer whatever linguistic assistance they could muster, including any English they knew. One of my favorites was the owner of the local gas station who we met during our first day in Montespertoli. He was a gregarious little man, with a wide smile and an easy manner. He refused to pump any gas or give us any directions unless we tried to speak with him in Italian. He would wait with a big smile while I offered up my unique dialect, which was a combination of Spanish and Italian words and phrases. Once he was satisfied that I had exhausted my limited vocabulary, he would laugh, pat me on the shoulder and then talk to me in English. He was so entertaining and delightful that I found myself stopping by to talk with him each day when I rode my bike from the farmhouse into town. Each time I spoke with him, he reminded me that I was a very lucky man because I was in “The center of the world.” He would say it in a kidding manner, but I could tell that he was also very serious about his assessment of Tuscany and more specifically, his little village of Montespertoli. After three splendid weeks in Montespertoli I would not argue the point, it was a very special place. Being reunited with family made it an even more extraordinary experience for us. The magic of Tuscany will linger in our memories for a long time after our trip has concluded. NEXT DISPATCH. A MONTH IN FRANCE

June 27, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Dispatch # 35 Rome, Italy

Dispatch # 35 Rome, Italy April 2005 “Artistic Treasures, Cabin Fever, a New Pope and his Ceiling” This dispatch is dedicated to the memory of Jane Baldwin who recently passed away. The Baldwin’s are life long friends of the Parkinson’s and Frank and his brother, Brent, grew up playing with the Baldwin boys, Scott, Tim and Tyler, and sharing the warmth and laughter that filled their next door neighbor’s home. Jane was such a wonderful person and a bright light in so many lives. She will be remembered not only for all of the things she did for the community, but most importantly for her kindness, compassion, her bright and easy smile and wonderful laugh. When we hugged her goodbye late last summer, we worried that we might never see her again. As with the recent passing of our cousin, Mona, and our Uncle, Vic, we are profoundly sorry that we were not home to assist in some small measure and to say our last farewells to people that we love. Our thoughts and prayers are with the Baldwin family as we send this dispatch. We arrived in Rome on the morning after Pope Benedict XVI’s selection by the conclave. The newspapers in the airport announced the “Nuovo Papa” with huge headlines and there was still a noticeable buzz in the air after several weeks of international media coverage and millions of pilgrims descending on the city. We found our hotel, the Villa Del Rose, tucked on a side street not far from the main transportation terminal. It had been a day and a half since we slept and we had been through a bomb scare at the Barcelona airport in route, so we were all a bit physically and mentally exhausted. No matter how tired we are when we reach a new destination, especially a new country and a city as clearly vibrant as Rome, our excitement fuels a second wind. So, we walked the streets surrounding the hotel, grabbed some pizza slices and a quick espresso at a local cafe and took in some of the sights and sounds of our first day in Rome. After the adrenaline wore off, we retired to our hotel and enjoyed twelve hours of a sleep of the dead. The next morning we awoke refreshed and invigorated and set off on a big day of exploration of this archeological, artistic and historical treasure trove. Our modern exploration of the remnants of the 2,500 years of history that surrounds Rome found a mixture of ancient ruins and Renaissance wonders. The city was loud, bustling and exciting. At first blush, it appeared a bit time worn and neglected, the buildings in need of a good power washing, and the transportation in need of a little spit and polish. Nothing a bid for the Olympics wouldn’t cure. We had been impressed with how clean and sparkling 2012 applicant, Madrid, had appeared and later in our trip we would have the same impressions of one of its main competitors, the city of Paris, with each of its monuments and plazas cleaned and polished, its buildings washed and gleaming, no litter, and lots of new buses and trains. Despite a bit of untidiness, overall, we were very impressed with Rome and found it to be a wonderful and exciting city to visit. We loved walking among its historic structures, bustling piazzas, shaded gardens, sparkling fountains and Rome’s lively and animated residents. Our ancient Rome walking tour took us first to the Roman Colosseum and Forum, which together provided glimpses of the glories of the Roman Empire. Even after centuries of neglect, and considerable looting, much remains of the legendary Roman Empire and its marble white city (at least those portions of it that the Popes didn’t tear down to build the Vatican). As we wandered among the remnants of the Colosseum and the physical outlines of the ruins of the Forum, we could close our eyes and imagine the wonder and splendor that had once been the “Caput Mundi” or capital of the world. Two thousand years ago, most of the known world was directly affected by decisions made within the gleaming white marble grand palaces, senate halls, temples, and courtyards surrounding the Roman Forum and Colosseum. Today, as tourists we wandered among its ruins, conjuring up the glory that was once Rome under the guidance of ancient leaders such as Julius, Augustus, Trajan and Marcus Aurelius. Standing in the now barren interior of the Colosseum, we got a sense of the enormity of the structure. We viewed the subterranean passages where combatants, human and beasts, once were transported to the many hidden entrances on the Colosseum floor; and we could envision the grandeur that it once embodied, and the awe that it must have once inspired in the residents and visitors to ancient Rome. Precious few of ancient Rome’s monuments have survived in such good condition as the Colosseum. A massive amphitheatre, the Colosseum was once the setting for gladiator combat, lion-feeding frenzies, and public entertainment whose exoticism and cruelty were noted characteristics of the Empire. All three of the ancient world’s classical architectural styles, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian were represented in the façade of the noble Colosseum, each superimposed in tiers one above the other. It once accommodated over 50,000 roaring spectators, who packed the amphitheatre for games and exhibitions, like the one staged by Trajan around 100 AD which lasted for 117 days, during which more than 10,000 gladiators and an even larger number of exotic beasts fought to the death before the raucous and blood thirsty crowds. Pausing in the morning sunshine, amidst the mountainous shell of travertine marble, its size and architectural grace still impressive after two millennia, we found it a challenge to square the majesty and dignity of the structure with the barbarity and cruelty of the events it hosted. Young Frankie got a big kick out of the many armor clad Roman centurions standing outside the Colosseum in full battle regalia, complete with shining swords, posing for pictures with passing tourists. He slowly approached one from behind, measuring his steps as he slowly drew his plastic sword. Frankie’s stealth was for naught and just as he neared the centurion, the soldier whirled around and brandished his sword in Frankie’s direction that sent our intrepid gladiator squealing away with delight in his eyes as he beat a hasty retreat. From the Colosseum, we walked along the cobblestone ancient paths that passed through the ruins of the Roman Forum, past grand arches, craggy shells of temples and haunting remains of buildings and courtyards where the Roman Emperors and Senate once made decisions that affected the Western world. We paused at historical spots like the courtyard where Marc Anthony once asked his countrymen to lend him their ear, and the steps where Julius Caesar was murdered in 55 BC, and the temple of Casa delle Vestali, once home of the famous and revered Vestal virgins whose job it was to keep the sacred flame alight at all times. Walking among the marbles and timeless forms of the past, we began to get a sense of the magnificence that was once ancient Rome. It was, however, Italy’s more recent contribution to the world, ice-cold gelato that seemed the garner the most interest from the children. We all had a scoop of the creamy treasure while we sat in the shade of the Colosseum’s towering ramparts. On the way home, we grabbed a delicious pasta feast from a local restaurant, Florian’s, and retired to our hotel for the evening. The Hotel Villa Del Rose was a tidy, old rooming house, with an attractive Romanesque lobby and lounge area. The rooms were reasonable, if not cheap; compared to the prices we were quoted by other Roman accommodations. Located just around the corner from the main transportation terminal, it was a good choice by Elizabeth. The room was a duplex with a sleeping loft and the lower level had a pull out couch, so we were fine with just one room. A few days before our arrival in Rome, we noticed in our records that we had mistakenly booked the room for May instead of April. Not the best time and place to experience one of the few miscues of the trip planning. There was a little thing called the Conclave going on in Rome, and hundreds of thousands of pilgrims had flocked into town during the preceding two weeks. Luckily for us, the Cardinals made quick work of the process and chose a Pope in the nick of time, so by the time we arrived in Rome, a room had become available allowing us to narrowly avoid a potential problem. The next morning, after grabbing a couple of piping hot espressos, some warm focaccia and a few pastries from a little panificio around the corner, and with a little caffeine induced bounce in our steps, we set off on an exhausting, but extremely satisfying, whirlwind walking tour of some more of Rome’s highlights, the Spanish Steps, the Piazza Di Spagna, the Piazza Navona, the Pantheon and the Fontana di Trevi. First stop along the way was at the Spanish Steps, so named for its close proximity to the Spanish Embassy, which was originally built to connect the public plaza below with the church built high on the hill above. The stairway was draped with flowers and the wide ascending marble steps were packed all the way from the plaza to the church of Trinita dei Monti with beautiful Italian men and women enjoying a leisurely lunch or some reflective moments in the afternoon sunshine. Apparently, the steps have been a prime people-watching venue for quite some time. For hundreds of years, the leading artists and sculptors of the day have come to these steps in order to select their models from the crowds that sat along the steps. At the top of the massive steps was the church surrounded at its base by a busy plaza, the Piazza Di Spagna, which was crowded with people strolling about, reading in the sun, enjoying an espresso or a slice of pizza at one of the outdoor cafes and browsing the artists kiosks, vendor carts and nearby swanky shops. From the Spanish Steps we continued along the narrow brick sidewalks to the Piazza Navona, a beautiful plaza surrounding a wonderful pool with several magnificent fountains and sculptures running down its midline, including a masterpiece by the famous 17th century sculptor, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (the Fountain of the Four Rivers), the stone personifications of which symbolized the world’s four greatest known rivers, the Danube, the Ganges, the Della Plata and the Nile. The plaza was lined with open-air cafes, espresso and gelato shops and was full of lounging Romans and tourists spending a siesta in the sunshine. Our next stop was at the Pantheon. The domed masterpiece rose above the lively Piazza della Rotunda. The Pantheon was the most intact of all of ancient Rome’s great buildings that we visited. Built in 27 BC by Marcus Agrippa, it was reconstructed by Hadrian in the early 2nd century AD. It was a splendid symmetrical structure, 142 feet wide and 142 feet high with a perfectly spherical dome resting on top of the outer foundation. The Pantheon is considered to be one of the ancient architectural wonders of the world, designed by Hadrian himself, a renowned architect in his own right, who used a design and materials that were unique for its time. The dome was a perfect, massive hemisphere of cast concrete (the Romans were some of the first to make use of this revolutionary building material). The ribbed dome was a series of cantilevered supports and was once covered with a golden gilded dome shell. Michelangelo studied the dome extensively before designing the cupola of St. Peter’s. The thick bronze doors of the Pantheon, each weighing 20 tons, provided a dramatic entry to the two thousand year old architectural marvel. Originally, it was dedicated to all of the Roman Gods; the name uses the Greek words, “pan” (meaning “all“) and “theos” (meaning “god”). Its interior was a spectacular open space. The enormous Corinthian columns stretched from the marble floor towards the great dome vault above and as we allowed our eyes to draw further upward toward the dome’s perfectly circular oculus located at its peak. As we stood in the middle of this well-preserved ancient temple, the vast dome seemed to float magically above us. The Pantheon was saved the neglect suffered by other ancient Roman temples and buildings only because it was consecrated as a Christian church in 606 AD. However, it was not entirely spared because in the 16th century, Pope Urban VIII allowed the architect and sculpture, Gainlorenzo Bernini to strip the ceiling for reuse in the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica. Many Italian notables, including the artist Raffaello Santi (Raphael) as well as the first Italian king, Victor Emmanuel II were buried beneath the marble floor of the Pantheon. Surrounding the Pantheon was a maze of narrow streets and alleys dating from the Middle Ages filled with churches and palaces built during the Renaissance era. Around the corner from the Pantheon, located down one of those narrow, cobblestone alleys was another one of modern wonders of the world, the Giolitti Gelateria where we had some of the best gelato we have ever tasted. Keep in mind that we didn’t have any bad gelato during our time in Italy, and we sampled it daily, but the creamy delights served up at Giolitti were especially delicious. The long day was drawing to a close, but we had one more sight to see before dark, the Trevi Fountain. The beautiful Fontana dei Trevi occupied most of the area in the small, crowded piazza. The fountain was sublime, one of the prettiest we have seen in our travels. The fountain may have recently refurbished because the water was crystal clear and the white marble glistened in the late day sunshine. The location of the fountain marked the terminal point of one of Rome’s most ancient aqueducts, which has supplied Rome with water for over two thousand years. The centerpiece of the fountain was the gleaming white statute of Neptunus Rex on his chariot drawn by winged horses and led by tritons. As with most fountains, the water was filled with the coins, each representing a wish made by a visitor. The kids took turns making their wishes and tossed their Euro into the water. Carmen’s experience was one worth mentioning. After she tossed her coin into the water, she walked back to the stroller, picked up her book, opened it and then sat it down again and plopped back into her seat. Immediately we noticed that she was hanging her head and upon further inquiry found that she was actually in tears. “What is wrong honey?” I asked. “The girls told me that if I made a wish, and threw the coin into the fountain, that my wish would come true, but it didn’t.” Carmen replied. “What did you wish for?” “I wished that I could read, but my wish didn’t come true.” Talk about pulling at our heartstrings. We comforted her and assured her that it was only a matter of time before she would be able to read the words in her books. Elizabeth and I both agreed that it was time to try to teach Carmen to read. Progress has been slow, but we have been able to teach her how to “read” through memorization. The smile on her face when she had learned to read her first book, “Party Fun,” was priceless. She is anxious to return home so she can show her grandparents her latest triumph. After another action packed day we returned to our relatively diminutive accommodations and enjoyed our thin pizzas, “Portour llevar” (to go). Lately, the tell tale signs of cabin fever or, more appropriately, the pressures of spending 24/7 with each other, have been showing. The kids have been great for most of the trip, playing with each other and relying solely on each other for games and interaction. However, the constant lack of personal space and private time wears on all of us at times and we have found that it is more important than ever to get out and about as much as possible during the day. The kids have grown much closer to each other during the trip, but with this intimacy comes periodic moments of frustration and argument. Both Elizabeth and I have also experienced the anxieties brought on by lack of any private time or personal space which have revealed themselves from time to time through disagreements over relatively trivial matters. Traveling around the world with my children and my spouse has produced stresses that are not readily relieved. My sense is that we have begun to reach a point of travel exhaustion. Lack of individual emotional legroom and private moments of personal reflection, combined with the periodic hassles of confined space, accommodations without a readily available phone, internet, or laundry and a perpetual need to forage for food, has at times been frustrating. This is offered without any desire for sympathy, rather just as an observation and acknowledgement that traveling for an extended period of time is not always wine and roses. Just in the nick of time, midway through our stay in Rome, we moved across town to the luxurious Marriott Gran Flora hotel. We had used some of our Marriott points and booked four nights at the Gran Flora. The hotel was located in a swank part of the city. The streets of the neighborhood were lined with high-end restaurants, outdoor cafes and expensive retailers. The hotel itself was adjacent to the Villa Borghese, one of Rome’s most pleasant parks that were once the grounds surrounding the amazing chateau of Cardinal Scipione Borghese. Passing through the Villa Borghese and its vast haven of greenery, immaculate landscaped gardens, trickling fountains and tranquil reflecting ponds, we reached the former residence of the Cardinal, now one of Rome’s outstanding art museums, the Galleria Borghese. One of the many highlights of my time in Rome was my evening spent with Madeline and Isabella at the Galleria Borghese, a wonderful museum packed full of Renaissance paintings and sculpture. Considered one of the most impressive private art collections in the world, the treasures were set within the former palatial residence of Cardinal Borghese. Not only was the art work magnificent, part of the fun of visiting the Borghese was to see the opulent and extravagant tastes of the Cardinal Borghese, who apparently used his Papal connections in order to amass great wealth and one of the largest private art collections in the world. Some of the highlights of the visit were the paintings by Caravaggio, Raphael, Titian and Rubens, as well as sculptures by the likes of Canova, Correggio, Borromini and Bernini, including the Bernini’s sculptures “David,” “Truth,” “Pluto and Proserpina,” and his delightful “Apollo and Daphne.” Throughout our journey, both Elizabeth and I have thoroughly enjoy our “big kids” dates with Bella and Maddie, which usually have involved excursions to museums and other mature points of interest requiring relatively long attention spans. Although we probably have not been able to spend as much private time with each of our children, we always take the opportunity to make the most of any private moments that time has permitted us during the trip. The big moment for Bella, Maddie and myself, however, came on Sunday, the inaugural mass of the new Pope Benedict XVI. Another “big kids” outing, Maddie, Bella and I got up at 5:30 AM and headed off for Catholicism’s most sacred shrine, the Basilica of St. Peter’s. As we neared the Piazza San Pietro, we could see the crowds of spectators filling the streets leading to the square. It was an awesome spectacle to enter the Piazza San Pietro and catch a glimpse of St. Peter’s for the first time. With the exception of the religious sites in Jerusalem, St. Peter’s in the Vatican is Christendom’s most visible and important building. The huge size of the basilica was daunting and the magnificent arch of 284 colonnades stretched out before us like two great arms of the church, hugging the mass of visitors and pilgrims. We felt fortunate to be in this place on such an important occasion, knowing that for many of the people around us, attending this mass in this square was a spiritual highlight of a lifetime. We were some of the first thousands to arrive and we had several hours until the mass would begin so we laid out a blanket, pulled out some books and camped out. There was a buzz of activity and excitement as thousands more arrived and filled in the empty spaces around us. The massive bells sounded out each passing hour. People of almost every nationality and ethnic background crowded into the square, many of them were holding and waving their country’s flags. Camera crews from around the world were passing through the crowds filming the spectacle. We are still not sure whom they were, but the girls were filmed and/or interviewed by four different reporters and their camera crews. We stood among the hundreds of thousands of well wishers and witnessed the investiture of the 256th Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI who earlier in the morning, while we were camped out in the square, had completed one of the many rituals of the investiture ceremony by visiting the tomb of St. Peter located deep under the Papal Altar of the great basilica. The investiture marked the beginning of the papacy for this son of a Bavarian police officer. Of the many spectators, a large contingent had traveled from Germany to honor their fellow countryman, who the papers were calling the “Panzer Pope.” There was great pageantry, tradition and symbolism for us to witness and absorb. After several readings, the Pope, dressed in the his white robes with gold trim, wearing the Papal Stoll (made of special wool from sheep blessed by Pope John Paul II, raised by monks outside of Rome, woven by nuns, and bearing five red crosses representing the five wounds of Christ, adorned with the symbolic yolk of Christ) and Papal headdress, or miter (decorated with the red cross of the Shepard’s staff, its two peaks representing the old and new testaments) was presented his Papal scarf and the sacred “fisherman’s ring.” The ring is symbolic of the miraculous fishing expedition when Peter and other disciples were greeted with a vision of the risen Christ who commanded them to go forward and be “fishers of men. “ The ring serves as the official Papal seal and each new Pope designs and is issued a new ring. The ring of his predecessor is then destroyed. Surrounding the stage was a sea of white, red and purple robes that were worn by the many Cardinals and Bishops seated on each side of the Pope. As we stood under the morning sunshine in the middle of this surprisingly acoustical plaza, the Sistine Chapel Choir sang “Gloria” as the Pope embarked on a processional through the crowd in his “Pope Mobile” as a tidal wave of affection and cheers arose from the crowd. Elizabeth is Catholic and our children have to date been raised in the catholic church and, therefore, this was an exciting moment for Madeline and Isabella. As the Protestant representative of the family I can say in all sincerity that being present in the plaza during this very emotional ceremony, and sensing the wave of spirituality and affection emanating from the thousands that filled the plaza, was a very moving experience for me as well. The event illustrated the genius of the piazza’s designers, Bernini, Maderno and Fontana, who had centuries ago conceived such a functional and well-planned public square (actually an oval). St.Peter’s has long been a popular pilgrimage site, however, Bernini could never have imagined the number of visitors that filled the square that morning, let alone the millions of pilgrims and mourners who had filed through the piazza in the days and weeks prior. We were very impressed with the organization and staffing for the event. Our passage into and out of the piazza was orderly and without interruption. Every two blocks of so, there were trucks full of bottled water being passed out by police and volunteers. Although nearly a half a million spectators filled the piazza and the area within Bernini’s great flanking colonnades on that crisp, sunny April morning, there wasn’t an intolerable crush and getting into and out of the piazza was surprisingly easy and devoid of the typical anxieties that accompany being a part of a large crowd as it heads for the exits. We were exhilarated as we walked back towards our hotel; the girls were so excited about our adventure and having been a part of the historic event. I was giddy with the enjoyment of having taken the opportunity to experience the moment with them. Our final day in Rome found Elizabeth, Madeline, Isabella and I visiting the Vatican; it’s museums and the interior of St. Peter’s Basilica (all of which had, until our last day, been closed to visitors because of the Conclave). We hired a professional guide who did a wonderful job of shepherding us through the day. His wealth of knowledge not only about religious history, but also art history added much to our experience. Although the highlight of the tour was the Sistine Chapel, no place invokes the spirit of the Italian Renaissance like the Sistine Chapel, built and decorated at a time of unparalleled artistic greatness, the entire tour of the Vatican Museum, with its rich and dizzying collection of art and sculpture, as well as the massive and majestic St. Peter’s Basilica, were each in themselves a fascinating experience. The Vatican Museum was packed to the rafters with treasures accumulated over the centuries by the Popes, including paintings by all of the Renaissance greats, as well as a seemingly endless collection of European masters, corridors lined with priceless sculptures, rare maps, enormous tapestries and rooms whose walls were completely frescoed by none other than the great Raphael. Although we could have spent a week surveying the inventory of the Vatican, we only had a day, so with some regret, we pushed on past countless works of art as we sought the highlights of the Vatican collections. During our stay, Elizabeth, Madeline and myself each read the book “Michelangelo and The Pope’s Ceiling” by Ross King. It was a fascinating story about 16th century Europe and the epic confrontation between Pope Julius II and Michelangelo which produced arguably one of the finest frescoes the world has ever seen. It was April 1508 when Michelangelo Buonarroti was summoned back to his small, cramped workshop behind the modest Santa Caterina delle Cavallerotte located near the Vatican. He was thirty-three years old and Pope Julius II had ordered him to Rome to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It had been two years since he left Rome in a huff over the Pope’s decision to postpone the construction of his tomb, for which Michelangelo had been originally commissioned. The Pope had become distracted with a much larger and seemingly pressing project, that of demolishing the old basilica and constructing a grand new basilica. Two and half centuries after his death in 67 AD, the bones of St. Peter had been brought from the catacombs outside of Rome to the location along the Tiber River where he was believed to have been crucified and a basilica bearing his name was built. Unfortunately, it was build on a marsh and by the time of Julius II, the basilica had sunk, its walls were six feet out of true, and the cracks in the structure were impossible to disregard much longer. The competition to rebuild St. Peter’s was won by Donato d’Angelo Lazzari, also known as Bramante, and work was in progress when Pope Julius II summoned Michelangelo back to Rome. Although Michelangelo tried to avoid the commission, he was after all a sculptor, not a painter; the Pope was not a man to be denied. No Pope before or since has enjoyed such a fearsome reputation. He was known as “il papa terrible” or the terrifying pope for his ruthless treatment of his enemies and the “warrior Pope” because he engaged in numerous military forays throughout the Italian peninsula in efforts to bring independent duchies and rogue Papal States under the rule of the Vatican. The magnificent fresco of the Sistine Chapel is even more impressive when we kept in mind that Michelangelo was not a painter by trade and more importantly, he had never done fresco painting, an extremely difficult medium, so difficult in fact that the great Leonardo Da Vinci had failed miserably in his attempts to master the art form. Compound this inexperience with the logistical nightmare of trying to fresco a vaulted ceiling and even the famous Michelangelo was predestined to fail. But fail he did not, he mastered the tricky chemical mixtures of fresco and over the course of the ensuing four years, most of which were spent lying upside down in a harness, Michelangelo created one of the most famous masterpieces in the history of art. Perhaps ironically, this project, which was undertaken against his wishes, turned out to be his most enduring legacy. The panorama of the Sistine Chapel was one of the most inspiring and impressive works of art we had ever seen. Glorifying and depicting the human body as only Michelangelo could do, he painted nine majestic panels depicting scenes from the book of Genesis and surrounded them with scenes depicting pagan sibyls or seers and portraits of prophets. One of the most famous of the overhead panels was the depiction of God touching the fingertip of his creation, Adam. The work and specifically the detail of the work and his use of the human anatomy were magnificent to behold. At one end of the chapel was a floor to ceiling fresco, “The Last Judgment” which Michelangelo painted as well. A quarter of a century after completing the ceiling, he was commissioned at age 61 to complete “The Last Judgment,” an equally impressive colossal masterpiece. Along the walls of the chapel were other beautiful frescoes, some by the likes of masters like Botticelli, Perugino and Ghirlandaio, but the show stealer was the ceiling and The Last Judgment. It was a unique feeling to stand in the middle of the chapel knowing that only a few days before, the Conclave of Cardinals had been sequestered in total secrecy within the same four walls as they went about the sacred ritual of selecting a new pontiff. We tried to imagine the scene, as it must have unfolded and to detect a scent of the lingering white smoke that had only recently filled the chapel before being vented through the ceiling in order to alert the outside world of the Nuovo Papa. Our tour through the Vatican Museums was equally extraordinary. Highlights included visiting the Raphael Rooms, a series of rooms that were once the living quarters of Pope Julius II that the great Raphael frescoed at the same time that Michelangelo was suspended upside down over the floor of the nearby Sistine Chapel. By far one of the most inspiring works by Raphael was his painting of the Stanza della Segnatura where we viewed the majestic “School of Athens,” one of his best known works, depicting scholars and philosophers from the ages of ancient Greece and Rome. Front and center in the work is the enigmatic figure known as “the thinker” which is believed to be Raphael’s tribute to his rival and nemesis, Michelangelo. Apparently, Raphael and Michelangelo were, to put it mildly, not friends, but Raphael was so impressed by the work of his rival in the Sistine Chapel, that Raphael could not resist the urge to honor his brilliance. Other highlights of this amazing repository of treasures were dazzling collections of Roman and Greek sculptures, including the splendid “Belvedere Apollo,” a fifth century sculpture rippling muscles of the “Belvedere Torso,” which was done in Greece in the first century B.C. and is thought to represent “Hercules” and the hauntingly beautiful 1st century B.C. sculpture of “Laocoon and His Sons” with its depiction of the eternal struggle between Laocoon, his sons and the serpents sent by the Greek gods to punish Laocoon for trying to warn the Trojan citizens of the danger of bringing in the wooden horse. In addition to courtyards full of priceless sculptures, there were enormous galleries dedicated solely to the display of subjects such as religious art, gilded maps, Egyptian treasures, tapestries, Renaissance masters, and much, much more. After a visual overload within the cavernous walls of the Vatican Museums, we ended our tour inside the largest church in the world, St. Peter’s Basilica. Interestingly, Michelangelo inherited the role of architect in chief at the age of 72. Claiming to Pope Paul IV “he was not an architect” he went on to design the most recognizable dome in Christendom, the majestic dome of St. Peter’s. Where Bramante, Raphael and Michelangelo left off, others, who followed, the likes of Bernini and Carlo Maderno, completed the task. If the Vatican Museums were not enough, the Basilica was packed full of amazing works of interior design, carving, and sculpture and painting. Some of the highlights included the Papal Altar, which stood over the crypt where St. Peter is believed to be buried, Michelangelo’s beautiful sculpture, “Pieta” and Bernini’s extraordinary sculptures like his monument to Pope Alexander VII and the canopy and stands of the Papal Altar. We left Rome with an appreciation for its splendid history and its legacy of art, culture, architecture and religion. Having just spent time appreciating the contributions of ancient Egypt, we felt as though we with our addition of Roman contributions, we had explored quite extensively, the major influences in the history of art, architecture and religion for the past five thousand years. It was exciting to be in Rome to witness many of the events surrounding the investiture of the new pontiff and although our stay seemed, in retrospect, too brief, we saw much of what we had hoped to see and in the process developed an affinity for this diverse and dynamic city. NEXT DISPATCH. TUSCANY, ITALY

June 15, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dispatch #34 Egypt

Dispatch # 34 Cairo, Giza, Luxor, Aswan and Abu Simbel, Egypt April 2005 “Ancient Wonders, Felucca Rides on the Mighty Nile and Bumblebees” Our journey to Egypt began and ended on rather inauspicious notes. The late night flight from Barcelona to Cairo began with us encountering a group of agitated Egyptian men arguing with machine gun toting Spanish police in our jet way. Apparently, the men were being denied access to Spain and as a result, they were being placed back onto our flight for transport to Cairo. Not the sort of excitement that we wanted to experience as we were making our first visit to the region. On the return, we had an even stranger experience. When our overnight flight from Cairo to Barcelona landed the flight attendant ran up the aisle and began shouting “Exit the plane immediately!” We were unceremoniously unloaded; make that driven from the plane into buses waiting on the tarmac. The buses then drove us to a remote location in a far corner of the airport where we remained for over two hours. The buses were crammed full of passengers, so we were standing the entire time. No explanation was given for this unusual reception. After some time, we were unloaded from the bus, our carry-ons were collected and we, along with our hand luggage, were passed through a make-shift x-ray machine that had been set up on the tarmac after which we were reloaded onto the buses which were now surrounded by uniform police officers. Obviously we knew something was up, but we were perplexed by the lack of contact with anyone of authority. Finally, some of the Spanish passengers had had enough and they stormed off the bus to confront some of the police officers that were standing guard around the plane. After some heated exchanges, the passengers returned to the buses to report that there had been a report of a bomb on our plane, a report that the authorities had received while we were flying over the Mediterranean Sea. Although this was certainly disconcerting news, it seemed to calm the situation. That little piece of information, if it had been conveyed a couple hours earlier, would have gone a long way to fortify our patience. Although the thought did cross my mind that the reason that they had moved us as far away from the terminal as possible was because they were afraid that the bomb was still in the possession of a bomber who was somewhere on one of our buses. Given the events of the past few years, we would have thought that the procedures for handling the situation would have been second nature to the local guard, but it appeared that no one of authority knew what to do next, and if they did, they were not sharing it with any of the passengers. Finally, after almost three hours, we were driven to the terminal and released. As you might imagine, the news of a bomb threat made for lively conversation within our wide-eyed family. After a few questions from the children about “bombs” we tried to lighten the situation by relating the scene from “Meet the Parents” when Gaylord Focker was informed that he could not say the word “bomb” on a plane or at the airport. The girls decided that our code word for “bomb” would be “bumblebee,” which elicited a great deal of laughter and excitement from the kids. Thereafter, they took every opportunity to mix “bumblebee” into the conversation, typically pausing just before saying the code word in order to slowly look around them to make sure they were not being overheard. When we arrived in Cairo, we got our first hint that people traveling outside of a tour group in Egypt are an unusual phenomenon. Everything in Egypt is so organized around tour groups that services for individual tourists were nearly non-existent. Our experience was that when we arrived at an airport, the tour groups were met immediately, herded into groups, and while their luggage was sorted, they were escorted to awaiting buses and then whisked off from the terminal, typically with some sort of Tourism Police escort. So, by the time we collected our luggage at baggage claim, the airport was nearly deserted. Finding an information booth was a veritable impossibility and finding a cab was nearly as difficult. For that reason, we got in the practice of making arrangements with our hotels to have a van and driver meet us at the airport. While we were in route to Cairo, a suicide bomber detonated himself in the famous Khan Al-Khalili marketplace, a destination very popular with tourists, killing him and several foreign visitors as well as killing and injuring over twenty Egyptians. Coincidentally, we had made plans to visit that very same souk the following day. As you might expect, these close calls with potential disaster (the airplane bomb threat and the marketplace bombing) gave both Biz and I pause to ponder how fortunate we have been throughout our trip. As a result of these unfortunate events, security was extremely tight throughout our stay in Egypt. We passed through metal detectors as we entered our hotel and there were armed guards posted everywhere. The heavily armed soldiers put on an impressive display of force wherever we traveled throughout our stay in Egypt. They were not only found en mass at the airports and the tourist points of interest, but also outside and inside the hotels as well as being stationed along the roads and at every intersection we passed. I found myself wondering if all of these assault weapon toting soldiers had really been issued ammunition or whether they were Egyptian Barney Fife’s, given a machine gun, but no bullets. In any event, in the beginning, the sight of all these armed guards was a bit disconcerting, but like any other ubiquitous sight, we grew used to it after a while their presence tended to blend into the landscape. During our initial four nights in Egypt, we stayed in Giza at the venerable Mena House. The hotel, which was originally built as a hunting lodge and vacation palace in the 18th century for King Khedive Ismail, has a long and rich history. The palace wing of the hotel was decorated with intricate and ornate arabesque and Islamic designs and furnishings. Our resident hotel critic, Carmen, gave her official seal of approval to the Mena House. She is a well traveled five year old and as such can quickly assess the relative merits of a hotel and its rooms, using time-worn and proven criteria such as the pool facilities, the variety of snacks found within the in-room mini-bar and the condition of its bathroom. Her main criteria, however, for any decent hotel room is that it have a “foot-soaker“ (a.k.a. a bidet). The Mena House was set in the middle of acres of flowering gardens and palm trees. More importantly, the hotel was situated immediately adjacent to the Great Pyramids of Giza. The Pyramid of Cheops (the largest of the three) was situated directly outside our window and it was amazing to be able to look up and see this historic wonder at all times of the day and night. We arrived just after midnight and I found myself sitting in the chair that first night, long after Biz and the kids were asleep, staring in astonishment at the shadowy outline of the pyramids which were illuminated by the light a of full moon. This trip has afforded numerous opportunities for quiet reflection, often on beaches during sunsets in places like Hawaii, Phuket and Cape Town, or surrounded by majestic natural beauty in places like the Volcano National Park in Hawaii, the South Island of New Zealand, and in the rainforests and the outback of Australia, and tranquil moments resting in the sun on the dive boat off the coast of Australia reliving the amazing sights from diving the Great Barrier Reef, or on a late evening nursing a hot cup of tea on the floor of a ryokan reflecting on the wonders of Kyoto, sitting in total silence at dusk in a game vehicle in South Africa staring at a group of lions roaring their territorial calls as they prepare for the night’s hunt, standing in the afternoon mist of Victoria Falls, or staring into the early evening’s honey light at man made marvels like Angkor Wat in Cambodia and the Alhambra in Granada. But, this moment of reflection, late at night outside of Cairo, was a particularly poignant one for me. The next morning we had an unexpected wake up call. Muslims worship in mosques, but pray anywhere and they are required to pray five times daily, facing in the direction of Mecca, the holy city. In every hotel room that we stayed in there was a sign pointing in the direction of Mecca. Generally, the times of prayer are pre-dawn, noon, mid-afternoon, dusk and late evening. In Giza the calls to prayer were broadcast over public loud speakers located in mosques throughout the city. The first call to prayer, which came at 4:30 AM on our first morning in Cairo, startled me and I sprung from bed to try to figure out what the noise was all about. Although the noise did not seem to interrupt the sleep of anyone else in the family, the early morning sounds of broadcast prayers intermixed with crowing roosters and braying donkeys produced another one of those special moments where I contemplated all that we have done and all that we have seen during our glorious adventure. The early rise did afford me several opportunities to gaze at the Pyramids at sunrise. Each morning I found myself transfixed on the sunlit specter of the Great Pyramids, unable for a long time to take my eyes off of them. We have all known of their existence; read about them, seen pictures and documentaries on them, but to view them for the first time in person was an awesome experience. After exploring the hotel, and grabbing some lunch, we headed off for an afternoon camel ride around the perimeter of the Pyramids. The camel ride was great fun, taking us across the rock strewn sandy desert towards the base of the Pyramids. Hills of sand stretched seemingly to infinity in three directions, the hazy, smog covered skyline of Cairo stretched out in the other. It was quite a windy day and we were pelted by a constant blast of sand as wind generated sand funnels rose from the desert floor between the Pyramids and us. At the time, it appeared that we were the only people out in the sun scorched, vast desert. After the conclusion of our camel trek, we rode to the Sphinx to attend an evening sound and light show. In addition to providing a thundering narration of the history of the Pyramids, the entertaining and educational presentation involved a series of colored spotlights and laser lights that illuminated the Pyramids and the Sphinx. After a couple of fun camel rides around the Pyramids, Frankie could not get enough indoor camel rides on the back of his papa. He would grab his red fez hat and a play sword, tie a bathroom robe around my neck and climb up the back of my legs. Once he was in place he would shout “Go camel” and we would be off, snaking around the furniture in the hotel room. It is one of those precious moments that I hope not to forget, although the serious rug burns on my knees should assist in jogging my memory for the time being. Traveling through the streets of Giza we felt like we had been transported back through time, remnants of a very old lifestyle were evident around each turn. As we were riding in the van through the streets of Giza, we also couldn’t help but be surprised by how poor the area appeared. Here, at the base camp of world’s oldest tourist attraction, the buildings were dilapidated, the infrastructure exhausted, the streets dusty and strewn with potholes, trash and litter danced across the roads before blowing into the nearby desert. The alleyways were connected by a Spirograph of overhead lines draped with drying laundry. We passed more donkeys than cars, grown men riding small, bony donkeys and hundreds of donkey carts piled high with all sorts of materials crossed through the streets. Shop front after shop front had groups of men, sitting in the shade of tin awnings, escaping the afternoon sunshine, sipping tea and smoking from communal sheesha pipes. The air carried faint odors of wood smoke and the distinctly unpleasant odors of uncollected garbage simmering in the heat of the sun. Although these sights, sounds and smells added to the ambiance of the experience, they were surprising surroundings for Egypt’s premier tourist area and the last standing wonder of the ancient world. Although the streets and cafes were full of men, we saw few Egyptian women out in public. The Egyptian women we did see were, for the most part, very modestly dressed and often covered from head to foot. Since socially acceptable behavior prevents any Egyptian woman from striking up a conversation with a stranger, our conversations were limited to men. Although Egyptian men appear to maintain a high level of respect for their own women, they do not, as a general rule, extend that deference to western women. Dressing conservatively, with arms and legs covered, is expected as sign of cultural respect when walking the streets in Egypt. Despite Elizabeth’s best efforts, the men, in general, showed little respect for this draped mother of four as she passed them on the streets, leering at her nonetheless. The sexual repression of the Egyptian male combined with an endless temptation to consider western women loose is exacerbated by the daily newspapers. Every day, the papers would include at least one picture of a scantily clad western actress or singer on the front page along side the breaking national and international news. Smiles from women apparently can cause a lot of confusion, so Biz, who is naturally gregarious and friendly, had to not only down play her attire but, to a certain extent, her enthusiasm, about being in Egypt so as to avoid any confusion with Egyptian men that she met on the street. Our next day took us to the Pyramids (or the “peppermints” as Carmen called them) and the Sphinx. Even to a modern day observer, used to the towering buildings of contemporary cityscapes, the Pyramids conjured up feelings of awe. Especially when we imagined how it must have felt beholding them over four thousand years ago. As we stood there, a fine haze of sand and grit enveloped us under a blazing sun. The heat was so intense that we quickly realized that we needed to start our sightseeing tours very early in the morning. We had hired a private driver and guide, Nasser, to assist us during our time in Giza. There were a limited amount of tickets sold each day permitting entrance to the “King’s Chamber” located in the center of the Great Pyramid of Khufu (or Cheops), so we had to be on time for our 8 AM reservation. After climbing up and over several of the massive blocks at the base of the Great Pyramid, we entered the tunnel and then ascended from the base to the heart of the Great Pyramid along a narrow, steep passageway. The passage was dark, hot and airless, and was so narrow that it was nearly impossible for two persons to pass simultaneously so we had to time our ascent and descent in coordination with the tourists trying to pass in the other direction. This was certainly no place for a claustrophobic. The walkway was set at a 45-degree angle, with handrails and raised slated steps set into a boardwalk in order to maintain footing. After passing up the long, steep 4’ X 4’ passageway, we reached a second passageway which was equally as narrow, but it opened up into thirty foot high ceilings called the “Great Gallery.” We finally reached the “King’s Chamber” which contained a massive, lidless sarcophagus. It was a unique sensation to be inside this tomb, knowing we were deep in the heart of the Great Pyramid, surrounded by countless tons of sandstone and granite block, reflecting on the fact that it has stood for over 4000 years. We lingered in the dimly lit tomb at the center of this ancient architectural wonder for a while and let our imaginations run. After slowly climbing down the passageway we rejoined our guide outside and continued our tour with close up views of the Pyramid of Khafre (or Kephren), Khufu’s son, the original limestone encased summit of which was still in tact and then finished our tour with visits to the third and smallest of the Pyramids of Giza, that of Khufu’s grandson, Menkaure; as well as to the Queen’s Pyramids (three more small pyramids located nearby and built for members of the royal family); and ultimately, the illustrious Great Sphinx. The Pyramid of Khafre was built to be fifty feet shorter than his father’s. It actually now appears larger than its neighbor by virtue of the fact that it has retained its limestone casing at the summit. All of the pyramids once were covered with a brilliant white limestone casing. Most of the deterioration of the casing was in fact man made with other Egyptian rulers and, thereafter, foreign conquerors, stripping the limestone casings from the pyramids to construct their own tombs, temples and monuments. The Pyramid of Menkaure, the last of the three main pyramids to be constructed on the plateau of Giza was much smaller than the pyramids of his father and grandfather, its base being about a quarter of the size of the other pyramids. One of the many interesting things we saw was the “ancient graffiti.” Being the oldest tourist attraction in the world, I guess we should have expected it, but we found it fascinating to see ancient Greek and Roman “graffiti” carvings on the face of some of the monuments realizing that Egyptians predated these “ancient” civilizations by thousands of years. There is also something strange about seeing things like “J.L. 1818” carved into a random block when you are standing in the middle of a temple and coming to the realization that J.L. had been standing in your spot two hundred years ago when he was overcome by the desire to memorialize his visit. It was equally as interesting to spot the Christian graffiti depicting saints and beliefs and we spent a fair amount of time picking out these add-ons to the original Egyptian art and paintings that covered the walls. Before we finished at the Sphinx, we drove around to the far side of the Pyramid of Menkaure and took another camel ride around the base of the Pyramids. Near the end, the boss hijacked Carmen and me while he administered a good old fashioned Egyptian shakedown. While everyone else continued up the final dune toward our ending point, the grizzled, bearded, robed, Bedouin camel boss appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the reins of our camel. He wanted to get paid. I assured him that I intended to pay, but that I would rather complete our transaction back at the base. He clearly wanted to conclude our business immediately, presumably out of the sight and earshot of our guide. As the boss and I argued over the subject of the proper place to make payment, I kept one eye on the rest of our family slowly disappearing over the dune. Noting the elevated level of concern in little Carmen’s voice as negotiations stalemated, I quickly engaged in an abbreviated bargaining session under duress. After handing over far more Egyptian Pounds than I should have, the boss released his hold on our trusty humped mount so that we could complete the last leg of our journey. When we arrived, the guide instinctively knew what had happened and unilaterally engaged in a heated “conversation” with one of the men. Not surprisingly, he returned to the van with over half of the money I had forked over. We finished our big day of exploring the Giza plateau at the feet of the Great Sphinx, still crouched as a sentinel to the approach of the Pyramid of Kephren after 4000 years. Once again, to finally be face to face with this famous and familiar image was a great treat. After a long, sand blown and hot morning as junior Egyptologists, we were ready for a cool plunge in the Mena House pool. The next day we traveled to the ancient ruins of Memphis, once the capital of the Old Kingdom of Egypt (circa 2575 BC to 2150 BC). We visited the main Necropolis of Memphis, called Saqqara (or Sakkara), home of many of the early prototype pyramids, like the Step Pyramid, and many of the earliest royal tombs. After being transported from the closest road across the desert floor on the backs of donkeys, we explored the vast funeral complex of Djoser. Saqqara is an important archeological site; it was once a city of the dead that stretched for over four square miles. Ancient Egyptians associated the East and the sunrise with life and conversely, the West and sunset with death. As a result, cities were constructed on the eastern side of the Nile while all tombs and funerary complexes were constructed on the west side of the Nile. We visited portions of the funerary sites including tombs and temples that until their rediscovery in the 19th century had been buried under the sand for centuries. The Step Pyramid of Djoser was the prototype for the Great Pyramids of Giza. It was the first successfully constructed pyramid design. It was designed by the high priest, Imhotep, in the 27th century BC and marked an important leap forward in the history of architecture. It was an established belief by the ancient Egyptians that when any King died he became a god, but Imhotep was a rare example of the deification of a man of lower rank. He was the chief adviser to King Djoser early in the Third Dynasty (circa 2686 BC). He designed and built the funerary complex at Sakkara; specifically, he is credited with being the architect of the Step Pyramid, built for Djoser. Even though Imhotep is primarily remembered for his architectural service to the king, he also achieved fame as a magician and a physician. It has been established that the ibis was associated with Imhotep and at Sakkara; the mummified bodies of over a half a million ibises have been discovered in underground labyrinths. It is thought that over the centuries, the sick made pilgrimages to Sakkara and the tomb of Imhotep and left ibises as offerings in hope that he would cure their ills. In the centuries following his death, this man of common blood (non-royal) came to be worshipped as the God of medicine and healing. We explored the underground tombs of Teti and Ti. From the outside, the pyramid of Teti looked like a pile of rubble, but deep inside was a burial chamber containing an enormous sarcophagus, walls and ceilings decorated with vivid hieroglyphic text, ancient funerary script and elaborate wall paintings which have retained their colors even after four millennia. Another fascinating tomb was the “Mastaba” of Ti. Before Imhotep’s innovative breakthrough, royal tombs had been located just below the surface, covered by low, slightly raised mud-brick “Mastabas.” Even thought this Mastaba was nearly 5,000 years old, the detailed wall paintings depicting life in the Old Kingdom of Egypt were still amazingly preserved. An eerie addition here was the foot wide slat cut in the wall of the dimly lit tomb which, thanks to some up lighting on the other side of the thick wall, revealed the life size statute of Ti staring back at us from the anteroom, called a “serdah” which was the room where the descendant’s spirit was believed to reside after death. The end of the children’s attention spans was signaled by Carmen when she remarked, “I think that I have seen enough royal dead guys.” So we reemerged into the sunlight and then returned via donkey train to our van where we traveled to the Memphis open-air Museum. The ravages of foreign conquerors, time and Mother Nature have left precious little evidence of the once thriving Old Kingdom capital of Memphis. Much of what has been found has been placed in the museum. The highlight of the museum was viewing the eight story high colossal statute of Ramses II. Tipping in Egypt is expected everywhere, by everyone, even if they are in uniform or clearly employed at monuments. Police asked us for tips when we entered and exited the temples and monuments. The security personnel at the airport requested tips as we passed through the checkpoints. And, seemingly everyone along the streets we passed wanted something as a token of our esteem for their history and culture. As you might expect, once when we gave to one person, several others would suddenly surround asking for “baksheesh.” The word “baksheesh” we understand technically means a gift to the poor, but the Egyptians we met used the word relentlessly to demand a tip. One of the more interesting examples of this phenomenon were the “monument watchers,” dirty, bedraggled Bedouin men who would unexpectedly pop out of the shadows at a temple or monument (in most cases, surprising us and giving us a considerable start) and put their hand out for a tip. They were not providing any discernable service, nor was it clear that they are even authorized to be lurking in the shadows of the monuments, but if we tried to pass them by, they would cling on to us, repeating the words “baksheesh my friend, baksheesh” until we relented and passed them something. We would categorize ourselves as frequent and generous tippers, but after awhile, the constant requests grew tiresome and annoying. Our final day in Cairo was spent at the Egyptian Museum which was a surprisingly disorganized, run-down cavernous facility crammed full of Pharisaic antiquities. Without the assistance of a guide we would have been completely overwhelmed by the vast inventory of the museum. Our guide, Nasser stewarded us to each of the main attractions. The museum was an enormous storehouse of ancient treasures and curiosities, but the main highlight, by far, was the Tutankhamun galleries and the Royal Mummy Room. The King Tut galleries were huge and amazing. The world famous golden death mask was breathtaking, as were the golden life sized statutes of the “boy king.” The magnificent funerary mask, which was fitted directly on the face and shoulders of the mummy in the innermost coffin, was an impressive example of the ancient Egyptian’s art of goldsmith and carving. The three enormous, ornate and beautiful coffins, one of solid gold, each fitting within the other was also incredible to see in person. The innermost coffin was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, made of solid gold. Beyond this was an amazing collection of thousands of items from golden finger casings to alabaster canopic jars to gilded thrones, full sized chariots and a solar boat, which was expected to transport the dead king/god through the underworld. The internal organs of the pharaoh were laid in four coffins that were miniature reproductions of the inner coffin. Each coffin accommodated one of the internal organs of the pharaoh considered sacred by the Egyptians, the lungs, liver, stomach and intestines that were removed from the body during the mummification. Interestingly, the brain was not considered important and was extracted through the nose cavity and discarded. We also found the 413 piece collection of individual carved (all in the king’s likeness) “shabtis” intriguing. They were six inch tall carved figures that were effigies of the king, placed in the tomb to carry out any tasks the deceased monarch might be required to do in the afterlife (one figure for each day of the year, plus some foremen to supervise). The Royal Mummy Room held a macabre and fascinating collection of mummies. Entering the dimly lit room, in total silence, we came face to face with the preserved remains of some of the legendary kings of Egypt like Ramses II and Tuthmosis I. The remainder of the cluttered museum was a blur with the exception of the Amarna Room, which celebrated the unique and short-lived history, art and sculpture of the reign of Akhenaten, “the Heretic King” and his queen, Nefertiti, and the haunting stature of Ka-Aper. Naser explained to us that the worship of Amon and Ra, as well as the worship of the hundreds of other provisional gods and goddesses that had developed over the centuries was briefly interrupted by an intriguing theological event when King Amenhotep IV, also known as Akhenaten, gave Egypt a brief period of monotheism. Akhenaten declared that there was only one true god, Aten (which was represented through the Sun). In order to begin this new theology, Akhenaten moved the capital to Tell el-Amarna, between Memphis and Luxor, and proclaimed the true faith, the worship of Aten. Akhenaten rejected these personalized gods in favor of a less human deity and discouraged the adoration of the god in human form and substituted the worship of the sun and its rays, or the “sun disc” . The worship of Aten was short-lived as was Akhenaten and considerable amount of intrigue surrounds his rather quick demise. The priests who had a considerable vested interest in the return to the worship of Amon played prominently in these conspiracy theories. After his death, Amon was quickly reinstated as the national god. During the reign of his successor, the boy king, Tutankhamun (originally known as Tutankhaten), considerable efforts were made to deface and destroy the monuments erected by Amenhotep IV during his brief reign as the “heretic king.” We completed our tour of the museum with visits to many of the exhibits displaying the ancient hieroglyphic texts and symbols. Egyptian hieroglyphics dating back as far as 3200 BC are the world’s oldest known writing system. The beautifully carved sacred symbols and pictorial script were carved onto every available surface on their monuments and tombs. Often, the hieroglyphs were placed inside an oval enclosure known as a “cartouche.” In an illiterate society as it existed in ancient Egypt, the scribes who carved the hieroglyphs were treated as an elite class. In fact, in one instance, a scribe went on to become king notwithstanding his lack of a royal bloodline. Until 1822, the ability to read and understand hieroglyphs had been lost. It was a relatively small black granite tablet, discovered in 1799 in Rosetta by Napoleon’s army, which held the key to translation. It contained a text in three scripts, hieroglyphic, demotic and Greek. The race to decipher the symbols came down to two main contestants, Thomas Young, a British physician and Jean-Francois Champollion, a French linguist. Although both men made substantial contributions to the understanding of Egyptian hieroglyphs, it is Champollion who is credited with discovering that the extensive list of hieroglyphs could be separated into types and that each type could be separated into different functions and thereby discovering the underlying basis of the ancient Egyptian writing system. Based upon our experience, when traveling in Egypt, it would do you well to inquire in advance as to the credentials of your guide. Although we were generally satisfied with our guides, it became quite clear to us that achieving the status and license of an Egyptologist guide in Egypt was not necessarily the result of rigorous academic study on the subject. In Luxor, for example, there were over 8,000 licensed guides, which meant that one out of every twenty people in town considered themselves experts on ancient Egypt. As with all of our destinations, we took a considerable amount of time to read up on Egypt, ancient Egyptians, their myths and history. The problem I had with our guides was their definitiveness on every subject. We are talking about 5000 years of history, the understanding of which is based upon legends, myths and stories relayed through individuals and interpreted, sometimes loosely, from carved pictorial symbols. So, you would expect that some of the information provided would come with an occasional “this is what we believe happened, or as best we can determine, this was the case…” Not with these guys. On a number of occasions, the history or information they were providing was in direct conflict with the things we had read in our books, but they were undeterred and in the face of our questioning, they remained adamant that their information was correct. The cab ride back through Cairo was nothing short of frightening. Traffic in Egypt was incredible. I thought Bangkok was nuts, but Egypt takes the crown for the most illogical, frenzied and dangerous rides of the trip. There were no lanes, no apparent rules, just a leap of faith and steeled nerves. Honking was so ubiquitous that after a while it didn’t even raise one’s attention. Drivers navigated through the traffic by accelerating at break neck speed and then swerving in and out of the narrow openings that periodically opened and closed between the speeding cars. When they came to a stretch of roadway where there was less traffic, they drove down the middle of the road. Aggressive, crazed car drivers intermixed with rumbling buses, belching black smoke and typically so full that several of the passengers clung precariously to the railings on the open side door and rear of the buses. In an obvious effort to calm his white knuckled passengers, one of our cab drivers boasted to us that he was a driving instructor in Cairo, which caused me to laugh so hard in mid-sip that my Pepsi came out through my nose. I mean, how is that for an oxymoron! In addition to this Dante’s Inferno of vehicular traffic, there was plenty of non-vehicular obstacles sharing the frenzied roadways including, riders on bicycles, camels, and donkeys, lots of donkeys. It was crazy! And to add to the drama of a night ride, Egyptians don’t use their lights at night. Not sure why, but they don’t, all the cars were roaring along, zipping back and forth, approaching each other on narrow two lane roads without any headlights. Quite honestly, we experienced many amazing things in Egypt, but perhaps the most amazing is that we made it through two weeks without being involved in a serious car accident. After we returned safely to the Mena House from Cairo, we checked out and spent the rest of the day at the pool (our flight to Luxor was not until 10PM), occasionally stealing moments from our poolside chairs to stare at the Great Pyramids once more. We all enjoyed the poolside treat of fresh pita cooked in a traditional wood oven, Frankie helping himself a dozen or so times. Late that evening we loaded our caravan into a cab and headed for the airport and our flight to Luxor. After several late night delays on Egypt Air, soon to become our least favorite airline because of their total lack of service, we arrived well after midnight in Luxor and got transport to our hotel, the Sofitel Karnak, soon to become one of our favorite hotels because of their exemplary service. Even though it was very late, actually early in the morning, the staff of the hotel was awaiting our arrival, some of staff members had long since had their work shift expire, but they had stayed at the insistence of the manager who prided himself on personal service. They had made up snack trays of meats and cheeses for us, a treat which was greatly appreciated by our band of exhausted travelers. The morning light revealed beautifully landscaped, palm tree lined grounds running along the mighty Nile. The area around Luxor was a vast desolate desert plateau interrupted by fertile Nile Valley that bordered the great tributary. Beyond our narrow strip of green space the Great Western Desert could be seen stretching to the horizon, beyond which lay hundreds of miles of “movement sand” known only to the Bedouins. The Nile is the gift of life to this country, an emerald ribbon of life snaking through the torrid desert and the Nile’s life giving force has been recognized and deified by the Egyptians for thousands of years. Luxor was a city built on the ancient ruins of Thebes, once the capital of ancient Egypt. It is now a city of around 200,000 people, most of which are employed in some fashion through the tourism trade. It is an epicenter for ancient Egyptology, home to the Luxor Temple, the intricate and magnificent Karnak Temple, the necropolis of ancient Thebes, and across the river, the Valley of the Kings, Valley of the Queens and the Temple of Hatshepsut. A few hours after our arrival in Luxor, we pulled ourselves out of bed and, with the aid of our new guide, Aladdin, hit the ground running with a big day in the Valley of the Kings. It was much hotter in Luxor than it had been in Cairo, with temperatures hovering around 100 degrees in the morning. We traveled by hired van from Luxor on the eastern (or living) side of the Nile, across the mighty river to the western (or dead) side of the Nile and proceeded up into the remote and desolate sand and limestone hills that had once been the main necropolis of the Kings and Pharaohs of the New Kingdom (circa 1550 BC). Beginning with the reign of Tuthmosis I, the Pharaohs of the New Kingdom had abandoned the pyramids for tombs carved deep into the mountain sides across from ancient Thebes in hopes that the secluded location and the deep underground vaults would protect them from the future grave robbers. Despite their attempts, all but a few were located and pillaged over the centuries. The most famous burial chamber to remain hidden was that of King Tut, remaining undiscovered until British archeologist, Howard Carter came upon it in 1922. At the time of our visit, The Valley of the Kings had sixty-two known tombs, each located deep under the limestone cliffs, accessible only by dark and narrow caves and passageways. Only a few tombs are open at any one time, the authorities periodically change which tombs may be accessed by the public in order to limit the distress caused to these ancient sites by natural elements as well as the damage generated by the exhalations of thousands of modern visitors. During our visit, we were able to explore the tombs of Ramses IV, V and VI. Despite having been looted of their contents centuries, if not millennia, ago, the burial chambers themselves remain surprisingly intact, with dramatic corridors, adorned with finely carved bas-reliefs, gilded paintings with hieroglyphic text and detailed symbolic accounts of the Kings’ lives and their expected journeys through the underworld. The tomb of Ramses VI had incredible detail, including a spectacular vaulted ceiling over the sarcophagus, with an elaborate mural showing astronomical and celestial scenes and most striking, the double image of the goddess Nut swallowing and regenerating the sun. The tomb of Ramses IV had vivid descriptions and colorful scenes from the Book of the Dead, above another awe-inspiring ceiling mural of the Goddess Nut stretching across the heavens. The King’s pink granite sarcophagus was covered with ancient text and carvings. It was amazing that these paintings and hieroglyphics, originally painted with a mixture of crushed gems and minerals mixed with egg whites have remained so vivid after nearly 4000 years. Maddie loves mythology and after gobbling up several texts on ancient Egyptian mythology, she became our resident expert impressing us with her knowledge by recognizing and explaining various painted and carved scenes and cartouches. At one point during our tour we noticed that there were a pair of elderly American couples that moved in closer to our family each time Maddie would begin to speak. After a few lessons from our diminutive Egyptologist, one of the women turned to me and asked, “Her wealth of knowledge is incredible, how long has she been studying this subject?” I smiled and told her that Maddie was parroting what she had read in the past week. Astonished, the women replied, “Thank goodness she was here otherwise I am afraid we would not have had any idea what we were looking at. She has far more information than our tour guide.” It was a nice compliment to Maddie, but I had to wonder why someone would travel halfway around the world and not take the time to do at least a little light reading on the subject of their tour. I suppose most do, and the ones that don’t just assume that their tour guide will provide them with all the information that they will need, but I can assure you that even with a guide, we were amazed at how much information we had read about that they neglected to mention. After a full day exploring tombs, we drove to the monumental temple complex of Hatshepsut (or as the kids would say “Hot Chicken Soup”) which was set in stunning fashion at the base of sheer limestone cliffs. The story of “Hot Chicken Soup” is an intriguing one as well. SHE was a pharaoh, her true gender hidden from her people, as was her true ancestry, so as to legitimize her claim to the throne. When her pharaoh husband died, the next male heir to the throne was her infant stepson. So, she assumed the throne amidst deception and palace intrigue. Later, a very angry stepson, and the true heir to the throne went to great lengths to erase all vestiges and images of Hatshepsut’s reign, but some did survive. With the afternoon sun literally baking Frankie and Carmen, Biz volunteered to stay behind with them under some shelter while Maddie, Bella and I explored the dramatic Thebian temple complex. It was an impressive monument, rising from the sand in a series of terraces seemingly carved out of the limestone cliffs surrounding it. We saw dramatic colonnades and the remains of great halls and the remnants of enormous statutes, wonderful bas-reliefs, carvings and colorful, intricate wall paintings. Many of these statutes and depictions showed Hatshepsut represented as a man with a full beard, while others had been designed to document her claim to the throne, including the “birth colonnade” which contained scenes of Hatshepsut’s “divine birth” (she claimed to have been born out of an immaculate conception by her (oops, “his”) mother who had been impregnated by the sun god, Amun). After a scorching, but satisfying day, we returned to our hotel. It was a very nice facility, less than a year old, with a wonderful pool and beautifully landscaped gardens and grounds leading to the majestic Nile. One of our main activities alongside the pool was our daily spirited game of foosball. It was a great setting for the kids, especially after our hot morning explorations. The hotel had impressive buffets at breakfast and dinner and the kids all did a great job of trying some new types of Egyptian food. Each evening I would retire to the grassy banks of the Nile to enjoy a few quiet moments sitting alone in the evening’s honeyed light staring at the Nile, across the green belt of irrigation to the tan, seemingly endless desert beyond. Our second day in Luxor we took a tour of the Karnak and Luxor Temple complexes. Our first stop was at the Luxor Temple. Our first glimpses of the temple revealed a wide avenue lined on each side with Sphinxes, which lead to the main temple. At one time, this grand avenue stretched over two miles from the Luxor Temple to the Karnak Temple. Two enormous pylons formed the entrance, guarded by two huge and magnificent seated colossi of Ramses II, which was flanked on one side by an eight-story tall granite obelisk. The pylons were decorated with carvings of scenes celebrating Ramses II military victories over the Hittites. Beyond, we passed through rows of pillars carved into giant papyrus bud columns decorated with ancient scenes and finally emerged into a series of grand plazas which contained the ruins of temples that had been constructed and enlarged over the span of hundreds of years by a series of successive Pharaohs, most notably Tuthmosis III and Ramses II. We saw so much and our ability to absorb all of the sights and mentally catalog all of the history and information provided was overwhelming at times. It was only upon later reflection, when we were able to consult our books and pictures and put them together with our written and mental notes that it began to make more sense. One thing that we did take from the tours was an appreciation for the colossal structures and opulent temples that were constructed by an advanced civilization, thousands of years before anything even remotely similar in scale was developed on the face of the earth. If Luxor Temple wasn’t overwhelming enough, our same day visit to the ruins of the Karnak Temple complex was. The ruins represented a small portion of a once immense complex, but what remains is simply stunning. Primarily constructed between 2000 BC and 1100 BC, this magnificent complex was dedicated to Amon-Ra (the Sun King and King of Gods). It was a sprawling temple city with multiple massive pylons, temples, courtyards, halls, and colossi. Nothing was small in scale; everything was enormous, intricately designed and as awe inspiring now as it must have been thousands of years ago. At one time the Karnak Temple was a collection of freestanding, magnificent temples. Within the once majestic courtyards of one of the remaining temple were statutes of Sekhmet, the lion headed goddess of war, Amenhotep III had placed hundreds of these statutes in the temple at Karnak that he had constructed in honor of Mut (a god who was worshipped at Thebes (Luxor), as the consort of Amon and part of the Theban Triad which included Amon, King of the Gods, Mut and Khonsu (the Moon God and son of Amon and Mut)). The towering walls of the temple were covered with stunning bas-reliefs, like the bas-relief of Amon giving life to Horus the falcon. Like Ra, his peer from the north, Amon was identified in the south as the sun god, creator of the universe and source of all life; He was believed to be a protector of the kings and guarantor of success against enemies. A god of such power was honored magnificently in the Temples of Karnak and Luxor. Series of vibrant etchings and paintings depicted the rituals performed in Amun’s honor each year including those performed during the Festival of Opet (Obet). At the height of the flooding of Nile, the statute of Amon was taken from its residence in Karnak and carried along the magnificent avenue to the Temple of Luxor. The festival included elaborate processions along the sphinx lined avenue, feasts, and sacrifices. Bas-reliefs of gods holding the key of life, the “Ankh”, were the most prolific symbol we saw in our viewing of Egyptian art and carving. The symbol of life, shown in many drawings and carvings being held by a god in front of the king’s nostrils so the breath of eternal life would enter his body. It was also shown being held by the kings and gods. This same symbol, like many others that we saw in Egypt, has been adopted by modern religions and used in their worship. We have enjoyed discovering the origin of words, art and symbols that have survived from the time of these ancient rulers through modern day. The great seat of Amon’s worship was the Temple of Karnak. At the time, and perhaps to this day, the largest religious shrine in the world, it was constructed over a 1,300-year period, added to and modified by every ambitious king up to the Greco-Roman period. One pharaoh would decorate a temple, another would add a courtyard or grand hall, and others added colossi and obelisks. Amon’s primary consort was Mut, also known as mother, considered the great earth mother who conceived all things and brought them into existence. She was depicted usually as a woman wearing the dual crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, holding the “Ankh” or key of life. Elaborate bas-reliefs of Mut adorned the walls of the Temple of Karnak depicting her clearly as a protective goddess. Some of the other visual highlights of the Karnak Temple were the Great Hypostyle Hall, once a cavernous hall supported by 134 eighty foot columns, each uniquely carved to represent palm trees, most of which still remain; the imposing Colossus of Ramses II with his daughters at his feet; and the majestic avenue of ram headed sphinxes with miniature pharaohs protected between their paws that once connected with the avenue lined with human headed sphinxes coming from Luxor Temple. We could only imagine how breathtaking these temples and grand sphinx-lined avenues must have appeared as the grand “Obet Festival” processional passed along them to the awe and wonder of its ancient spectators. Later that evening, Biz and the big girls visited the Mummification Museum and the Luxor Museum where they saw more wonderful treasures from the ancient world and received an education into the rituals and processes of mummification. They were fascinated by the sophisticated techniques the Egyptians developed for mummifying, many of which today would be difficult to replicate. There were large displays of the various animals that the Egyptians had mummified. After the museums, we retired with our guides, Aladdin and Tajah to a street side café to experience some real Egyptian down time with tea and sheesha pipes. Our next day was spent lounging by the pool in the hot sun. Taking a shower or jumping into a cool pool in Egypt is a cathartic experience. The sun is so hot and there is finely blown sand and dust in the air at all times. The evening included a sunset Felucca ride down the Nile capped off with a Sound and Light Show at the Karnak Temple. No trip to Egypt would be complete without a sail in a Felucca; these simple sailing vessels have been plying the waters of the Nile for millennia. During our evening sailing trip we stopped at Elephant Island but it was a disappointment, as our exploration of the island quickly turned into a captive beg fest as the locals hounded us in their relentless pursuit of handouts. The kids did enjoy the sweet taste of the locally grown bananas, but they quickly became uncomfortable as we tried to march through a gauntlet of aggressive panhandlers. Back home we give money to almost every person down on their luck, but in Egypt, where it is ubiquitous and relentless, you find yourself withdrawing, exhausted by the non-stop and often aggressive tactics. The Sound and Light Show at the Karnak Temple was well done. We enjoyed it more than the one at the Pyramids because this presentation was more interactive. As we walked through the Temple, the light and sound show gradually progressed illuminating various portions of the vast complex as the narrator told the stories and history of the Temple and its royal architects. That evening I sat along the quiet banks of the Nile, enjoying the reflection of the moon on the gentle, majestic waters when the wonderful moment was shattered by the start of “American music night” at the hotel’s cabaret. There was something distinctly wrong about sitting along the banks of the Nile listening to an Egyptian torch singer belting out Bob Denver tunes. The magical spell broken, I retired for the night. Our “last day” (at least at the time we thought it was to be our last day) in Luxor, was spent relaxing, swimming and playing marathon sessions of foosball. A long story, short, Egypt Air had changed our flight time, moving up the departure time two hours without notice, leaving us stranded in Luxor for 12 hours. Egypt Air is a government controlled monopoly and when you are the only game in town, you don’t have to worry a lot about customer service. We had gotten up early, arrived at the Luxor airport by 7:30 AM for our 9:00AM flight, only to learn that the airline had changed the departure time to accommodate a tour group and the plane had just departed a half an hour earlier. This was most definitely a most unfortunate event since the next flight to Aswan didn’t depart until 7:00 PM. When I asked to speak with a manager and was shown to a chair and offered some tea. After sitting for about a half an hour watching the same guys walk in and out of the office, I stood and approached the desk, which by now was surrounded by a dozen men, sipping tea and smoking while they laughed and joked with each other. When I approached, one of the men stepped forward and offered to take me to the boss. Apparently, nothing was going to happen until I let them know I was tired of waiting. When I entered the boss’s office, I walked into the middle of a room with eight men sitting on old beat up couches, and you guessed it, sipping tea and smoking from a sheesha pipe. As I was explaining the situation to the boss, periodically he would interrupt me with what I would describe as an Egyptian Three Stooges routine. In mid sentence he (Moe) would raise his hand so as to beg my pardon and then give some instructions to one of his couch bound lackeys (Larry), who in turn would turn to another in the room with instructions, who would then turn to another (Curly) who apparently having no one else to boss around, would then get up off the couch and disappear out the doorway. When Curly returned he would start a conversation that would work its way up the room’s bureaucratic ladder until Larry would once again interrupt my conversation to deliver his message to Moe. After a couple more interruptions and a clear indication that Moe could care less about our predicament, we left the terminal and headed downtown to find the Egypt Air office for so that we could be re-ticketed for the 7PM flight (they couldn’t issue tickets at the airport). A few more hot teas and a lot of deliberations later, we were re-ticketed, but we had nowhere to go for the next seven hours and we weren’t comfortable leaving our luggage at the ticket office, so we did the only thing that we could think of, we caught a cab back to the Sofitel Karnak. Not only did they let us hang out for the day, they offered us our room for the day free of charge so that we could relax and store our luggage. Thanks to the Sofitel Karnak, they made a potentially dismal day into an enjoyable one. Our last stops in Egypt were in the ancient City of Aswan and the Temple complex at Abu Simbel. Aswan was quiet city perched on the banks of the Nile and at the edge of the desert. The culture and people of this part of southern Egypt represented a mixture of north and south, culture and the physical characteristics from both Egypt to the north mixed together with the culture of native Nubians which had much darker skin and possessed facial features reflecting a more African genealogy. Aswan was traditionally where Egypt ended and Nubia (modern day Sudan) began and served as the traditional doorway to southern Africa. It was unique to see the topography in Aswan. Whereas in the Cairo, Giza and Luxor, the Nile was surrounded by a band of green farmlands, in Aswan, the tawny sands of the desert reached to the very banks of the great river. The wide and majestic river we had seen to the north had now narrowed and quickened as it passed through cataracts dotted with small islands and bounded by ancient ruins literally overrun by the sands of time. We stayed at the Old Cataract Hotel, a century old stately Moorish style hotel, with wonderful views of the Nile and nearby Elephantine Island. The terrace provided superb evening views of the sun setting over the Nile and the vast desert beyond. The hotel itself had an impressive list of past dignitary guests such as Sir Winston Churchill and German Field Marshal Rommel. However, one of the most famous temporary residents of the Old Cataract was the English mystery writer, Agatha Christie, who penned her novel “Death on the Nile” while staying at the hotel. After a week of guides in Giza and Luxor and having our hotels arrange transportation for us, we decided to strike out on our own in Aswan. Some of this decision could be based on the fact that Maddie seemed to know more about Egyptology than our guides, but more importantly, we had become quite comfortable in Egypt and didn’t feel the need to have a local resident run interference for us any longer. So, we jumped in a cab and road through the dusty streets of Aswan to the wharf where we commandeered a boat ride on a rickety old long fishing boat to the Island of Philae to see the magnificent temple dedicated to the goddess Isis. Philae is the largest of three islands at the south end of the group of rocks that make up the First Cataract. Surrounded by the waters of the Nile, in the midst of a fascinating landscape of granite rocks, the sacred island contained the stunning Temple of Philae whose enormous pillars could be seen from our approach. The resurrection of the Temple of Philae was one of several success stories that arose from the cooperation of an international team, and one of several examples of the international community’s Herculean (sorry, civilization confusion) efforts to save some of Egypt’s ancient treasures. The sacred island was above water until the middle of the twentieth century when construction of the Aswan dam left it submerged under the waters of an artificial lake for most of the year, only reappearing when the locks were opened once a year to release the pressure of the Nile floodwaters. Between, 1972 and 1980, it was dismantled, block-by-block and rebuilt on a position of higher ground, saving the splendid temple for the enjoyment of future generations. A long courtyard flanked by towering colonnades lead to us to the graceful and stunning Temple of Isis, the main building in the Philae complex, which was covered with massive carvings of scenes of Egyptian pharaohs destroying their enemies as Isis and Horus watch from above. In addition to this beautiful temple complex, we explored the Gate of Hadrian, dedicated to the famous Roman leader. The massive stone gate was inscribed with the date August 394 AD and contained the last known hieroglyphics ever produced by the Egyptians. The Temple of Isis was dedicated to the Goddess Isis, a very important God in Egyptian mythology and religion. According to legend, Isis was the consort of Osiris who was born a god, but took the form of a man and became the first king of Egypt. He civilized the people, passed down laws and taught them the ways of agriculture, art, music, sculpture and astronomy. Beloved by the people of Egypt and married to the beautiful Isis, Osiris was hated by his brother, Seth, who consumed with jealousy, plotted and killed his brother, cutting him into numerous pieces and casting them into the Nile. Isis miraculously retrieved all of the pieces and put them back together and thereby reviving her piecemeal husband. Apparently, the handiwork was a bit unsightly, and as such, Osiris was wrapped in mummy cloth for all eternity. Not surprisingly, he then became the God of the Dead. Isis’ miracle and her power to recreate her husband were celebrated as the embodying the cycle of nature, its annual rejuvenation and the Gods’ powers to create immortality. Her beauty and powers were worshipped in the halls of the Temple of Philae. As an aside for anyone who is wondering how Seth got away with this terrible deed, Isis and Osiris had a son, Horus, who went on to avenge his father and kill the evil Seth in one of the great battles of the Gods in Egyptian mythology. Horus, typically depicted with a falcon’s head is one of the most scared images in their ancient religion. During our stay in Aswan we could not resist taking another Felucca ride. We spent a late evening gliding softly over the blue waters of the Nile in another of these ancient sailing boats. We watched a glorious sunset edged in saffron pass behind the high dunes in the distant desert and then sailed in near total darkness and silence around Elephantine Island before returning to the docks of the Old Cataract. The final leg of our Egyptian journey was supposed to be a 7:00AM flight from Aswan to the temples of Abu Simbel and, following four or five hours of sight seeing in Abu Simbel, a direct flight to Cairo. Once again, Egypt Air threw us a big curve. Instead of the itinerary that we had bargained for some six months prior, Egypt Air without notice unilaterally made a change to our schedule. Instead of having five hours to explore Abu Simbel, we had two (not counting the time it takes to disembark and the time prior to departure that we were expected to arrive back at the terminal) and instead of flying directly to Cairo, they now had us flying back through Aswan with a four hour layover in Aswan before an evening flight to Cairo. Needless to say, we were not impressed, but we quickly learned that when an airline is a government-controlled monopoly, there really are not many options. Nor, may I add, do the employees of the airline tend to give a damn. Before completing this side trip, we had to wonder if flying to the remote location for a few hours and then reboarding a plane and flying out would be worth the trouble, but it was and we are glad that we stuck with our plans. Located on the banks of Lake Nasser, and adjacent to the Sudanese border, the spectacular and imposing temple complex of Abu Simbel was one of most impressive we saw while in Egypt. It too was rescued from the rising waters of Lake Nasser, created with the construction of the High Dam in the 1970’s. An international group of nations coordinated to methodically dismantle and reconstruct Abu Simbel on high ground. The story of this feat was an amazing one in itself. Cut out of the solid rock cliff in the 13th century BC, the Great Temple of Abu Simbel was a breathtaking sight. The view of the four enormous seated colossi of Ramses II guarding the entrance to the temple was awe-inspiring. Inside the temple were two rows of 30’ tall standing statutes of Ramses II which were flanked by elaborately painted ceilings and walls (the colors of which were still vibrant after over 3,000 years) which depicted, among other things, the military conquests of Ramses II during his reign, walls full of engraved hieroglyphics. Beyond the main hall were a series of stone passageways and decorated inner sanctums. One of the many interesting parts of the temple was a relatively small sanctuary at the rear of the temple, which held the statutes of Ramses II and a triad of gods seated next to him. Apparently, the temple was constructed with such amazing precision that twice a year (and only twice a year), the direction and angle of the sunlight penetrates through the main entrance, passing through the heart of the temple and then through the smaller doorway leading to the sanctuary and illuminates the statutes of the seated dignitaries. Once clad in gold, this inner sanctum must have been amazing to behold. Nearby the temple was another imposing structure, constructed by Ramses II to honor his wife, Nefertari. Colossal statutes of Nefertari and Ramses II alternated along the spectacular façade of the temple. Nowhere else in the treasures of ancient Egypt is there a temple or monument of such size dedicated to the consort of a pharaoh. More Things Learned in Route By around 3100 BC highly stratified states existed in the two separate kingdoms of Upper and Lower Egypt. Historians suggest that Egypt’s Pharaonic period began around this time when King Menes succeeded in unifying the two kingdoms into one. It is generally believed that he placed the capital of the newly unified kingdom in Memphis, about 25 miles south of modern day Cairo and began a successive reign of monarchs that lasted for nearly a millennium, through the end of a period that is commonly referred to as the Old Kingdom (circa 2575 BC to 2150 BC). From around 2150 BC to 2040 BC, there appears to have been a period of anarchy. The central power of the king eroded being replaced by separate and independent warring monarchs and warlords. This era, known as the First Intermediate Period lasted until centralized rule was restored around 2040 BC by the Pharaoh Mentuhotep I, who consolidated his power around a new capital at Thebes, now modern day Luxor. This began the period known as the Middle Kingdom, which lasted from 2040 BC to around 1785 BC. The central authority of the Pharaohs once again was interrupted during what is referred to as the Second Intermediate Period (circa 1785 BC to 1550 BC) when substantial portions of Egypt were conquered by a foreign nation. Although it seems unclear who these foreign invaders were, many historians believe they were Asiatic in origin and perhaps passed from modern day Turkey. With the dispatch of the foreign occupation by a conglomeration of native Egyptian forces, around 1550 BC, the New Kingdom began and lasted for another five hundred years during which time a unified and aggressive Egypt dominated the region, expanding its military influence and provincial powers beyond its traditional borders. The pharaohs of the New Kingdom abandoned the building of Pyramids and built massive and elaborate burial tombs carved into the sandstone cliffs of the west bank of the Nile outside of ancient Thebes. They constructed massive and magnificent Temples around Thebes and enjoyed a most splendid rule. Egypt became an imperial power and under the rule of Tuthmosis I (1504-1492 BC) extended her borders far into Nubia in the South and to the Euphrates River in the North. Later, under the direction of one of the most prolific temple builders and (baby makers), Ramses II (1300-1233 BC), the power of Egypt was extended over much of the modern day Middle East and large portions of northern Africa. Apparently Ramses II had over a hundred children. So when he wasn’t off fighting wars and building an empire, he was home building a prodigious bloodline. During the Third Intermediate Period (circa 1070-712 BC) Egypt’s power once again waned and it retreated to its traditional geographic boundaries. Finally, Egypt began what is called its Late Kingdom (circa 712-332 BC), a period of unification and consolidated rule begun by a Nubian king, King Shebaka. Twice during the Late Kingdom, Egypt was conquered and ruled by Persian kingdoms from modern day Iran. Finally, Egypt came under the rule of the great Macedonian warrior king, Alexander the Great around 332 BC and began a period of foreign domination that would last for almost two millennia until its independence from Great Britain in 1952. The period 332 BC to 395 AD is known as the Greco-Roman period, which began when Alexander the Great and his armies marched into Egypt. Alexander established a new capital at the mouth of the Nile delta and called the new city Alexandria. For the succeeding 900 years, Alexandria was a great center of trade, culture and learning in the region. Alexander the Great died at a young age and only ruled over Egypt for nine years. He was succeeded by his bother, Philip for a period of time, but after the death of Philip, the powerful military general, Ptolemy assumed power and he and his progeny established a dynasty that lasted for three hundred years until the death of Cleopatra VII in 30 BC. During this last dynastic period, Egypt underwent one of its last grand architectural and artistic developments when magnificent temples such as Philae outside of Aswan were constructed, bearing both ancient Egyptian and Greek influences. As the Roman Empire edged towards it zenith, legions under the command of Augustus defeated Cleopatra’s military forces and Rome began its nearly four centuries of domination over Egypt and its people. Even though Rome ruled with a tight grip, it was tolerant of Egypt’s ancient religions until Emperor Constantine declared Christianity to be the official religion of the Roman Empire in 333 AD and established Alexandria as a principal center of Christian learning. It was frighteningly difficult to try to keep track of all of the gods as we explored the various temples and historical sites. One reason for this was that there was never a uniform religion. This was due in large part to the fact that the dominance of the gods depended on the beliefs of the reigning king. Their area of dominance depended on where the king wanted his capital. Likewise, the myths changed with the location of the gods, as did their names. Names in ancient Egypt were very mystic and powerful. It was thought that if you inscribed your enemies' name on something, then broke it, that enemy would either be afflicted, or possibly die. If you knew a name you had power. In the same respect, using a name could be beneficial. Each god had five names, and each was associated with an element, such as air, with celestial bodies, or was a descriptive statement about the god, such as strong, virile or majestic. The creator of all things was either Re, Amon, Ptah, Khnum or Aten, depending on which version of the myth was currently in use. Hathor, Bat, and Horus represented the heavens. Osiris was an earth god as was Ptah. The annual flooding of the Nile was Hapi. Seth caused storms, evil and confusion. His counterpart was Ma'at, who represented balance, justice and truth. The moon was Thoth and Khonsu. Re or Ra, the sun god, took on many forms, and transcended most of the borders that contained the other gods. The actual shape of the sun, the disk (or, Aten), was briefly deified into another god, Aten. Ra was the sun god; the king of gods and northern Egyptian art usually depicted him with a solar disk, a circle drawn over his head. Frequently Ra was depicted with the body of a man and the head of a falcon, which was similar to the depiction of the god Horus. The difference being that Horus wore a crown on his head and Ra had the sun disk over his head encircled by a cobra (representative of fierce and destructive force). As time passed, and the religions and its priests changed, Ra and his attributes were assimilated into other gods, such as Atum and Amon. Ultimately, Amon was even combined with Ra to create the King of the Gods, Amon-Ra. During our tour of the Valley of the Kings, we visited one of the tombs, that of Seti I, which included impressive and colorful carvings depicting the story of the destruction of humankind under the orders of sun god. During the Middle Kingdom, when Amon and his Thebian priests dominated Egyptian religion, Ra was assimilated with this god from the south to become Amon-Ra, whose worship in Thebes (now Luxor) led to the building of the great Temple of Karnak, one of the most imposing religious structures ever constructed by human beings. The Temple of Ramses II that we saw in Abu Simbel was dedicated to Ra-Herakhty, which is an assimilation of the god Ra and the god Horus (as god of the morning sun). The priest of ancient Egypt used numerous devices to encourage belief in the gods and maintain a steady flow of offerings. One practice was the oracle, through which the god spoke words of wisdom to supplicating humans who came for advice. At one of the temples we learned that there was an underground tunnel used by the priest to “transmit” the word of the gods from their inner sanctuary to the chamber where the supplicant heard the voices of the gods speak to him. In another instance, priests were able to rig a statute in the temple of Khons (son of Amun and Mut) to enable them to make the statute’s head nod slightly when they wanted to answer the king’s request for guidance and questions in the affirmative. Egypt is 95% Muslim. A Muslim is a follower of Islam. It is not synonymous with Arab. Allah is the Arabic word for God. The Koran is the holy book of Islam and is believed to be the literal word of God as revealed to the Prophet Mohammed through the Archangel Gabriel. Whenever the name of the Prophet Mohammed is invoked, it is usually followed by the phrase; “peace be unto him” The Prophet Mohammed’s “hadith” of preaching are a supplement to the Koran and are considered to be a guide to correct conduct and behavior for Muslims. The Hadith includes reported sayings, deeds and approvals of the Prophet Mohammed. His code is called the Sunna, which literally translated means the “beaten path.” Friday is the Holy Day, so the weekend is Friday and Saturday. We found that in Egypt, as with all of our travels, it was very important to have a basic understanding of Islam. However, we also found in Egypt that many of the people that we met had little or no understanding of our religion, but arguably no worse than our general lack of understanding and appreciation for the Islamic religion back home. For example, on one occasion we were asked where we going after we left Egypt. The person asking the question was clearly educated and middle class by Egyptian standards. “We are off to Rome, to meet the new Pope” we replied. There was a long period of silence before he asked, “Pope, what is Pope?” When Egyptians pray, which is five times a day, they do it from wherever they are standing at the time. They lay down a mat and place their forehead for extended periods of time on the floor. It is a mark of piousness to have a dark spot or raised callous in the middle of one’s forehead and we saw many men with this mark of piety. Muslims do not partition life between religion and work or government. This may be difficult to understand for westerners familiar with the separation of church and state. For Muslims, religion, work and government are intermixed. Logic and traditional geographic designations would suggest that Upper Egypt is to the North and Lower Egypt to the South. However, these designations are reversed, having been so for thousands of years. The Nile River is one of the few if not the only river that flows northwards instead of to the south. Egyptians recognized the Nile as the giver of life and the life source, and so, since their world revolved around the flow of this river, they designated the southern kingdom as Upper Egypt. Other Random Memories of Our Stay in Egypt Many times when we were greeted in Egypt, the first question they would ask was if we were British. When we told them we were American, they would typically react with some surprise that was quickly followed by a very warm and hearty welcome. We don’t meet enough Americans they would tell us; too few of you visit our country they would add. I have no idea whether this is accurate or not, but they certainly seemed surprised to meet a family of Americans. The next question was almost always, “what tour group are you with?” When we explained that we were not visiting Egypt with a tour group, the reaction was uniformly one of shock. They would go on to suggest that very few tourist they meet are traveling outside of tour groups and that they had not met a family with such young children traveling in such a manner. Early on in the stay, such comments gave us cause to reflect and question our decision to not use a tour group, but it buoyed our adventurous spirit as well. Carmen continues to be too cute and sassy for her own good. Here are a couple of examples. In response to Bella’s invitation to play a game, Carmen did her little slow shake of the head and shoulders and said “go light on me sistuh!” After Bella had suggested that she didn’t want to grow up, Carmen piped up with a slow, exaggerated sigh and then offered in a somewhat patronizing tone “well, it’s gonna happen girl, so you might as well face it.” Keep in mind that she hasn’t been able to watch much English speaking television since Australia, but she seems to have an amazing ability to retain lines from movies and television. I am convinced that we are watching first hand a made for television sitcom that could be called “That’s so Carmen.” One word that we learned quickly was “la” which in the Egyptian language apparently means definitively “no.” Another helpful hint that we were taught by our guides was the use of the hand extended outward, palm down, as a signal that an Egyptian vendor or panhandler’s conversation has grown tiresome. I am not sure what it means, but I watched our guides use it as a very effective form of non-verbal communication. Frankie loves to play with his sisters although his interest in their company is not always reciprocated. But, he likes the action. We had two rooms at the Mena House and he was over playing with the girls when we heard a lot of screaming from the little man. When we investigated it was clear that the girls were not playing the game the way he wanted, so Elizabeth asked him if he wanted to join us in the other room to play. Meanwhile the girls were busy playing their boisterous game. He looked around for a few moments and then said, “No, thank you, I want to stay here, ITS LOUD!“ Bargaining is a national past time in Egypt. Although bargaining can be fun, it can also be quite tiring for a westerner. We rather enjoyed the contest on most occasions. Bargaining is an art form and takes a considerable amount of time and patience, which was easily conjured when we were bargaining for a souvenir or a camel ride, but Egyptians bargain for everything, no matter how mundane. As an example, I went to the hotel sundry shop to find some aspirin for a splitting headache. I just wanted some quick medication at a fair, marked-up hotel price. Unfortunately, I had to spend about five minutes going back and forth with the shop owner before we could reach a price that didn’t seem too exorbitant. The instant chaos we generated when we walked onto the sidewalk outside an airport or monument was impressive. We would almost immediately be surrounded by a group of Egyptian men, talking to us excitedly, some already grabbing our bags and beginning to cart them off somewhere, the men seemingly arguing with each other, shouting at each other in Arabic. It was always very confusing. Once we finally settled on a cab driver or a baggage carrier, we had to circle back and deal with all of the men who had been offering their services, regardless of whether or not we had employed them. Then as we walked through the crowd with our hired assistants, we would be surrounded by the jilted that demanded tips nonetheless. Once it became clear we were going to stick to our plan, they would hound us to the cab with pleas for bakeesh. As you might expect, the children stood in wide-eyed wonder at the curbside cacophony. We will remember all of the armed guards at the tombs and temples, many hidden into darkened alcoves and nooks, often stepping out into the sunshine from the darkness of their shaded area to offer guidance, but more importantly to demand a tip. Taxis, they would act like they didn’t speak English as they were loading your bags onto the top of their diminutive decades old fiats, saying only “no problem my friend” and mumbling in Arabic then when you get to your destination, they would begin the bargaining war. What? No, no, and so on. It was funny how they could completely understand me when we arrived and I repeated my original offer for the transport. Smoking is also a national past time in Egypt. Spain and its lax standards on smoking was a good primer for Egypt. Here everyone seems to smoke, everywhere and all the time. Restaurants and hotels, shops and stores are filled with smoke. The most popular method is the water pipe. The communal pipes are in almost every small street side café, men congregated around a “sheesha” pipe, taking a long hit in one hand and holding their coffee or teacup in the other. One of the many cultural aspects of Egypt is activity and noise, especially noise. It took some time to get used to the constant level of noise when we walking in the streets. The shouts of vendors and street corners full of men, combined with the racket from passing traffic, buses roaring, motorbikes wailing, horns honking, camels and donkeys braying to present quite a formidable din which was periodically broken by the punctuating calls from loudspeakers that echoed from the minarets of the mosques signaling prayer time. Although we found no seclusion from the clamor, it added greatly to the cultural experience we enjoyed in Egypt. It will be interesting to see what happens in Egyptian politics in the near future. Internal and external reform pressure has lead to the promise of fair and open elections in Egypt in September. Hosni Mubarak, whose hold on the presidency has endured, unchallenged, for 24 years, has recently changed the constitution to allow opponents to run against him in September with Parliamentary elections to follow in November. This would be Egyptians first taste of multiparty democracy since Nasser’s coup in 1952 ushered in decades of quasi-military rule. The risk that radical Islamist groups will gain political power is a real one and the impact on the Middle East, Egypt’s relations with Israel and western nations could be dramatic and there will be no guarantee that a new party, if there is one, will respect the rules of democracy. But it seemed clear that many Egyptians are eager for change. They live in a semi-tolerant state whose relative calm they value, but they feel that they are unnecessarily impoverished and are not taking a large enough role in the politics of the region, especially as it relates to the support of foreign Islamic nations. It will be interesting to watch Egypt’s progress this fall and beyond. Due to societal customs, we found it very difficult to engage in any meaningful conversations with women while in Egypt. As a result, our education regarding Egyptian culture and customs were drawn from a strictly male-oriented perspective. It was such a fascinating culture, it would have been very helpful to have had an opportunity to explore these matters from a female perspective as well. Even though Egypt was not one of the easiest places to travel for a family of four, we are still very glad that we included it as a part of our trip. The ancient wonders and the fascinating history of Egypt made the heat and hassle worth the effort. We could not view monuments like the Pyramids, the Karnak Temple, the Valley of the Kings, the Philae Temple and the Temples of Abu Simbel without a great deal of humility and appreciation for ancient Egypt’s considerable contribution to the development of architecture, art and human civilization. NEXT DISPATCH. ROME, ITALY We look forward to keeping in touch with you. If you have a moment, please email us at ourworldtrip@aol.com.

June 15, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dispatch #33 Barcelona, Spain

Dispatch # 33 Barcelona, Spain April 2005 “Street Statues, Whimsical Buildings and Space Camp” We awoke in Ronda very early and got on the road. We drove south through the gorgeous Andalucian countryside back to Malaga for our flight to Barcelona. Although we got lost along the way, luckily we had provided ourselves plenty of time to reach the airport. When we arrived we discovered that Iberia had cancelled our reservation without notifying us. We had made the reservation on-line, and we had a printed confirmation, but for reasons that never were adequately explained to me, Iberia had removed our reservation from the system. After a considerable amount of effort (including a quite successful “good cop-bad cop” routine, with Elizabeth even scaring me), and several changes in personnel (we had to keep trying to find someone whose only response was not to turn their computer screen around to show us that our reservation had in fact been cancelled), we found an agent that was sympathetic to our plight and we were booked on another flight five hours later in the day. With four tired kids, the mix up was a substantial inconvenience, but given the fact that this was really the first snafu we had encountered in over 120 hours of flying time, we decided that we were pretty lucky travelers. We did, however, arrive in Barcelona very late. We checked into our hotel, El Jardi Hotel, located in the heart of the Barri Gotic district and as the clock neared midnight, we settled into our room, a room that we would later affectionately dub “Space Camp.” Now, we have been in some small rooms before, but this was a new record for cramped living quarters. We were on top of each other, the four twin beds stacked in two’s side by side stretched from one wall to the other. In order to get around the room, we had to climb over beds. The bathroom was so small that only one of us could go in at one time. The shower stall was right out of the Space Shuttle training pod, so close were the four walls that I had to open the shower stall door in order to move my arms up to shampoo my hair. We found ourselves, as Maddie put it, “like a tiger in the zoo, endlessly walking in small circles.” Although our cage was small, it was centrally located in the Barri Gotic neighborhood and only minutes walk from the Rambles, the Cathedral and the Placa Catalunya. The Barri Gotic, or Gothic Quarter, was a well preserved district of historic Gothic style buildings, ancient public plazas and picturesque narrow streets and hidden alleyways, all serving as wonderful reminder of Barcelona’s medieval history when it was a small Roman city encircled by protective stone walls. The famous Rambla was a street with several lanes of traffic going in each direction separated by an expansive, tree-lined pedestrian boulevard. Years ago, during our honeymoon, Elizabeth and I had spent many pleasant hours strolling along the Rambla. We were excited to introduce it to our kids. They loved the Rambla and it was a never-ending source of entertainment for all of us. There were dozens of “street statutes,” street performers dressed in elaborate costumes or spray painted to look like statutes, who were adept at standing perfectly still for long periods of time, only breaking their frozen pose to perform for the audience once a someone had dropped some Euro into their collection bucket. Following the clink of the coin, the performers would either spring into character or slowly thaw from their frozen state. Carmen’s favorites were the silver painted angels, Bella’s were the ghosts on bikes and my personal favorite was Che Guevara, painted bronze from head to foot (even his cigar was painted), who would bolt into a booming oratory at the drop of a coin. In addition to the street performers, flocks of fluttering pigeons and the thousands of fellow strollers joined us along the walkway which was flanked on each side by all sorts of bustling stalls and kiosks, including news stands, flower stands, caricaturists sketching their seated subjects, and open-air pet markets (selling primarily birds, exotic and mundane). There may be no finer place in Spain to experience the Spanish ritual of the “paseo” or stroll, than on this historic boulevard. Along the way, we made a point of stopping to sip a handful of water from the Font de Canaletes, a famous fountain located along the Rambla, a sip from which, according to legend, causes the drinker to fall hopelessly in love with Barcelona. One of our mornings we took a long walk along the Rambla through the Placa de Catalunya, past the towering Barcelona Cathedral, through the Barri Gotic district, past the Palau de la Musica Catalana and the Museu Picasso, to our final destination, the sprawling green space known as the Parc de la Ciutadella. We discovered along the way that many of the neighborhoods of Barcelona had a surprising lack of children’s playgrounds. We were in search of two things that day, a good playground and the Barcelona Zoo’s famous albino gorilla. Much was written in the tour guides and brochures about “Snowflake,” purportedly the world’s only albino gorilla. The kids had been taken by all of the posters of Snowflake that they had seen during our walks. After a long paseo we arrived at the Barcelona Zoo, which is located within the Parc de la Ciutadella, and after purchasing tickets we continued our quest to find Snowflake. After hunting for quite awhile, we finally asked one of the zookeepers where we could locate the zoo’s most famous resident. To our shock and dismay we learned for the first time that Snowflake had passed to the great jungle in the sky…one year ago! Apparently, the zoo owners didn’t feel it necessary to revise their promotional materials in light of this “recent” tragic event. As we explored the zoo, we got a sense of why they hadn’t. It wasn’t that the Barcelona Zoo was all that bad, but we had become tough critics having recently visited some of the finest zoos around the world. The exhibits were mediocre and many of the habitats appeared neglected. It was the first time that we had visited a zoo since our wonderful safari experiences in Africa and it was difficult to see many of the animals we had seen roaming in the wild, caged up in small habitats in the zoo. Bella, our sensitive soul, actually broke down crying when she saw the two African elephants standing in their small concrete floored enclosure. The zoo was not a total bust because it did have one of the better children’s playgrounds that we found in Barcelona. We explored more of Barcelona on foot before picking up some dinner “para llevar” (take away) and returning to our Space Shuttle simulator for the evening. During our stay in Barcelona we became very fond of a “fast food” chain called “Pans” which served up delicious cold and hot sandwiches on French bread with choices of meats and cheeses. In prior dispatches from Spain we have noted that the kids, and Biz and myself for that matter, had grown tired of a steady regimen of bread, iberico ham and manchego cheese. Keep in mind that this is a culinary review being written by parents of four young children. The fact of the matter is that all of the towns and cities that we visited had lots of dining establishments that served up wonderful Spanish dinners. The problem that we encountered was that most did not open until 8:30 PM and typically, our kids needed to have something much earlier in the evening. As a result, we often found ourselves filling up on breads, meats and cheeses. Having said this, given our circumstances, we did enjoy our afternoon tapas and we did find time to enjoy a few memorable late evening family meals at places like Botin in Madrid, the Parador in Carmona, Mesones de Serranito in Seville and the Four Cats in Barcelona. One of the highlights of our explorations of Barcelona was a guided tour of the spectacular Palau de la Musica Catalana. This amazing structure, which provided a visual sensory overload, continues to function as an active concert music hall. A Cultural World Heritage Site, the magnificent concert hall is the original home of Barcelona’s renowned choral group, the Orfeo Catala. The building was a superb example of the innovation, beauty and grace that characterized Barcelona’s Modernista architectural movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Architect, Lluis Donenechi Montaner spared no creativity on the design of the structure. The facade was lavishly decorated, ringed by mosaic tile pillars, whimsical statutes and stunning tile mosaic motifs. The interior was a magnificent aesthetic celebration of light, color and design. Intended by the architect to be a visual garden of music, the concert hall was one of the most sublime places we have ever seen. Tens of millions of tile pieces were arranged in beautiful patterns to adorn the walls, pillars and ceilings of this majestic music temple. Flower and garden motifs were most prevalent and were intermixed with a fantasy of stained glass and natural light which was climaxed by the fanciful, brilliantly colored, stained glass sun orb, which was in fact an inverted stained glass dome, which transferred luminous streams of yellow, red and orange light throughout the hall. The interior walls were a flurry of decorative activity, stained glass, tile mosaics, ceramic designs, medallions and statuaries. The architectural rhythm and harmonious infusion of color, light and design was spectacular. The culinary highlight of our visit to Barcelona was an evening at the venerable Els Quatre Gats, or the Four Cats restaurant. It was one of our favorites when we visited thirteen years ago and once again, the food and service did not disappoint. It was a dining establishment that owes its notoriety to a certain artist that made it his haunt during his years in Barcelona. This restaurant, located along a narrow alleyway has been serving hearty Catalan fare and acting as a center for inspiration for local artists for a century and an half. Picasso may have made it famous, but the atmosphere and food keep folks coming back. We enjoyed a plentiful meal of savory meats and vegetables surrounded by the white coated wait staff and walls full of the artwork done by the many artists that have found inspiration there. We enjoyed a slow, relaxed dinner while we took in the ambiance of the restaurant, with its bustling staff, warm interior, fragrant smells of roasted meats, lively conversation and piano and violin soloist playing cabaret tunes. The girls came up with a mealtime activity, we had an impromptu academy awards for the DVDs that we have in our traveling case. After awarding Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark with best picture, we did a slow Spanish stroll back home to our space pod. The plaza below our hotel was very active throughout the night and after another round of sleep deprivation training (in part due to the nocturnal revelers outside our room and in part due to the nocturnal sleepwalkers within), Elizabeth, Maddie and Bella got an early start and headed off to the Museu Picasso. They enjoyed visiting a museum dedicated solely to one artist as it enabled them to gather an in depth perspective of Picasso, his history, his changing themes and moods that have been categorized as his “periods.” Maddie and Bella were amazed at the quality of Picasso’s work beginning with his teen years, painting on par with the local masters at the young age of thirteen. Bella was also interested in Picasso’s early fascination with the works of Velazquez, her favorite artist from her tour of Madrid’s Prado Museum. Barcelona has a wealth of art and architecture and we had yet to visit one of the city’s most famous architectural masterpieces. So, after a side trip to the main post office to send home some excess baggage, we jumped in a cab and traveled to see Antoni Gaudi’s famous Sagrada Familia. The 19th century “Modernista” movement, which in great part defines Barcelona architecture, found its spiritual leader and creative genius in architect Antoni Gaudi. Gaudi was a unique individual, a devout Catholic, a staunch Catalan nationalist and a brilliant architect; he voluntarily lived a monastic life, devoting all of his energies to his architectural vision of “Modernisme.” His revolutionary use of “trencadis tiling” a decorative art form which consisted of smashing up ceramics and glass and then piecing them back together in fanciful mosaic patterns, was a trademark of his style of architecture. His whimsical works dominate the historical and architectural map of Barcelona. We spent the day conducting a walking tour of some of his more famous contributions. The first stone of the Temple de la Sagrada Familia was laid in 1882, its design so complicated and immense that work on the extraordinary cathedral continues today with completion scheduled for 2030. After over one hundred and twenty years of construction, eight of the twelve three hundred feet high, honeycombed bell tower spires along with their distinctive Christian mosaic headpieces have been completed. We toured the remarkable structure and marveled at the detail throughout the interior and exterior of the grand cathedral. We enjoyed a spirited game of architectural “eye spy” using the façade of the massive church with its dozens of statuary biblical scenes and hundreds of individually carved figures as our game board. After soaking up as much of this iconic architectural treasure as we could, we headed off to see some more of Gaudi’s work. After passing through several lively, historical neighborhoods, we arrived at two of Gaudi’s most endearing works, La Pedera (Casa Mila) and his Casa Batllo. La Pedera was completed in 1910 and was a fantastical building to behold. Its façade was a series of gravity defying, whimsical, curved walls held in place by undulating horizontal beams which are attached to invisible girders. Each alcove along the façade was accented by an intricate and ornate wrought iron balcony decorated with the designs from nature that are so characteristic of Gaudi’s “Modernisme” style. The surreal rooftop resembled a sculpture garden, with dozens of enormous chimneys shaped like medieval knights and ventilation ducts that were twisted into otherworldly organic forms. Every detail of this magical building was designed by Gaudi to reflect his innovative architectural brilliance. Casa Batllo was a unique apartment building that exhibited Gaudi’ enormous sense of architectural enthusiasm and lightheartedness. It had a delightful undulating façade of pastel mosaics, whimsical rooflines, and balconies sculpted in the form of giant carnival masks. The fairy tale structure was a polychrome explosion of colors and textures and our personal favorite. Our final stop along the Gaudi trail took us up into the hills overlooking the city to Gaudi’s Parc Guell, a lovely park, with fantasy inspired gatehouses, fanciful columned archways, whimsical mosaic fountains and benches and spectacular views of the Barcelona and the Mediterranean Sea. Other Random Memories. While wandering the Rambla one day, Maddie noticed that several of the chickens were missing from their open air stalls and exclaimed “Someone’s having chicken tonight!” We had been warned to beware of pickpockets in Barcelona and we had two close encounters with professional pickpockets during our stay in the city. In each instance we were able to keep our wits about us and avoid losing anything important, but we found ourselves much more vigilant during the remainder of our stay. Biz and I found it interesting that our perceptions of Madrid and Barcelona had changed since our visit thirteen years ago. During our first visit, we preferred Barcelona to Madrid, but this time we reversed the rankings. Perhaps the simple explanation is the Olympics. When we were last in Barcelona it was gearing up for the Olympic games. On this trip, Madrid was competing for the 2012 games, and had taken extraordinary steps to put on its best face for the visiting selection committee. We were disappointed with all of the graffiti on the facades of the historic buildings in the Barri Gotic and along the Rambla. This was not a problem that we could recall during our first visit to Barcelona. The kids are always very affected by the sight of downtrodden beggars slumped against the sides of buildings along the sidewalks with their donation cans placed in front of them. Bless their hearts, I don’t think the children have passed one poor soul that hasn’t pulled at their heartstrings and we always made sure to have an ample supply of change when we headed off on our walks so that the kids could make a donation to each of the less fortunate. As we were riding in the cab to the airport, Elizabeth and I were recounting for the kids some of our memories from our honeymoon years ago. As if on cue, our wedding song, Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” played on the radio. Although it may have lost a bit of its Olympic sparkle, Barcelona was still a wonderful and romantic city to visit and explore. NEXT DISPATCH. EGYPT We look forward to keeping in touch with you. If you have a moment please email us at ourworldtrip@aol.com.

May 17, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dispatch #32 Carmona, Seville and Ronda, Spain

Dispatch # 32 Carmona, Seville, and Ronda Spain March-April, 2005 “Majestic Paradors, Grand Cathedrals and a Barrio Black Hole” Carmona was a picturesque Andalusian town that sat atop a hill surrounded in each direction by fertile emerald valleys. The walled fortress city could be seen for miles as we approached from the valley below. The afternoon sun illuminated its tan hilltop fortifications, crowned by an elegant, reddish baroque-style cathedral tower. The remainder of the city spilled over the side of the hilltop like a white tablecloth checkered by the terra cotta roofs of the surrounding buildings. We entered the town through an imposing grand, horseshoe shaped gateway and then continued up the narrow, winding streets to our hotel, the Parador de Carmona. The Parador where we stayed was once a part of the city’s main fortress, or Alcazar, but was converted in the 16th century into a splendid residence by Pedro I, also known as Pedro the Cruel and Pedro the Just (apparently the name changed depending on who you were talking to). The Parador was a majestic building that rose hundreds of feet above the neighboring fields and orchards. The panorama from the balcony of the Parador of the rural countryside was magnificent. The interior of the building was equally as impressive. There was a splendid courtyard, fountains, and towering stone corridors richly accented with archways, ceilings and moldings of rich cherry wood. Having arrived late in the afternoon, we took some time to set up camp before dinner. The ritual of packing and unpacking can grow rather tiresome on a trip such as ours. We have experimented with a variety of strategies. For a long while we tried living out of our suitcases, periodically pulling out items when needed. The problem was that inevitably, the things that we needed were somewhere at the bottom of the case, so the remaining contents ended up being spilled all about and we had to spend an inordinate amount of time picking up after ourselves. So, we have adopted a ritual of unpacking our clothes at each stop and then each person finds somewhere in the room to pile their belongings. Since drawers are usually quite limited, there are typically small piles of belongings set about the room. Although we have had some longer stays, our typical stop is for three to five days, so there is rarely any sense of permanency involved. The wonders we encounter each day never cease to amaze and delight us, but the constant movement and the related packing, loading, unloading and unpacking does tend to wear us down at times. When we planned our journey, we had to decide how much we wanted to see. Inescapably, we found that we couldn’t leave a country without seeing certain places, so we voluntarily chose to be on the move more often than not. It will be interesting to see how this nomadic lifestyle will affect our children. Frankie seems to be the most affected by our perpetual motion; he has his worst days when we are in transit, which is to say quite often. He has seemingly made sense of this constant movement in his own unique way. When we are packing up to move to another location, he will say “Time to go Poppy, this house is all dirty in the mud” Perhaps we should disabuse him of this misconception, but we don’t know that a more complicated explanation would prove helpful. It will be interesting to see how long we are home before he decides the place is plenty dirty and is ready to move on. One lesson we have learned during this trip is just how little we really need to get by. Our finite luggage supply has dictated that we have only a few selected toys, bare bones accessories, clothing and supplies. Also, since we are often unable to do laundry for weeks at a time, we all have become accustomed to wearing the same clothes over and over. Anyone who has perused our photo album will note that we seem to be wearing the same outfits in each location. I am not sure what affect this will have when we return. We may adopt a simpler, less material lifestyle, or go the other way and become uber-consumers, reveling in all of the supply and choices of goods back home. We enjoyed a traditional Spanish dinner in the Parador’s elegant dining hall. The surroundings were certainly fit for a king, just or cruel, as the case may be. Because of Frankie’s variable behavior in formal dining situations, we often opt for take away. In fact, after learning how to say “Hello,” “Please,” “Thank you,” “Goodbye,” and “Where is the bathroom?” the next indispensable words and phrases that we seek to learn in each country are “Sorry!” and “We will take that food to go.” So, when we do go out for dinner, the girls get very excited. It is fun to watch them “get their freak on,” dressing up (as much as they can given their limited clothing options), putting on make-up and generally making the preparation for dinner as much fun as the dinner itself. Carmen loves to get her extreme makeovers from her older sisters and they have a lot of fun doing it. We had just sent a box home from Spain, but had missed Bella’s flamenco dress in the packing, so Bella wore her long, frilly, red and white flamenco dress, much to the dismay of her sisters who would have liked to wear theirs as well. Frankie is usually the easiest to get dressed; since he refuses to wear shoes, socks or long pants, we need only find one of his “piratie” outfits, preferably the one with the fewest stains. Elizabeth wore her only black dress, the one she wears each time we go out, and she looks gorgeous in it every time. Proving that if you look good in one outfit, who needs more? We had a traditional Spanish dinner, meat, cheese, bread, and vegetables. Madeline continued to delight Frankie and Carmen with her dining table art work, drawing scenes of each of them with the paper and crayons that we have found to be an essential part of any dining out experience. Bella was fawned over by the wait staff and passersby, each complimenting her on her beautiful dress. After dinner, we paused on the castle balcony to gaze at the moonlit countryside below. The moon hovered gently over the darkened silhouette of the Andulucian hilltops like a giant lantern. “Papa, I like living in a castle” Carmen said as she squeezed my hand with her little fingers. The next morning we rose early and set off to explore enchanting Seville. After completing the half hour’s drive from Carmona, we began our exploration of Seville with an unplanned detour through Seville’s medieval Jewish quarter, the Barrio de Santa Cruz. Guidebooks suggest that it is “a tangle of quaint narrow, winding streets.” That is true, except that they were not so “quaint” when we found ourselves hopelessly lost in those streets. As with most stories, you probably had to be there, but imagine all of sudden finding yourself in a maze of streets that are, without exaggeration, no more than a foot wider than your van (after retracting the mirrors) and you cannot find your way out. That was the position we found ourselves in after taking one simple wrong turn off of the main boulevard. As we sought an exit from our predicament we found our situation getting worse and worse with each turn. Each turn in the street was nearly ninety degrees in angle and we had to jimmy the van back and forth to make the bend. The Barrio “Black Hole” seemed to be drawing us further and further into its center. With each turn, the streets appeared to get slightly narrower. It was maddening and just when we were ready to abandon the vehicle (although we are not sure how we would have done that since we couldn’t open our doors!); fate intervened and delivered us from the labyrinth. Like a halfback running to daylight between towering linemen, I bolted for a bright spot between to buildings, passing within inches of two houses, I accelerated under the overhanging laundry, jumped a curb and finished with my best “Starsky and Hutch” fishtail before coming to rest in the right lane of a legitimate roadway. We shared our tale to some people that we met later in the day and they told us that tourists often will get trapped in the Barrio, driving until they find their vehicle literally stuck between the walls of the buildings that line the narrow streets. Badly in need of a road map, we pressed on toward the spires of the colossal Cathedral of Sevilla that loomed in the distance. Having lost sight of the Cathedral, we drove around hopelessly lost until we had had enough. We grabbed the next parking opportunity and decided to set off on foot. Completely by happenstance, we had found a parking spot right in the neighborhood where we wanted to be. Imagine our surprise and delight when we stopped at a local café for directions and discovered that we were a few minutes walk from our destination. Elizabeth and I, took this occasion to sit in the morning sunshine under a vine covered trellis, sip a caffe con leche and allow our blood pressures to return to normal. In route to the Cathedral of Sevilla, we happened upon a playground adjacent to the Alcazar Gardens and next to the towering monument to Cristobol Colon (Christopher Columbus). The kids enjoyed this respite from our historical explorations and they played for well over an hour while Elizabeth and I struck up casual conversations with some of the other parents standing along the perimeter. Afterwards we strolled along the tree-lined streets to another park situated along the Puerta de Jerez, but more importantly for our bread and cheese satiated offspring, across the street from McDonalds! The kids gobbled down the tastes of home and played in the warm sunshine. It is a credit to McDonalds that no matter where you are in the world, the food tastes exactly the same as it does back home in the United States. After lunch we proceeded up the grand Avenida de Constitucion to the steps of the spectacular Cathedral of Sevilla. The enormous cathedral was erected on the site of the original Almohad mosque and the main tower of the mosque, the stunning La Giralda (circa 1184 AD), still stands along side the Cathedral. After falling to the Christians in the 13th century, the mosque was converted into a Christian church, but early in the 15th century, the church fathers set upon an ambitious plan to build an awe inspiring monument to their faith. They vowed “Let us create such a building that future generations will take us for lunatics.” One thing is for sure, they certainly constructed themselves one very big church. The majority of the work was done between 1434 and 1517 in a dramatic gothic style of architecture. Additions were added over the succeeding 250 years in renaissance and baroque styles. The sheer size of the grandiose Cathedral and its series of spectacular vaulted ceilings, rising 120 feet from the church floor, was overwhelming for sure. Standing and gazing at the ceiling twelve stories overhead, colorfully lit by the plethora of large circular and tabular shaped stain glass windows, we could begin to imagine the wonder the medieval worshippers must have felt when they entered the Cathedral, the ceilings seemingly reaching into the heavens. We were distracted from the visual drama overhead by the flurry of interior adornments. All along the outer edges of the Cathedral were gated chapels holding tombs, monuments, works of art and sculptures. In the center of the Cathedral were golden gilded rooms and a towering and majestic golden altar. The gothic altar was over sixty feet tall, contained hundreds of carved biblical figures and an enormous crucified Christ figure that hovered at the top of the altar several stories above the pews. One of the highlights of the tour was visiting the tomb of Christopher Columbus. A portion of his remains are stored in an iron casket which is held aloft by four giant sepulcher bearers, each representing one of the four kingdoms of Spain as they existed at the time of the legendary mariner’s historic voyage, Castile (carrying Granada on the point of his spear), Leon, Aragon and Navarra. Another focal point was the thirty four-story climb up a circular ramp to the top of La Giralda. La Giralda is one of the most recognized symbols of Seville. Constructed by the Moors in the late twelfth century. Centuries ago, on special occasions, the King and other important leaders would ride their horses up the steep ramps to the top of tower to ring the giant bells. Unfortunately, we couldn’t locate any horses so we made the trip by foot. At first the kids all showed surprising stamina, but it was not long before Biz and I were carrying Carmen and Frankie up the incline. The views of Seville from the top of the tower were wonderful. We paused for a long while taking in the panoramic view of the city, as well as admiring the gargoyles lining the exterior of the tower, the orange trees in the courtyards below and the pinnacles of the adjacent Cathedral and the spires of the Alcazar in the distance. The real excitement came when it was time to descend the ramps. The kids started running, Frankie and Carmen always teetering on the edge of losing their balance. Of course around about every other blind turn, they would narrowly miss running into one of many tourist making their deliberate ascent. It was another one of those moments where I chose not to make it a battle, thinking that they would learn their lesson as soon as one of them made contact with another person or the wall. Remarkably, they were able to serpentine their way down the ramps and past the oncoming tourist without an accident. Lagging behind the kids a few ramps at all times, I listened for the telltale sounds of a mishap, but only heard a series of squeals, laughs and a lot of “Lo Siento’s” (“I’m Sorry”). I did however; have to listen to the complaints of these understandably surprised and disapproving pedestrians as they passed by me moments later. Both Biz and I did our best to avoid appearing to be the parents of those unruly children, feigning casual conversation and avoiding eye contact. After a long afternoon exploring the Cathedral and La Giralda, we walked around the enchanting neighborhood, stopping for ice cream, lattes and trinkets. We finished the day with a visit to the Plaza de Toros, Seville’s handsome and historic bullring. Then we passed along the banks of the Rio Guadalquivir in search of a flamenco joint that had come highly recommended for its authenticity, called “El Arenal, Tablao Flamenco.” We found El Arenal, Tablao Flamenco on a secluded back alley, but unfortunately it was sold out for the evening, so we made reservations for the following night and, at the recommendation of the host, walked deeper into the neighborhood to dine at a restaurant that is a favorite among the locals, “Mesones del Serranito.” It is always fun to watch the people’s reactions when our boisterous crew enters the scene. The restaurant was half full, a group of locals, all north of sixty, quietly eating and drinking in the dimly lit restaurant beneath dozens of huge stuffed bull’s heads that lined the beige colored stucco walls. Needless to say, we added a brief shot of adrenaline to the atmosphere, but it worked out fine, we enjoyed a delicious dinner, the locals put up with our noise and activity and we put up with their plumes of cigarette smoke. Our exit from Seville was far less traumatic than our entrance and we arrived back at our fortress Parador around midnight. We were exhausted, but delighted to have been able to introduce the kids to Sevilla, one of our favorite cities in Spain. Prior to the 11th century, Seville played second fiddle within the Muslim kingdoms to Granada and Cordoba. After the fall of Cordoba and Toledo to the Christian forces, the Moors, and specifically the Almohads from Northern Africa, made Seville the provincial capital of the Almohad realm, building a grand mosque where the cathedral now stands and later adding the Giralda tower which still exists today. By the middle of 13th century, Christian forces under Castilian King Fernando III captured Seville. By the 14th century, Seville had become one of the most important Castilian cities in the realm. The monarch that loved Seville more than any other was Pedro I, who presided over a combination of Christian, Muslim and Jewish religions and cultures. The “Catholic Monarchs,” Ferdinand and Isabelle set up court in the Alcazar in Seville for several years as they pursued the conquest of the Emirate of Granada, who possessed the last Muslim stronghold on the Iberian Peninsula. Seville’s “golden age” was ushered in with the discovery by Columbus of the new world. The city was given an official monopoly on Spanish trade with the newly founded continent. Within a few decades of the original discovery, galleons were disgorging their cargos of gold and silver at El Arenal, a sandy river bank port where the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza now stands, and Seville was rapidly becoming one of the largest and richest cities in all of Europe. Lavish renaissance and baroque buildings sprung up in this gateway to the Indies and many of the writers, sculptures and painters of Seville’s “Siglo de Oro” did the bulk of their work here during the 16th century, artists like, Francisco de Zurbarian, Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez, and Bartolome Esteban Murillo. A plague in 1649 killed over one half of the entire population of Seville and as the 17th century wore on, the city lost its monopoly on trade with the new world and Seville slowly faded from center stage. We spent our last day discovering the treasures of Carmona. It was a quaint town, steeped in history, full of webs of small streets and alleyways, each leading to and opening into pleasant public plazas lined with shops and restaurants. We had lunch under the midday sun at a street side café and watched a group of local school kids, in full battle regalia, reenact a siege on the castle walls. We strolled through Carmona’s impressive Puerta de Sevilla, its ancient main gate leading to the old town section of the city and gazed at the lofty bell tower of the Iglesia de San Pedro which looked very familiar having been modeled after Seville’s La Giralda. That evening we returned to Seville, successfully by- passing the Barrio de Santa Cruz, and attended a wonderfully performed traditional flamenco show at El Arenal. The kids, and especially Bella were captivated and soon were participating at tableside along with the performers on stage during what turned out to be a colorful, highly energetic and entertaining flamenco show. From Carmona we traveled to Ronda, a beautiful city perched over the spectacular three hundred-foot El Tajo Gorge. It was also a charming, hilltop, white-washed town, full of delightful stucco buildings with decorative tile work and narrow, winding, cobblestone streets. I apologize if you feel like you have read this description before, seemingly trapped in an Iberian version of Bill Murray’s “Ground Hog’s Day, but the description fits most of the towns we have visited in the region and I am not a skilled enough wordsmith to conjure up different ways to describe the same sight. Despite the deluge of tour buses that roared into town each day, Ronda retained its pleasant, laid-back atmosphere and the character of an ancient Muslim fortress city. We stayed at the Parador de Ronda, a majestic and imposing tan brick structure situated on the very edge of the gorge. From our balcony we had excellent views of the famous Puente Nuevo Bridge, which spanned the gorge as well as the vast countryside that lay below. We have gotten very adept at making due with one room and two beds. Getting a good night’s sleep can be challenging for the adults, but we always seem to get by and, of course, save some money along the way. Some of our accommodations have, for a variety of reasons, required us to get two rooms, but many of them have been fine with us renting just one room. Whenever possible, we have booked ourselves into hotels that have “family suites” affording us the much needed additional room and bed surfaces, but that has not always been an option during our travels. These cramped quarters work fine for our family, but they do tend to result in a nightly exercise we like to call “musical beds.” One sunny afternoon we hiked to the base of the El Tajo Gorge and climbed around the ancient ruins of the outer fortifications of Ronda built during the Roman occupation (some archways still bore Roman inscriptions), occasionally, turning back toward the city above to soak in dramatic views of the Puento Neuvo Bridge and Ronda itself. As was expected, the kid’s zeal exhibited while climbing down the steep stone pathways was lost by the time we started our ascent. Elizabeth and I took turns carrying Carmen and Frankie up the hill while at the same time beating the drum like an ancient taskmaster exhorting Maddie and Bella to continue their momentum up the hill. Ronda was the capital of a small Berber “Taifa” (regional kingdom). After the collapse of the Cordoba Caliphate in the mid 11th century, Ronda came under Sevillan rule but regained a large measure of independence after Seville’s fall to Christian forces in the mid 13th century. Despite its impregnable location, the forces of Ferdinand “the Catholic” marched into Ronda unopposed in 1485 because Ronda’s leaders and their military had left the city in order to help defend Malaga, fooled into thinking that Malaga was about to come under Christian attack. Once the Christian forces had occupied the city, the returning Ronda military forces found out just how unassailable they had made their city. Much has been written about Ronda over the Centuries, and modern writers such as Ernest Hemingway were captivated by its charm. It is the self-proclaimed origin of modern bullfighting, and is home to two of the most famous bullfighting families in all of Spain, the Romero’s and the Ordonez’s. Actor-director, Orson Welles, was so enamored with Ronda and its bullfighting that he had his ashes buried here on the estate of his close friend and legendary matador, Antonio Ordonez. During the 18th century, three generations of Ronda’s Romero family enshrined forever the majority of the basic techniques of modern day bullfighting on foot. Previously, the sport had been conducted on horseback as a sporting cavalry training for the nobility. Francisco Romero evolved the ballet like use of the cape to attract the bull, and the use of the “muleta” (sword) to perform the kill. His son, Juan, introduced the bullfighter’s supporting team (the “cuadrilla”) and his grandson, Pedro, perfected the elegant and classical style of moves known as the “Escuela Rondena” (or the Ronda School of bullfighting). During Pedro Romero’s career, he reportedly killed over 5,500 bulls without suffering a scratch and the illustrious painter, Goya, in his famous painting of the fabled matador, forever memorialized his exploits. To this day, Ronda’s largest annual festival, held in September, is a commemoration of Pedro’s birth date. Located in the center of town was the neo-classical monument to this historic Spanish blood sport, the Plaza el Toros de Ronda, Real Maestranza de Cabelleria de Ronda (try printing that venue on a tee shirt!). The façade of the bullring appeared to us as it has to visitors for hundreds of years, baroque and renaissance architectural features, double arched galleries supported by Tuscan columns and covered by a white, Moorish style tile roof. Its design was patterned after the famous Palacio de Carlos V, a structure we had recently seen on the grounds of the Alhambra in Granada. We spent the afternoon exploring the bullring and visiting the museum located beneath the galleries. The Museo Taurino was crammed full of memorabilia, such as photos, paintings, and bull fighting costumes, swords and capes. During the 1940’s and 1950’s, the iconic Antonio Ordonez became the most celebrated matador in Spain. In commemoration of the 200th anniversary of the birth of Pedro Romero in 1954, at Ronda, Ordonez reintroduced and, thereafter, institutionalized the use of the beautiful, elaborate costumes once worn in the time of Romero and Goya, known as the “Corridas Goyescas.“ The kids had a great time taking turns playing the roles of bull and matador, one charging across the dirt ring, bent over, fingers held tight to the sides of their heads, while the other awaited the moment of truth, pulling back their coat/cape just in time to avoid a collision with their hurtling sibling. As I leaned against one of the horn-marred barriers, soaking up the sun and watching the children play their imaginary games, I realized with a certain degree of satisfaction just how far the kids had come from the pleasures of a modern playground in Chicago. Other Random Memories. The views from our Parador were spectacular. I especially enjoyed the early morning panorama when a foggy mist hung over the rural landscape, cocooned around all but the tops of the distant hills. The only drawback to the Parador was the neighboring farm. Located just across the walls from the fortress, the farm provided us with a seemingly unending assortment of animal noises. It was warm in Carmona and so we tried to sleep with the windows open, but inevitably we had to shut them to mute the sounds of the barking dogs and braying livestock that rose to our tower above. Each morning, we were greeted with the crowing of a group of very early rising roosters. Both Madeline and Isabella have been quite impressive in their use of Spanish. As might be expected, Maddie has a deeper store of knowledge, but she is hesitant to make use of it. Bella, on the other hand, is intrepid in her willingness to try to communicate. She thoroughly enjoys going into stores and approaching counters on her own and attempting to order an item or ask a question. Roaming around Carmona and Seville, we have been greeted by the fragrant smells of flowering bushes and trees. We love to sit in the public squares, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhoods. I especially enjoyed watching the groups of cardigan clad older gentlemen who congregated each day in a corner of the plaza and alternated between quietly watching people pass and telling animated stories with exaggerated hand gestures and raised voices. There is something uniquely European and, perhaps more specifically, Spanish, about walking up a quiet, steep, constricted, cobblestone street and passing a group of nuns walking arm-in-arm together. Carmen has been particularly sweet and matronly to her younger brother. She will sit next to him at dinner, periodically patting him gently on the back, occasionally leaning over and wiping his mouth with her napkin. Although he is generally intolerant of others being in his space, especially anyone trying to wipe his face, he makes special exception for the attentions of “his Carmen.” Neither Elizabeth nor I have ever been a fan of olives or dates, but we have tried them in Spain and found them to be absolutely delicious. While we were in Ronda, we took advantage of our proximity to an excellent Italian restaurant, “Da Vinci” and enjoyed a well-deserved break from typical bread, ham and cheese fare. Also while in Ronda, we joined the rest of the world in monitoring the last hours of Pope John Paul II’s life. Carmen is a little sponge, she absorbs everything she hears, especially phrases from some of the “teen” movies her older sisters periodically watch on our portable DVD player. Carmen added another instant classic when she emerged from the bathroom and remarked, “Bella, can you tell that I am wearing big girl underwear? Because I totally am!“ Our diminutive five year old never ceases to amaze us with the things that come out of her mouth. We have been getting a chuckle out of several op/ed pieces in the local paper expressing concern about the increasing use of English in Andalucian tourist towns, catering to the tourism trade. The authors suggested that this trend threatened the Spanish heritage and culture and called for assimilation of all visitors and foreign nationals. “If they want to visit or live here, let them learn our language!“ one author exclaimed. Coming from the United States, and being accustomed to our constant concern about political correctness, we found great irony in the sentiments expressed in the paper. Despite his independent nature, Frankie has a great deal of admiration for his older sisters. Whenever they get a costume or a frilly headpiece, he wants one too. Some day he may not appreciate all of the pictures that we have of him playing dress up around the world, but I will just have to explain that he was a metrosexual trapped in a pirate’s body. NEXT DISPATCH. BARCELONA, SPAIN We look forward to keeping in touch with you. If you have a moment, please send us your comments by emailing us at ourworldtrip@aol.com.

May 17, 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)

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  • Dispatch # 41 Home
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