Gothic and Romanesque France -- 2009 (CWU)

4 Days in Paradise

2009-08-02T12:52:00.000-07:00

It's been a whirlwind.
I just spent 4 nights in southern Italy, Sorrento to be exact. On the first night I met one of my roommates, Anita, from Brazil. She's one of those friendly, outgoing types, so she makes friends wherever she goes. We decided to go to Pompeii and Amalfi together before she left Friday morning.

Pompeii--I've always wanted to go. When we got there, at about 9:30, it was hot out. And Pompeii is huge. HUGE. I wandered about half (?) of it and didn't even make it out to the amphitheatre (which, I forgot, is where Pink Floyd recorded "Live at Pompeii"--bummer) before being completely exhausted from the heat and dust and walking around. A couple things annoyed me: the map and guidebook downplay the brothel area, to the point of making it impossible to find. It may have been under archaeological survey anyway; I walked down the road that Rick Steves (good old Rick Steves, right) noted, and was stopped by a fence. Okay. The other thing that was supremely annoying is that the cafeteria inside was closed and they failed to mention that as well. And you cannot leave and come back in. A British couple said, "If this were America, they'd have a proper guidebook and a themed caffe. They know how to do it!" Well, it was pretty amazing anyway. But I have to say, Herculaneum was better. I'll get to it.

After that we wandered to Sorrento and eventually found a place to eat pizza. We were so hungry, despite the meager snacks we had brought along, that we ordered a pizza for 2 and then another small pizza...and it wasn't even very good, and the waitress was rude. Then we made our way back, stopping first for coffee and then for gelatto. Like you do.

The next day: Amalfi Coast! The amazing bus ride reminded me of the California coastline but amazed Anita. We stopped in Positano, a long way (up) from the beach. Probably a thousand feet up from the beach, I'm guessing, based on previous hikes and lookouts. The coastal towns are built on terraces, steps, and into the sides of cliffs, with houses on top of each other. Down a set of steps and stairs that slinked in and out and over everything, to a river channel, and out to a fabulous shopping quarter, and then we found the beach. To me, it was amazing. To Anita, who lives in San Paolo, it was okay. We swam and sunned, and then found out from a local (thanks to Anita--it helps to travel with someone who speaks a little of the language and also happens to be good-looking) about a smaller beach just a 10-minute walk away. So along the side of a cliff, then we dropped down into 2 little beaches with a little restaurant. I had an amazing plate of local tomatoes (I have NEVER tasted better tomatoes than in southern Italy--they're yellow, huge, sweet, and have none of that bitter pulpy flavor at all) topped with local mozzarella and basil, along with a shot of limoncello. A bit later, swimming! in the smaller beach. It was portioned off with cliffs. It's weird to me that the cliffs jut straight into the ocean, but immediately under the water there's sand. Why don't the cliffs just keep going?

Anyway, swimming in the Mediterranean is a bit like walking in space. You can't sink. I think it's all the salt. And the water's so pretty, so I ventured a ways out (for me) without fear. It was wonderful. This will not be my last time swimming in the Mediterranean, even if I AM spelling it incorrectly.

We caught a water taxi to Amalfi, had the world's best gelatto (for real)! and observed a nice looking Italian man standing on a balconi in his underwear. Then, two very tired girls got back on the bus and endured a two-hour bus ride back to Sorrento, then walked home from there (another 25 minutes). Poor Anita having to get up to leave the next morning!

The next day, I splurged on the boat tour. Seven Hostel has a partnership with a family-owned tour business. It was Saturday, so I was part of a big group and they had two boats. I took the slow, wooden sailboat (has a motor too) run by a man we called Capitain Cook and his son. Okay, so we started on our adventure and sailed along the coast below the cliffs of Sorrento. In the side of the cliffs you can see old Roman walls with arches built in. Along the way, there was a particular set of ruins, but I failed to notice them because suddenly the captain said "Okay, I stop and you are jumping and swimming to that natural swimming pool." I looked in disbelief at an opening in the rocks along the shore. I could see little people in there, swimming and standing on a little shore, but I have never jumped from a boat into deep water and swam away from the boat before. Okay. So we did it. It was a little scary for me to swim between rocks that were only about 6 feet apart, in deep water! But it was exciting.

Next we jumped out again and swam under a little, cold waterfall. Then the ride to Capri, which took about 40 minutes. I can't even remember the order right now. We just jumped out into crystal blue or teal water, beside towering white cliffs, and swam through various caves. Once he stopped the boat beside a rock staircase in the cliff, and we climbed up into a cave above a grotto. It was fantastic.

I'm running out of time, so more later!

Roman Holiday

2009-07-28T09:14:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I got lost in Rome, which is a way of celebrating the fact that I'm traveling by myself.

After a morning of working on that ?£$%@$ paper (3/4 done now, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel), I went to Rome in the late afternoon. You have to walk to the Pantheon, which looked really far on the map, but as Stephanie and I have been joking, that European map scale... it was only a few blocks. It was too late in the day for a beam of light, except beside the occulus on the ceiling. After that I visited an antiques dealer and then headed off for the Colosseum...in the wrong direction. Turned around, went back toward the Pantheon and beyond. Somehow, I managed to go all the wrong directions and end up at all the major landmarks. I was clearly lost and an Italian man started to help me. He led me to a ticket office but wanted the money in his hand...and then I realized that he was scamming me. I said, "No thanks I just want to see the Colosseum, I don't want a ticket"; and he swore in Italian and replied, "First you want to go in the Colosseum, then you don't, I don't understand you" and muttered to himself like a lesser-known godfather away from the ticket station and into the sunset. Well, away from the sunset, rather.

I took a few more steps and found myself at the river. More than at the river, but at a footbridge leading to the famous island in the middle of Rome. So I wandered beside the water for a while, headed back into town in the general direction that I believed correct. By this time the sun had set and it was getting on to dusk. Then I rounded a corner to find an entire hilltop stretching off, covered in ruins. It made me gasp. I followed a wall around until there was a viewing fence and I was beside the Roman Forum and such. Then I climbed a hill with a church and a lookout, which happened to be behind a major square which I had just accidentally stumbled upon an hour before. Finally, I slowly made my way to the Colosseum, which by now was lit up and stood out against the night sky. So I've always wanted to see the Colosseum at night. And even though I might not make it into the structure, I feel satisfied with my visit.

Now I'm at a posh hostel in Sorrento and I'm looking forward to Pompeii, Ercolano, and the Amalfi Coast, as well as a boat ride to the island of Capri and the grottoes. That's my big splurge, but it'll be worth it.

Signing off!

"Blitzed out on sun and art"

2009-07-26T13:53:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Douglas Adams' "The Salmon of Doubt" by the poolside in the evenings, and that's how he described his time as a youth in Florence: "blitzed out on sun, cheap wine and art." It stuck with me, because A) I am, indeed, blitzed out on art. I am overindulging on art. Bernini, Michelangelo, Raffael (their names sometimes have several spellings and I can't remember, bear with me). Extravagent trompe l'oile ceilings (again, sp?), marble tiled floors, mosaics, oil paintings, gardens, statues. Statues! I never really loved statues before, but the works of Bernini and Michelangelo are so amazing. I saw M's "Pieta" in St. Peter's Basilica today, and I couldn't pull myself away.

Let me back up. It turns out that the Vatican Museum is free on the last Sunday of every month! So I endured long lines and went to the museum and St. Peter's. The lines made 6 hours feel like 10, but it was an amazing day. The Sistine Chapel was a madhouse, a zoo of people. But you know what? That makes me happy. At least half of that crowd is there because they love art. They want to see something beautiful, and they stood for a while, using cameras even though they weren't supposed to (I'm guilty too) (but FLASH, for, er, Pete's sake! Come on!), and they were there under the roof of the major portion of a master's life's work. It makes me glad to know that so many people want to be affected by art. I hope even more of them were. The whole room is just overwhelming. I think we take for granted lots and lots of pretty things being achievable and presented at once in our information age, but it's just amazing when you stop and think that the ceiling and one huge wall of the very large chapel is the work of one man. All those incredibly beautiful forms each in their own poses, all those shadows and details, all the shapes that are carefully planned out, all the color expertise.

St. Peter's, at first, was too much. All I saw was marble. It looked like a hideous display of wealth. But then I started to notice how light came through the occuli and hit certain statues, or how each niche had an entombed body or a masterpiece and I made my rounds 3 times (no small feat; St. Peter's is the biggest church in the world). There was a Pieta statue in white marble, behind glass, and I couldn't pull myself away. It was incredibly moving, and Mary was so beautiful. Then I read in my guidebook afterword that the Pieta is by a young Michelangelo and is "incredibly moving." Well. Unfortunately, I could not find the dark medieval statue of St. Peter, which I've kind of wanted to see since I was a kid. But the back portions of the church were closed off, and I assume crowd management is a little different on the free Sundays, so he may have been on vacation from crowds for the day.

I also went into the basement to see the tombs of past popes. It felt like a sanctified place. It's hard to explain; I'm not Catholic but I felt the emotion and the oldness. I don't believe that any human being is more hallowed than the next, but I do believe in the energy of people's faith and their needs as well. Am I saying too much for a school blog? So be it. I've been studying Cathedrals, for Pete's (there it is again) sake and this is me, Jessi, who has a blog devoted to spiritual essays. So it was bound to go there.

At many of the basilicas I've visited, I've seen people overcome with emotion. Today I saw a woman openly weeping. I think it's a beautiful thing. Being in these enormous temples so lovingly and carefully created makes me almost wish I were here for a pilgrimage, not just the architecture and art. But as a human being and a spiritual person (and an art lover), I don't think the experience is lost on me. Just different maybe. But I wish I had a sign, like the hand cross, that showed my reverence and emotion outwardly.

When I got back to the campsite, (you guessed it) I went for another dip in the pool. Life's rough.

I had a new tentmate last night, but when I went to bed she was sleeping so I couldn't meet her. When I got up and ready she was sleeping. When I came in after getting back she was sleeping. I was starting to worry, or at least wonder if she was recovering from something major. I met her tonight, and it turns out she's a teacher at the high school level. Aha. It turns out that she decided to give herself a week to just relax, because normally she's off and running.

She has a bubbly personality and has traveled to 27 countries on her own and LOVES it. So her attitude is contagious; though I'm not an outgoing person, I don't feel so weird about being here by myself. She's very interesting; originally from Wisconsin, she teaches in England to afford traveling on "holiday." And she meets people wherever she goes, which I wish I could do! I'm glad to have met her.

Well, until the next report! Oh, yes, back to B) Douglas Adams' saying also stuck with me because on my last night in Florence I sat in the rooftop terrace bar of the hostel and ordered a glass of white wine for 1 Euro and looked out over the lit domes of Florence. You know, all that dragging-suitcases-up-flights-of-stairs and stiff-shoulders and sorry-I-don't-speak-blank and how-much-have-I-spent-today really is worth it for the little moments. Just tonight I was reviewing my photos of ancient cathedrals and thought, how amazing it was to be there. Already I'm nostalgic. It's like a grand whirlwind tour and I'm still taking in things I saw a month ago. When it all catches up with me I'll probably be in tears at how beautiful the buildings are.

The only thing that could be better would be if someone were here to share it all with. I really really wish that my family were here. Not so much because I miss them, because that's normal; Montana is as far away, it seems, as Italy, and I can never call my Dad because he keeps ungodly hours. But because I wish they could see it all. I thought of Mom in Canterbury, with the English walls and colorful doors and gardens. I think of Courtney in the art museums...well, I think of all my family members in the art museums. I thought of Courtney in the costume museum. I think of Tucker when I come across Roman helmets or shin guards or anything knight-ish. I wish Megan and I could be playing together at the pool. I'm always taking photos not for myself but for them.

Bernini

2009-07-25T13:08:00.000-07:00

I accidentally traveled in luxury from Florence to Rome. And paid for it too. I thought, from reading various online things about Eurorail, that passengers over 26 were obligated to travel first class. So I bought my ticket to Rome and it cost (gulp) 59 Euro, or 89 or so dollars. Then, the next day when I was purchasing my ticket from Rome to Naples ahead of time, I had to wait in line. I watched a lady in her 40s pick second class. So I did the same. THAT ticket was 10.50 Euro. For a journey of roughly the same distance. Needless to say, my two-hour journey was extremely comfortable. The seat comformed to my back. The headrest had a built-in pillow. There was a smart fold-out table which I used to review my paper notes. Most of the seats were empty, and those that were filled contained the well-dressed and put-togethers. I pretended not to be a dirty backpacker for a minute. Until my cheap rolling suitcase, which I bought from a street vender to ease my load, suddenly remembered that it was lopsided after all and fell over, hitting a woman with the handle on the side of her leg. I felt bad, said Sorry again and again because I can't remember anything in Italian right now, and she was nice but it clearly hurt. I felt awful!

Other than that, I enjoyed watching the Tuscan and then Umbrian landscape roll by. It's funny; I knew exactly when the regions switched. Everything was green and sort of romantic and red-tiled, and then we went through this little tunnel, and came out in a dustier, green white and brown landscape. Umbria is pretty too. All through Europe, I' ve been wanting to catch a shot of a super old farmhouse, preferably partially in ruins. I've seen many, while my camera was off and put away. Even when I have it out, I'll notice a ruin, lift the camera and then wham! truck or tree. Or, my camera will be on but will choose that moment to go into sleeper mode. C'est la vie, I suppose.

Getting from Termini station to my campground was an adventure. The metro travel was very long, which I don't mind. I arrived at the pick-up point for the campground's shuttle bus and waited. And waited some more, so I pulled out the directions and my little clock. "On the half-hour," it said. Oh, wait. Except between the hours of... So I hopped, with all my luggage, onto the bus that said "Mare" and watched the beach go by for a while. Started to get nervous when the bus didn't turn around. Went to the window and asked the bus driver, "Scusi, ritorno Colombo?" He couldn't hear through the glass, he claimed. Sat down and started to panic, as we were now going through a small town and had potentially changed directions. Felt better when I realized that we were actually traveling back down the coast the other way.

Anyway, I got to my campground, registered, changed into my swimsuit, grabbed my paperback copy of "The Salmon of Doubt," the posthumously collected musings of Douglas Adams, and nearly ran to the pool. I'm staying at Country Club Castelfusana and they have two pools--the one I've frequented is 50 by 25 meters and has lots of deck chairs and a poolside bar. I swam for a while and then sat down and ordered a sandwhich and a couple very nice, er, birthday beverages. This is a school blog. Read some Douglas Adams while sipping my refreshing lime-flavored beverage and listening to a pretty good mix of music. They played a remix of "Whatever Lola Wants" that I actually didn't mind, some Pink Floyd, lots of Marley, a few dance numbers, some Brazilian music (which my inner dweeb actually likes), and David Bowie. After all that work, I had to take another dip in the pool. It was a good birthday.

Today I went to the Borghese area of Rome. It's a very big park with several museums, a lake and temple, and walking grounds. Went to a museum of 6th to 3rd century Etruscan art and then to the exquisite Borghese museum. It's the mansion of an art collector, I think from 2 or so centuries ago. Has a wonderful collection; my guidebook said it was the best collection in Rome (which is a tall order). I fell in love with the Bernini sculptures. I have a few new obsessions from this trip, and Bernini is one.

After a long day at the park, I wandered to the Piazza Di Spagna and washed my feet in a Bernini fountain, didn't know that until afterward. The park had been relatively deserted (relatively) but the square was definitely a hubbub. I took a picture of house 26, which was where Keats spent his final years, but didn't pay the fee to go in beyond the first set of stairs. Then I went back up to the park for a view of Rome from one of its seven hills and returned back to my campground, which was another adventure I'll save for another day. Anyway, at 8:30 I decided, why not? and went for a quick dip in the pool again. Then I ate the first thing I've had all day besides water, a yogurt drink, and some chips. I discovered that the pizza place here charges 2 Euro a slice. Super cheap! I'm pretty pleased with this place; the only caveat is that I should have stayed in a bungalow or room. The outdoor tents are nasty, and they don't even have linen right now to rent. (!). My tent smells funky. Er, I should add, it smelled funky before I got there. It doesn't lock, either, but I don't think anyone will want to come in. But there is a little refridgerator, so that's handy! The other problem is the bathrooms--sure, I expect campground-type facilities, but some of the sinks are plugged and I have never yet experienced hot water in the showers here. But all that for 11 bucks a night, with free access to a fabulous pool, and being surrounded by a forest of my new favorite kind of tree, the Roman Pines. So it's a toss-up.

If I really had the money, I would upgrade the second stay here, August 1-4th, to a room in the farmhouse they have in the middle of the campground. It's a grand, looming, ancient building, and in the big lot they have an ox, some boars, a chicken coop, and who knows what-all.

My feet stink. I need to work on my paper (the neverending story).

TO Rome

2009-07-24T00:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm off to Rome!
Yesterday I worked on my paper until I couldn't stand it, dipped in the pool and then took a siesta, and then worked on the paper some more. I'm way more than half done, which really means that I can finish easily. I wish I had finished while here, but it's quite an undertaking and a different sort of paper (based on fieldwork) than I've ever done before. Because of my situation I have to wiz through all the pictures on my camera by hand to find the one I need each time, which is no small task with over 2,000 pictures. Well, out of time. See you all in Rome.

Florence

2009-07-23T02:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had an amazing time. After venting on my blog I felt better. Then I went out to wander Florence. I walked through the old part of the city---oh, wait: it's all old!---down to the church of which I wrote yesterday, only to find out it cost more than I thought to get in. Oh well. Walked toward the river on a back road and found a little square with lemon trees against peeling bright yellow fresco on the way. The view from the river is very pretty. I think I need to be near water at least once a day to feel good. Crossed the river, exchanged picture-taking with some Italian-speaking tourists, walked past a gorgeous little public garden and found my way to the big palace of the Pitti and Medici families.

There were two options: ticket A was the royal apartments and modern art museum, etc. Okay. But ticket B was the Boboli Gardens, some other stuff, and a costume museum. OKAY. I have been looking at fine art and architecture this whole trip so I needed to switch it up, so I chose option B. The costume museum was very cool: fine Italian clothes (full dress) from the late 1700s until now plus an exhibit of clothes removed from the graves of three members of the Medici family who died in the 1500s. Amazing and a little creepy, especially since the rooms were dark to protect the brittle fabric. The clothes are partially decomposed (of course) and readerboards provided explanations of who the people were, how and when they died, how they were buried, and how and why the clothes were removed and restored; as well as drawings of how the clothes would have looked.

The Boboli gardens turned out to be extensive manicured land above the palace on a hill overlooking Florence. Okay, it was about 90 degrees out but I did it. I'm a trooper, and I have an umbrella.

After that I bought the world's best cup of mixed fruit from a vendor (world's best simply because it hit the spot) and then wandered over the shopping bridge and back to the hostel. Later in the evening I took a bus (which proved to be an adventure, as I'm incompetent at city travel) to the famous Pilatzo di Michelangelo, which has a bronze copy of David, and overlooks the city. Florence is pretty at night, but the hill was a zoo. There was a lot of spooning going on, which is great if you find the soundtrack of a man playing South-American flute to the tune of canned music and a noisy generator, backlit by crazy traffic, romantic. I'm being transparent, I know. The only thing better than being here alone would be being here with somebody. Oh well!

So today I have a good start on my paper, finally, and I'm realizing that 15 pages won't be so difficult once I get going. Today is a hostel, swimming pool, and Nutella sandwhiches day.

Oh, by the way, I was talking to a young couple from Canada and they had a similar experience to mine; they were shopping in the outdoor market and trying to negotiate like you're expected to, and said that they were interested in a pair of shoes but didn't think the quality warranted 25 Euro. The salesman yelled, "Okay, get out then!" We think that the secret is this: if you say anything, or even question, the quality of a store or product, it's very offensive. Even if you're not trying to insult. Even if you're asking an innocent question. And magnify this with a language barrier, and presto you have a problem of cultural dissonance. So I'll take the lesson.

A few peas in my mattress

2009-07-22T00:13:00.000-07:00

Looking back over my blog, I see one overriding theme: "Paper!!! Ahhh!"

Well, the paper is due on the 31st if I can send it via email. Which, it turns out, I can. I'm in Florence, everything is expensive except walking around, and my hostel is very nice. They have a whole room of computers, and I can use wordpad without even logging in. I was considering checking out and heading to Sienna instead, but I think I have a duty and a serendipitous spot. Hopefully within a day or two the theme will change to: "Paper done!"

I'm in Firenze, as it's truly named, and it is HOT. PLUS Hostel, 22 bucks a night, is decent. I'm in a room with 7 beds. It's spacious and the AC will run for an hour at a time. The bed is really noisy and I'm a tosser, and my corner doesn't really get the AC but does get a lot of street light. That's okay; I slept like a baby last night anyway. After my 16 hour busride! I took Eurolines from Paris to Florence and arrived yesterday afternoon. Eurolines is like Greyhound only efficient, and the people are an interesting cross section as well. I hate to admit it, but I didn't really talk to anyone; I just focused on finding positions of comfort that didn't make my tailbone hurt worse. I slept on an iron parkbench in Milano waiting for the transfer bus. That's hard core.

Getting to Florence was my first time ever arriving in a foreign city without any plan--no map, no reservations, no idea if the bus station was even near the town center. Fortunately, it was. I did happen to know from reading some guides that Florence always has budget accommodations open, as I stated below. It was true. A man even tempted me at the train station with a private, air conditioned room for 30 dollars a night! But I didn't give in, and now I have a place to write.

Okay, so I have to be honest. In some ways this trip is not the magical fairy tale ride through Happy Land. It's freaking hot, and in some places muggy. I didn't pack the right clothes; I feel like a frumpy tool. It's peak season. I have had several instances where service people have been quite rude to me, the way that you can tell that just below the surface they're hostile. And I can only assume that's because I'm by myself and have a small demeanor here because I don't know the language and feel insecure.

Last night I paid extra for a sit-down dinner (gorgonzola pizza and beer). I was under an umbrella and something poured on it and splashed through onto my arm. I told the waiter very nicely, just in a questioning tone, and he said the umbrella was for the sun. Then he immediately went over and told another waiter, and they sat there poking fun at me in Italian while I tried to enjoy my dinner. I asked him why he was poking fun, and he told me in a very bossy and rude tone, "Eat. Eat your food." I left feeling terrible, reminding myself that rude people in America always see me as a target as well. It's something to do with my face or my voice or my demeanor, I don't know--or maybe I'm just fooling myself and I'm too ergly for public life. Maybe here it's because I'm a fat American by myself and people can tell that I don't know how to fight back. It makes me feel pretty crappy. But on the walk back to the hotel, I told myself that I would just be as super nice and smiley as possible so that nobody could feel okay about being rude. But it's not like I'm wearing a fanny pack and speaking in obnoxious, loud English or anything. Oh well. And I reminded myself that English speaking people are notoriously rude, so it's to be expected occasionally that I get the brunt of it. And that every person who has been rude to me is working-class. That's how it is in America too: most of the discriminatory, racist comments about language or nationality come from the lower classes.

The worst one I got was funny, and I didn't even realize it was rude until after I left. I went to an information booth in a train station in Paris and said, in French, Excuse me please, do you speak English? And she replaid, No. Do you speak French? I said that sorry, no I didn't, maybe only a little. My naive answer probably made her nicer, because she was helpful after that. And did speak some English; she was just being a smart ass.

Well, anyway. It's 9:31 am and I'm going to go walk around Florence until lunch. I can't find my sunscreen, which is a major pain because I can't wear the lotion kind. So I brought my umbrella. There's a lot of amazing art here, but you have to pay to get into everything, and it's all in different places. Michaelangelo's David: 8 Euro. The museum of fine art (with a collection, apparently, the rivals the Vatican): 8 Euro. So I'll just go see the tomb of Dante and wander around. Down to one of the only markets that covers a river. I'll spend my Euro on gelatto. Somehow I feel spoiled, having just been to the Louvre.

After wandering and having gelato, I'll come back to the hotel and swim during the hottest part of the day. The hostel has a pool. Then in the evening I'll take a bus up to a point on the hill that overlooks the town. Then tonight, more work on the paper, and I have all day tomorrow as well.

Signing off!

Stop before Sortie

2009-07-20T06:02:00.000-07:00

I leave Paris today for Italy. This next portion of the trip is the only part I have not planned ahead, but good ol' Rick Steves claims that there's cheap accommodations available in Florence, even during peak season. (By the way, RS was wrong about Bourges...but I think I already covered that.) I'm at an internet cafè in Paris and my bus leaves at 6:30. Still getting used to European keyboards too.

The last two nights I stayed in a hotel waaaay out in the boondocks and worked on my paper. I was offered a private room if I payed for breakfast so I took it. Watched part of Funny Face in French; C'est magnifique! means 'S wonderful. I'm not done with the paper but am on the way. A 16 hour bus ride should help if I can stomach writing on the bus.

Paris was exciting. The Museè d'Orlay was my favorite part: rooms dedicated to Cezanne, Monet, Van Gogh, Rousseau; it took my breath away. Also, I cried in the Louvre just a little in the Italian painters area. Too much beauty for one day.

A few of us went to the Eiffel Tower on the last night together. It twinkles on the hour starting at 11 pm. I did not pay the 13,50 Euro to go to the top, seeing how I was TERRIFIED. The Tower is really enormous, and so is the fee. But it was beautiful from below.

Signing out for now
Jessi

Champagne, Paris (from the 15th)

2009-07-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

We're currently in the Hotel Sophie Germain in Paris for the last days of our study. I have a paper to write, but fortunately I landed my own room here. The downside is that I have to write the paper by hand, as I have no computer (borrowing someone's right now).

Yesterday we visited my favorite town so far, Laon, in Northern France. Maybe I liked it because we went straight to the medieval part of town and it was early morning so nobody was there yet. The Cathedral was nice. The south transept had a tiny cloister and medieval layout still (terminology is becoming too familiar to me). I bought lunch at a little deli where everything was homemade by the owner. Pommes Dauphine (scalloped potatoes) and a tomato stuffed with mystery meat (probably lamb) over dirty rice. She heated it up and put it in a little to-go tinfoil thing, and I walked to the edge of the hill and sat on a park bench, overlooking the town and wheat fields/groves of trees beyond, with the 12th century Cathedral and medieval courthouses behind my back. Very nice.

Then today, our bus driver had made arrangements to visit some friends of his who own a vineyard in the Champagne region. We went out to the Champagne fields, into the warehouse (and learned about the process) and then had a generous champagne tasting. It was AMAZING champagne; I've never tasted anything like it. Champagne is only made in one valley in France; it's illegal to call it Champagne made anywhere else because part of the secret is the soil.This was the real deal; the family champagne has won gold and silver medals. They do most of the process by hand--30 pickers at harvest and just 5 workers in the warehouse: the dad, two sons, an apprentice, and a regular employee. They were generous with their time and we got an experience that most would never get an opportunity to even think of. It was an amazing experience.

We hit Paris today and walked over a mile to the river and Notre Dame Cathedral. It was so busy that we just filtered down a line in the courtyard and into one side aisle, out the other. I have to say, Notre Dame is very impressive and a lot of upkeep has gone into it, but I really enjoy the imperfect cathedrals and churches more. Imperfect cathedrals like Beauvois, which was never completed, so it has a Carolingen (10th century?) church sticking out of one end and a very short floor plan. Additionally, its original tower was astronomically huge, something like 45 storeys (in the 12th or early 13th century, for Pete's sake!), which was successful--but the foundations were weak, so it collapsed. (And then I built another castle, but it was still on the swamp, so it collapsed...sorry, poor Monty Python paraphrase). So the ambulatory--the front of the church which is round and full of chapels--has a different style of architecture than the transept. I like those flaws and combinations. In that same church they were doing some digging and had wooden structures up to support some arches as well, right near a 14th century clock still chiming. Today in the Basilica in Reims it was visible where Romanesque (a term used to describe Roman-like structures from a.d. 1100-1150) arches have been cut off and swallowed into later work, and arches that end abruptly in the side of a different, later style of Gothic arch. It's very charming.

P.s Today we also saw a little church (little! try huge but not enormous! church! try 800-year-old artifact!) in the square where a bishop first converted the the king of the Franks. (Francs?). There was a plaque that said that the church and town is where Victor Hugo met Esmeralda, a gypsy girl; as well as a man upon whom Hugo based Quasimoto.

P.p.s When I download and select some pictures, and after my paper is written, I'll be able to go back in and give an account of what the last two weeks were really like. For now, expect some logs while I'm in Italy. The photos will probably happen around the 5th of August.

In France They Kiss on Main Street

2009-07-13T10:12:00.001-07:00

I'm in Amiens, France today, just a few blocks from the Cathedral. A bunch of students are out getting a dinner of Kebab and Frites, but I'm taking the night off to catch up on my notes. My notes are in sorry shape. What's worse, I'm getting centuries and even cathedrals mixed up. It's starting to blur together, like cars on a freeway. When you study at least one oversized thousand-year-old structure per day, they start to overwhelm the senses and the memory.

In France, they kiss on main street. That's what Joni Mitchell says. Rather, I've found a few other things that are more common on main streets:

Kebab joints.
Kebab joints, and any joint, that serves frites (fries) and mayonnaise. A whole lotta mayo, as Page...wouldn't sing. Along with the mayo, there's a lot of orangina and limonade floating around. It's a happy thing. Well, not the mayo, but the refreshing drinks.
Dog poop. The French love their dogs (which is wonderful; I make at least one new friend every day!) and they take them everywhere. Hotel? Restaurant? Mall? No problem. And no self-respecting French person, it seems, picks up the leftovers. So when you're out walking on a sidewalk, you just have to watch your step. It doesn't seem like the end of the universe. For some reason, it seems that French dogs' tootsie rolls don't stink as bad as Americans' anyway. Maybe the dogs eat healthier here, too.
Clothing stores. Clothing everywhere. Right now (I called it!) slightly monochromatic, drapey folds of clothing are in style. Especially in taupes and grays (which, I might remind my friends, is reminiscent of my recent obsession with champagne and off-color pearl tones). I have many outfits like that, but didn't bring any of them because they weren't practical. Word of advice for someone planning to do Europe: DO PACK more clothing than Rick Steves and everyone else says. Don't overpack, but don't underpack. I feel like a schmuck in my same gauchos every day, especially since I have some really artistic ensembles that would fit right in here. At home.
Along with that: nice shoes. Everyone wears nice shoes. We all knew this. I'm quite comfortable, mind you, in my black and army-green Chaco sandals, but I will occasionally slip on my goldish-pink slippers just to look a little cultured.
Also, I think I know why French perfume is so popular. The pipes here, for some reason, sometimes have a sulfurous smell. There's this repeating, underlying smell. I did encounter the same thing in London. Maybe I'm just spoiled living in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe I'm just really sensitive.
Last thing that is common on main street, anywhere in France: buildings that are older than my country. Buildings that are older than colonization in my country. Buildings that are older than archeological digs in my country. I have a couple hundred photos of the partially wooden structures with the cross beams and cute little leaden glass crosshatched windows. They sometimes lean into the street or away from the street, depending on original orientation and the settling of the ground and materials.

A lot of the older parts of town had one level, at the bottom, that was wide enough for buggies to get through, with large arched windows where merchants did their business at street level. The second and sometimes third stories, then, were often built out over the street, to make more floor room, and were where merchants and others lived. So the streets would be narrow; as Stephanie, one of the students, quipped, you could probably have coffee with your neighbor across the way without leaving your house. A few days ago in Clermont-Ferrand, we walked to an old part of town where the buildings dated from the 12th to 15th centuries and later. There were Romanesque elements, old tiny courtyards encased in buildings where a public fountain would have been. There was a shop now called something like the Apothocarie's Bar (in French) because it was once a pharmacy of its day. At the top, two gargoyle-like statues illustrated the building's use: One, on the viewer's left, was the upper body of a man, leaning out from the roof, pointing a needle. The other, on the right side of the roof, was a woman's exposed and bent-over bottom. Literal advertisement for a mostly illiterate society.

But that doesn't mean they were uncouth; it's just that the grotesque and the bodily elements (particularly nether-regions) were acceptable topics in the 13th and 14th (?) centuries. By contrast, the older Romanesque statues (which would be from the early 12th century on) which featured full nudity in a more flattering way, were deemed inappropriate and often removed from buildings. An example is Giselvertus's gorgeous carving of Eve, which was removed from Autun because it was inappropriate. But other churches from Autun's time and later have naked butts hanging off the pilasters. A set of ancient wooden choir benches at one of the churches we went to (I'd need to look up the name) features little carved figures above each section--one of which is a woman exposing her genetalia. It seems raunch to us, and it was part of the most sanctified part of the church, where the laypeople weren't even allowed to see!

We're guilty of the same blind spots. A lot of people in our own time will say that gay love is disgusting and then turn around and watch CSI Special Victims Unit while chowing down on pizza. We are victims of our time and the ideologies that surround us.

Anyway, I've written enough for tonight and my real goal is to GET STARTED ON THAT PAPER already. Signing out.

Oh, just a few more things: Today was exciting because we drove through Paris. I saw the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysses, and some other exciting, fabulous buildings that are associated with Paris because they are located there (amazing coincidence, yes?). Our bus driver is pretty rad and he altered our route so that we were literally a few feet away from above-mentioned structures. We also drove around the Egyptian obelisk that marks the spot of the French Revolutionary guillotine. Slight bummer. On a positive note, though, they were getting it all ready for Obama's visit. He'll be speaking on the same spot. Nice historical contrast. I hope it stays peaceful while he's here (it just occurred to me). We also drove right over the spot where Princess Diana was killed. Major damper on the day. Then we drove past a motorcycle accident in a busy intersection. The motorcyclist was lying on his side in the street (and, fortunately, an ambulance was on its way and he had people looking out for him) and the motorcycle itself was literally sticking out of a windshield. Suspended like that, with a wheel in the windshield and the other pointed toward the sky. It was surreal.To add to that, a few days ago I was sleeping but most of us in the van witnessed a motorcyclist skid sideways and wreck. So those are not so good moments. I hope everyone involved is okay.

Well, over and out...

Bourge

2009-07-10T12:58:00.000-07:00

We're staying tonight and tomorrow night in Bourge. According to Rick Steves, "Bourge" may as well be European for "boring," but I say move aside, Rick Steves, while I take pictures of amazing architecture and fabulous 13th century stained glass. This morning, after a breakfast of (take your pick) proscuttio (sp?) ham, yogurt, croissants, nutella, and fresh apricots and apples, we hopped in the van, stopped at the geographic center of France, and continued on to our hotel. Walked past a chateau that looks like Belle (from Beauty and the Beast)'s new home, and into the cathedral. Climbed 390 steps in a spiral staircase to the top of a tower. Gazed upon piece after piece after piece of 13th century, narrative stained glass in the apse of the cathedral (most of which is just above eye level), etc. Gotta go, borrowing someone else's computer, going to bed.

Of technical import

2009-07-08T13:39:00.000-07:00

By the way, Romanesque is different from Roman, and they have both here. Roman ruins are, of course, of Roman origin. Rome once extended all the way up to England. Romanesque art and architecture, on the other hand, is from the 11th and 12th centuries, when people were looking to and copying the Roman ruins they saw around them. Romanesque came right before Gothic.

Enchante

2009-07-08T12:17:00.000-07:00

Greetings. I'm writing from a comfortable hotel in Clairmont-Ferrande in mid-to-southern France. This is the 6th day of the course, so I have a lot of catching up to do (both blogging and in my notes). It's been impossible for me to e-mail or blog for various reasons (sketchy hotel WiFi, borrowing others' computers, which don't always connect or don't always have appropriate adaptors, time!) Until now, and right now it's 9:23 and I'm exhausted! We climbed the point of St. Michael in Puy and had too much sugar at a Patissiere and rode on a very windy road home, so most of us were a little woozy and/or tired. But right now I have access to a computer so right now I'm writing! Preemptive apologies for strange, half-French spellings and commas that should be semi-colons. I saw them but fish in dark water, they disappeared when I returned to edit.

The area we're in now is hilly. There are small hills surrounding us, especially in Puy where we drove today, and those hills are actually volcanic cones. It's cool out, which is a nice change from the muggy heat we've been wading through. Most of the landscape is either farms (spotted a few ancient stone farmhouses here and there) and grazing or deciduous forest; the stone buildings, as we drove south out of Burgundy and through a few other regions, changed from peach and soft yellow to that mixed with black (volcanic). For that reason, the cathedral here in town pops up in the skyline a dark, somber black. It fits the newest incarnation of the word Gothic, with tall, toothlike spires and lots of elaborate decoration. The inside was dark and cavernous and lit by beautiful stained glass. The roses in the north and south walls of the trancept, where the authentic Gothic-era building ends (the rest remained earlier, Romanesque until money was raised again in the 19th century) are 13th or 14th century, which astounds me. Glass, we think, is so brittle. And that glass has just been there, exposed to the elements, for century upon century. Anyway, let me step back and describe the trip so far.

The main sites we've been to (but not the only) include:

the Vezelay cathedral, traditionally one of the origin points for the pilgrimages to St. Jacques de Compostele
the Saint Lazare church in Autun
a museum, Roman ruins at the Temple of Janus and the (largest known) Roman amphitheatre, also in Autun
a site in Berze in the country which was once a monastary but is now a farm, which features a chapel with Romanesque wall paintings
the Church of Notre Dame du Port (the giant black cathedral of doom)
Le Puy (which I've wanted to visit every since I saw a picture in a book years ago)
several small, charming Romanesque churches on the way

I wish I could have written more each day. It's always a good idea to keep notes (especially when you're compiling field notes!) and I need to catch up. When I arrived in Paris I was still sick, so I've felt a lap behind. My first priority, of course, will be to catch up and keep up in my notes. We're supposed to be compiling field work (notes, pictures) for a long paper, and I'm just now learning what that really entails. It's good; it's just a different kind of study and I had never done it before. There are some things I wish I had taken note of, particularly on the first couple days when I was still in a daze with the newness around me.

Some highlights:

Food. An amazing chocolatier in Cluny: marzapan with pistachio, jasmine chocolates, pretty little works of art all lined up, sweet on the eyes and the tongue). Eating in outdoor cafes. We had a particularly nice experience as a whole group at an eatery in Vezelay. The waiter was very nice, we had two long tables together. I ordered beef burgundy and Leffe (my favorite beer, which is apparently not German but French?). Many had an aperetif called Kir. We (various combinations of students) also had both lunch and dinner at outdoor cafes in Cluny. Thin crust pizza here is amazing, so is chef salad (would anyone care for a little lettuce with all that meat and cheese?) because it's served with an olive oil sauce instead of nasty, thick sauce. I haven't even seen a single piece of iceberg lettuce on anybody's plate. The meats and cheese are plentiful and often quite smelly. I've just allowed myself to accept that steak tare tare is raw, that sausage has a soft, chunky texture, that cheese is rank. I like to try new things. This could damage the budget if I don't rein it in. At the cafe in Cluny, we all shared and tried each others' food, which was fun.

Vezelay, the town. If you get a chance, go. No questions. It's peaceful and gorgeous.

Crypts. When they let you in, crypts are where it's at. They're always the oldest part of the church and they're always moody and mysterious. The ceilings are low, the altars lit by candles take on an eerie presence. The only light comes in windows from the trenches at the base of the church, set higher in the walls (like basement windows). All the crypts I've seen have been Romanesque, so thick pillars and simply vaulted ceilings. Less sculpture. Couldn't get into the crypt in the Church of Notre Dame du Port, but Dr. Folkestad says he's never, in all his visits, been allowed in. When you are allowed in, you can't use flash. There's generally a more sanctified feel to the crypt.

Being stuck in a 15th-century granary due to a sudden thunderstorm in Cluny. The granary now houses some artifacts from the Cluny church, which is now mostly gone (but was HUGE--the largest in the Christian world until recently--we walked a block or so of ruins that were excavated within the last couple centuries before getting to part of the trancept that remains; it was immensely tall and Dr. Folkestad later informed me that it was just a side aisle). We were in the basement when the storm hit. We waited a few minutes, then made our way through torrential downfall to the upstairs, which also had a covered porch/stairs to the gift shop. I bought an umbrella on the theory that once you're prepared, the thing you're prepared for will not happen again. But anyway, there are worse things than hearing loud, nearby thunder inside a mostly empty 15th century granary with lead windows, stone walls, and beam ceilings. And (I believe) an altar that a pope once blessed.

So more later, when I get a chance. For now I need to sign off and do a little catching up on my notes. I wish I could package the smells and feelings for all my gentle readers. Lavender, sacred candles, sulfury pipes, ancient must, chocolate. I wish my camera had a smells function. Most of all I wish my brother and sisters were with me. Oh, p.s. my French is getting better. I know how to order water (except I once got a 4.80 euro Evian), ask for the toilet, and apologize. I'm on my way.

Photos are forthcoming. I have about 2 thousand, so I'm having issues downloading. They will come, I promise.

Same as It Ever Was

2009-06-29T15:40:00.000-07:00

So I've spent the last couple days climbing stairs, gaping at ancient buildings, dodging youth hostelers, and cleaning the Underground soot out of my nose. I'm here with Stephanie, another student on the French Romanesque & Gothic Art and Architecture course (we've got to find a shorter name for it--FRoGGA? Is that politically incorrect?) and we've been running ourselves ragged. With just a few days to cover London, I've been scrambling to "get it all in," even though I told myself beforehand that there's no WAY to get it all in, and you have to give yourself permission to chill. Anyway, I had even less time than Stephanie because British Airways asked me to stay a day late in Seattle and accept a fat wad of cash (an amount which I don't want to disclose, because I don't want to admit how quickly it's going away) and a night at The Westin hotel & spa in Seattle. Okay, it seemed like a good idea, and it still was, but I have to say that I've never been at a hotel that got so many things so mixed up. But that's another story for another day. I'll be in a better space to write about my experience when they refund me the 75 dollars they charged me for a surprise after I'd made sure my bill was clear (for the fourth time, for various reasons). ANYway. It's been runrunrun.

Today I went to Westminster Abbey not once, but twice. The first, Stephanie and I went on a walking tour (which I've discovered is a very good idea when affordable) and learned a lot about the place, which is always nice when you're dealing with very old buildings. Saw the oldest door in England. It's very grand, glorious, and impressive, but my favorite part was probably two arches near Poets' Corner, where they removed some memorials a while back and discovered very faded medeival paintings on the wooden panels. Beautiful. There were more extremely faded ancient paintings in the smaller area off the main nave, whose name escapes me right now, except that it's part of the 13th century structure. I'll post pictures when I get the chance. I am so in love with medeival, pre-Gothic stuff. Simpler lines, and of course, the patina and the rub and the washing away of time. Somehow faces reposed in grace and haloed with gold or even more poignant when you can barely make them out. It's as if you're seeing them through time, as if time is a barrier but not totally. I don't know; if you, gentle reader, get the woo-woos or the heebie-jeebies when you see old buildings or ancient art, then you'll understand. If you don't, that's okay. Chalk it up to empathic nonsense.

The little cloyster was cute too. Like I said, I'll be posting the pictures, but for now, I have four minutes of internet remaining and only 5 hours of time in which I might sleep before we have to get up and catch our bus out to Canterbury. Side note: a horse's canter is, in fact, named after Canterbury, not the other way around (or other way round, if you're British).

Hmm...what else...I've gazed upon the outside of the Tower of London twice but didn't get a chance to go in. Saw a church that Shakespeare worshipped in. Stood in the area where Chaucer's house would have been when he was tax collector at a city gate. Went to Evensong at Westminster this evening. Took a boat ride on the Thames. Walked the river at night. Gotta go before the computer does it for me!

The Anticipation is Half the Fun?

2009-06-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

The other day I blind-pulled a "self-affirmation card" from a stack at the local health food store, and it said:

I have had many troubles in my life, and the majority of them never happened.

and I thought that was apropos for me, especially in the process of getting ready for this trip. I have imagined all kinds of worst-case-scenarios and hypothetical hangups. Some people would call that "being responsible," but it turns out that it's just a method of making your pack way too heavy, especially when you're not going to some third-world country without stores anyway. And I've learned that other people, upon hearing about your exciting plans, just love to offer all kinds of warnings too--everything from things that they've imagined, to that odd news story from 7 years ago, to a recent horror movie, to what happened to aunt So-and-So thirty years ago with her ex-husband in a different country altogether. Rick Steves says I should take a money belt, Mom's worried about me being in Italy all by myself (it'll be just me and a couple million scary men, apparently), I turn on the tv and there's a commercial for the new show, "Locked Up Overseas."

One piece of advice I've received over and over again, however, that I've taken to heart: Pack Light. Even though I've spent several months obsessing over clothes and going to Goodwill every other minute in hopes that a pair of Chaco's or a pack would magically appear (both of which have magically appeared since then, in other ways), I ended up cutting out about half of my "Europe clothes" when I tried to lift my pack. And since then, I've cut out even more, shipping two boxes home to my parents' house from Orcas Island, where I'm currently staying. Okay, let me back up.

Memorial Day weekend, I packed all my stuff into a storage unit. When you open the door, a bed and several boxes threaten to collapse on you, just like the notorious cartoon closet. I kept things I was still hoping to bring with me on my crazy summer in my car and stayed at a friend's house for the remainder of the quarter. That was an adventure in itself, since we're both grad students and TAs, but I think it went well. I have been watching her cat most weekends for half of the year, so it was a balanced exchange. Last week, I trimmed my pack down to about 35 pounds and hopped the Greyhound to Orcas Island. Now I know, from backpacking in the mountains, that 35 pounds is doable. I can (or could) walk ten miles uphill (both ways?) with a big ol' pack. But lifting it repeatedly and carrying it around in a scary bus station (the Seattle one, to be exact) turned out to be a lot more difficult. So yesterday, from Orcas Island's only post office, I sent more stuff home. They told me I needed a "from" address and I told them I was homeless. A happy wanderer with several hangups.

So the final list:
blazer, hoodie, long-sleeved linen shirt
two nice tee shirts, two tank tops
swimsuit
summer dress that can also be worn w/swimsuit
jeans, gauchos, long skirt
Chacos, little ballet slippers
4 pairs of underwear, 4 pairs socks
red tights (these are extra, but I have to finish Alisoun of Bath's trip to Canterbury in her crimson stockings--I'm a nerd)
two bras
packable rain jacket
fleece sleeping bag, lightweight round pillow
Frida Kahlo sari (for beach blanket)
small towel, washrag
camera, memory card reader, thumb drive
cell phone, charger, adaptor
medicine
first aid kit: bandaids, neosporin w/ duct tape wrapped around it, chai tea, ibuprofin, remnants of a sewing kit
a little chunk of Fels Naptha, 10 dryer sheets
extra baggies, big plastic bag (for rain)
lock, caribiners
water bottle
notebook, map, drawing pad, etc.
passport, dl, appropriate cards including STA travel card w/insurance
copies of the above
doggie shampoo bar (not kidding!) and other toiletries
Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein, The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams
a cold

I'm not kidding. Now I'm sick. My ears feel weird, it hurts to swallow, and my sinuses are pushing down on my teeth. Figures. Something I didn't plan for.