The Traveled Mind

Moving On

2010-01-22T22:04:00.000-08:00

I've moved this blog over to a new site (same name) but hosted by Wordpress.
Click picture to head over there to see the latest Munich post.

I'm still working on it, but yep, we're moving on.

Surf's Up in Munich

2009-09-15T09:06:00.001-07:00

Surf's up in Munich! (See earlier post for more information.)

Monday, Monday in Munich

2009-09-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

Monday we begin a wild-goose chase for some wood carvings. All I'll say about that is we had a nice bus ride in the middle of the day which brought us to the Deutsches Museum, Munich's equivalent of the Exploratorium and Smithsonian's Science and Industry Museums mashed together. The guidebook says it's the largest museum of its kind in the world. It IS big.

The front door.
(Take a look at that room with the tall windows on the second floor. We came back to that on Thursday for our final reception of the conference.)

The main hall is filled with an exhibit about flying, beginning with this model of a hot air balloon.

The Red Baron's plane? (He fought Snoopy.)

There was an exhibit on how to fly a plane, so Dave and I took our turns at this jetliner. It's way tougher than it seems.

Next stop, Endoplasmic Reticulum.
Really this swirling aqua mass was inside the Pharmaceuticals Exhibit which shows a human cell model which is magnified 350, 000 times. That purple eyeball is really the nucleus. Dave explained it all to me, as the Biology class I had was also erased from my memory banks some time ago.

And I'm standing near the Golgi Bodies. I wanted to photograph the mitochondria and hang the resultant photograph in my study because they're the energy powerhouses of the cell and I'm in desperate need of more.

Bayer Aspirin began here in Germany, and the museum has an old pharmacy taken from an early monastery. Click here to go the museum website for a panoramic view. Incidentally, the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry was modeled on the Deutsches Museum.

Drawers in the old pharmacy.

Since it was now getting later and later in the afternoon (the clock shows 3:10), I'm thinking LUNCH, but where to find it? We decide to head back up to our neighborhood.

Later on we found out that the yellow building is an Art Nouveau bathing temple. To get in the mood, the dude on the rocks in the middle of the river is sunbathing in his birthday suit. Dave didn't believe me at first (I'd read about this Munich experience somewhere), but as we walked up the street to the right of this scene, it was confirmed. There were a few others that you can't see, behind the bushes.

Where we ate last night, at the HofbrauKeller. About that point, I was pretty much ready to eat the stoplights, the trees, anything. So Dave wisely found us a small place to grab a bit to eat.

We had green salads, drinks and a pretzel. A Bavarian pretzel.

The view across the street (Wienerplatz). We walk home, noticing this small church (below) in this area of Munich named Haidhausen.

We walk past the Klinikum, a hospital, where Dave's conference is held. At least I think this building is part of that enterprise.

Home to our hotel.
Later that night we went over to the Opening Reception, tucked in the back of the Klinikum. It's a bit odd to walk past people in wheelchairs and with casts and bandages on your way to a nice party.
Most people were there already and had found their tall glasses of Munich beer. They served us little open face sandwiches of all varieties, fruit salad, turkey and pineapple skewers and any number of warm drinks (they don't really believe in ice here and instead chill the drinks first--which sometimes works). We decided against the water-with-gas and went for the apple juice. It's less sweet here in Germany.
We'd decided earlier that if the refreshments were half-decent, we'd count that for dinner and just come home afterwards. That's what we did.

Theatine Church (Theatinerkirche)

2009-09-13T17:07:00.000-07:00

The Theatine Church, or Theatinerkirche St. Kajetan, is a glowing yellow church with black accents just across from The Residenz. Royal Ferdinand built it in 1662 as an honor and thanks because his wife produced an heir to the Bavarian Crown. Most men would have just brought a bouquet of flowers and her favorite chocolates, but I'm glad he was a man of the grand gesture.

Like I mentioned before, it has an all-white interior in stucco, with the exception of some side chapel pictures and a great black wooden pulpit. I've seen many many churches in my travels with Dave, so the churches that keep my attention are the interesting, unusual churches. This one qualifies with its yellow exterior (with black details on the towers) and the nearly all-white interior. Most of these pictures below are taken on Monday just before we headed down into the U-Bahn. We were drawn in because the sun was really shining brightly, more so than the day before.

We took many photographs, so just scroll through them at your own speed. Don't worry, I didn't put them all up, just enough to give you an idea.

I think the putti is where the sense of humor resides in this church. Much of religious decoration can be so somber, but not these little cherubs. A couple of them are playing hide and seek, with the leaves from the vine over their faces.

I searched in vain for more information about this memorial, but all I could find was that it was for Princess Maximiliane Caroline, born 21 July 1810 in Nymphenburg (a local palace on the outskirts of Munich) who died on the 4th of February 1821 in Munich. Some say she took ill after viewing a theater performance.

Her parents were Maximilian I Joseph, King of Bavaria and Karoline, Princess von Baden and the child's nickname was "Ni." All of this information has different spellings in different places, but the salient fact was the young princess was eleven and judging from the carving above, her mother was heartbroken.

An alcove with a doorway that reflects the sunny yellow exterior color.

Dave and I play dueling cameras.

When the sun would strike directly on the stucco decorations, the contrast between the shadows and the brilliant light was startling.

The dome, with its yellow highlights, fascinates.

I suppose this is a confessional. I loved the contrast of the warm wood against the stark white.

The yellow from outside leaks in and casts a golden hue. I assume it's a reflection off the exterior color.

One of my favorite shots. It's as if the putti is saying hello (good-bye?) from its place on high.

The Residenz

2009-09-10T07:44:00.000-07:00

The Residenz was the Royal Family's residence, the place where they hung out for hundreds of years until the Allies (that was us--sad faces, please) bombed it to smithereens in a few hours one day, in order to Do What We Had To Do. The German pamphlets are very nice about this fact, and never mention the complete loss of this amazing palace. Truthfully, the stats are that 23,000 square meters of roof was reduced to 50. Much of the artwork and many of the treasures had been moved to a safe location

But don't worry. The Nazis, in all their tidiness, photographed this place ad nauseam, so with the fragments of this palace that were left, the archived artwork and treasures, all those photographs (and I'm sure some war reparations money), they rebuilt the thing. Dave and I both agree it's one of the most impressive royal houses we've seen, perhaps because it's a highly edited collection.

The Shell Grotto. I'm going to get Dave busy on the weekends building me one of these.

We call this the Dripping Medusa statue. What you can't see is that the rest of Medusa's body is at this guy's feet and water is squirting out of her neck, too. Very inventive.

The next room is called the Antiquarium because they keep antiquities in there. This guy is not one of them.

The scale and shape and size of this hall is so harmonious. It's a pleasure to walk in and be in, and perhaps you can see from the people in the picture, it's very large, but full of light and interesting things to look at.

Because this is a blog post, I'm going to give you the edited verion, the highlights according to Elizabeth. One is the ceiling corner of the next room (below). I have three more corners, but won't post them, because you get the idea from just this one.

I liked the old-fashioned bee hive (looks like a hut of straw) and all the gilt bees attached to this ceiling. Money was no object, if you were a king, and so much of the ornamentation attests to this fact. But when I think that much of this is a reconstruction, I was amazed at the skill of the twentieth-century artisans who were able to put this decoration onto the walls, ceilings, doorways, hallways, everywhere. In the other four corners, they had a ship, and a palm tree, and a dragon on fire, not to mention the scenes in between the corners, with full-scale people lounging around showing the times of the day (didn't photograph those as I was enamored with the bees).

More gilt.

The door to the Four Horses Salon and adjoining Kaisersaal (Emperor's Hall). Last time we were in Munich, our conference had a reception here in the Residenz with the Deputy Secretary (equivalent to our Secretary of State). The conference organizers put in to the Secretary's office for a reception and that office chooses the place and provides the food and hor d'ouvres on their budget. We lucked out and were here.

Detail of a door jamb.

Here's the big hall, with its pieced marble floors, huge paintings and chandeliers. This is the one place you can linger, as it has chairs you can sit in. The reason why the call the adjoining room the Four Horses room is that it used to have a painting of Four White Horses on the ceiling, but no longer. Damaged in the war. This sort of thing happened over and over--referring to what was there, but is no longer. I can think of many instances of this in my own life, where the perception and memory are stronger than what exists now. And then there are the other times, where I'm madly scrambling just to keep up with "what is." Sometimes it's tiring to relearn.

This room is tiny, a small chapel just for the King not too far from the larger family chapel. It has a silver-encrusted altar, and piedra dura scenes around on the wall. Using Albrecht Durer as a model, craftsmen from Italy pieces together depictions of Mary's life in stone--kind of like paint by number but with rocks and glue. So there's silver and black on the altar, stone all over the walls, and the ceilings are painted a brilliant blue with gilt decorations. Amazingly, it all works together.

Looking up into the cupola. We were prevented from entering by a velvet rope, so the angle is skewed (the stone floors are original and they're trying to protect them).

Stone on the left, a glimpse of ceiling, then the altar.

I like photographing mailboxes when I travel, and this little slot above the putti's head and wings, tied with ribbons, reminds me of a mailbox slot. If you could post a letter to Heaven, what would you say? (Putti is the high-tech generic name for Cupid.)

Coming out of the chapel, is this Stag Hallway. Even the plain spare walls become beautiful with the shiny marble floors and the sun shining in.

This is the Green room section, repete with mirrors. Apparently having a plate glass mirror was a real sign of wealth in the 17 and 1800s and this room (and some of the next) showed that off. This fireplace is at the end of a cross-shaped arrangement of rooms, and while the photograph doesn't really show this, it reflects back two galleries just like it.

At the other part of the "cross" what's reflected back, five galleries away, is this exquisite little mirrored room, with gilt framing holding little jars of blue and white porcelein. While Dave likes the Four White Horses area, I'm crazy for this room and the Red Cabinet (next).

Many rooms are kept curtained and dimmed (like the Stone Rooms, which didn't photograph well), but as soon as we arrived here, the sun came out again from behind a cloud and lit up the place. If I were a King, or his Queen, I'd spend most of my day here. This was right off of the Royal Bedroom.

(I'm pretending to live here.)

This is the Red Cabinet, a tiny room with miniature scenes covering the walls. The website states that "With the exception of the two sets of doors and the miniatures, the Miniaturenkabinett was completely destroyed in the Second World War. It took many years of painstaking work to reconstruct the stucco, the carving and the red japanning."
It's stunning.

The chandelier is made from ivory.

The last hall of the Residenz is the Family Portait Hall (my name for it). Stacked three high in gilded frames are portraits of the Wittelsbach family.

We were happy to have the chance to come here again, and went out into the day, heading over to the Yellow Church (look later for a post).

Remembrance of Things Past

2009-09-09T02:36:00.000-07:00

We begin the day in the area near our hotel, strolling along Printzregentstrasse. This photo was taken near the UBahn stop, near the Printzregentheater. (I love how they string all their words together--reminds me of some of my English students. I used to think they needed correcting; now I know they're merely part German.)

We see lots of surface decoration on the houses around here. This is a prime example. We catch the 100 bus, which takes it over to Odeonplatz, where we get off in order to head to the Theatinerkirche, or Theatine Church.

Stunningly yellow, it's a bright contrast to the buildings around it.

Mass was being said, so we entered quietly and took a seat in the back, pulled in by the live choir singing to a full-throated organ. The rest of the mass, when there wasn't the choral music that I love, was time for reflection on my family--after all, it was the Sabbath. I thought about Barbara, with her heart disease, and was saddened for her. I think the sadness came from the somber tones of the mass, and certainly wasn't helped along by the scene below, taken later that day. One of the princesses of the Wittelsbach realm had lost her daughter and this was a memorial to that event.

I thought about each of my children after that. I had written about them in the last journal I'd kept when we had traveled to Munich five years ago. So much had changed. Some situations were better, others were still trials of a different sort. We'd included our brother-in-law Richard in every prayer that trip, newly diagnosed with cancer, and now we include his widow, who is off to a yearlong mission of service at the LDS temple in New York City.

It was interesting to get that five-year perspective, and as I sat in this soaring church, immersed in the strict choral harmonies of some ordered German composer, I thought of how Heavenly Father must view us with his perspective and wonder how often we miss the boat about what's most important in life. Maybe, as illustrated by the memorial above, it is in relationships, keeping them going, figuring them out, loving more completely, repenting where necessary and most importantly--learning to forgive. For as I've gotten older, I think the whole grand plan and design rests on Christ's shoulders and his twin gifts to us: repentence and forgiveness.

We went back Monday, when the sun was shining more brightly to take more photos of this church, our favorite. Look for a future post.

Music man, outside the church.

We headed to the Residenz next, Munich's great royal house. We had wanted to go back there every since that fateful day when, as Dave so delicately put it, we had a computer malfunction and lost the photos of the previous trip. (For the record, I was the computer malfunction; still learning a new program, I erased the photos.) It was interesting to stroll around the Residenz, remembering places and sights we'd seen and enjoyed, but really hadn't remembered because of the lost photos. "Oh, I remember this," one of us would say, and the other would nod in agreement. Or we'd remember what was next in the tour. We decided not to get the audiophones as we'd done that before and forgotten it anyway. Such an interesting thing, this memory. Like the sea washing the beach clean every day, and our photos are the collected and saved seashells in the glass jar at home.

Look for a separate post on the Residenz at a later day.

Since it was Sunday, we decided to make churches our focus, and went to Frauenkirche next, built in the 15th century.

Walking across Munich, we see Loden Frey, the store dedicated to Loden cloth and traditional wear, reflected in its neighbor.

More dirndls. I love these dresses!

The door handles of the store.

We headed to Asamkirche, but it was closed for renovation. On the right is the front, and on the left, its neighboring jewelry store, which was closed (everything is closed on Sunday).

Out through another city gate: Sendlinger Tor, catch the UBahn to Odeonsplatz and catch the 100 bus. Seeing people looking over the side of the bridge in Englisher Garden, I say to Dave-- "Surfers!"

While get off at the next stop and while we wait to cross, we see the BierBus, or Beer Bus.

Have keg, will travel, as long as the people sitting down peddle hard--it's the means of locomotion.

Yep, the surfers. This stream comes out from underneath the bridge at a good clip, hitting some sort of pipe, which creates a moving wave.

Just a friendly reminder.

The surfer would jump in, take a few passes back and forth, then dive into the froth behind them, giving the next person a chance. It was fascinating to watch and I'll post video later. Dave later commented that it was a very efficient way to surf.

We kept walking. Dave stood in the middle of the street to get this one. No wonder they call us crazy tourists (don't worry, I kept watch).

Playing with our time-lapse photography at the base of the Friedensengel (Angel of Peace). It was completed in 1899 and commemorates the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871. It is based on the Greek Goddess Nike, before she became a shoe company, and stands twenty feet tall from its baselt ahough looks can be deceiving (I thought it was much taller). This area of town (near Europaplatz and about 2 blocks from our hotel) is a nice area, with big houses and is quieter than the city center.

Child's face is in response to the question from his mother: "Have you cleaned your room yet?"

Up on top, the base has four mosaics; this one was lit up by the afternoon sun.

And that's our first full day. Not bad, for jetlaggers.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Menu from Munich

2009-09-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

Let's talk food: Munich, specifically. Given the readership of this blog, that shouldn't be too hard, as you all like food and partake in it daily.

We come downstairs the first day and this sign, hanging over the fresh breads section, is an invitation. We accept, and proceed to our nice day, by starting here.

We pick a corner table, put down our room key so they can track us, and head back to the buffet.

Our first pass includes slices of ham, smoked cheese, breakfast sausage, bacon, a small seeded roll, a small strudel-thingie.

And juice. They have three kinds of beverage on the juice bar: apple, orange and plain old water--a rare commodity around here, so I have to mention (see Drinks, later on). You can also select from their extensive list of teas (no thanks), hot coffee (ditto), and hot chocolate. My languages are all meshing in my mind so I continually call it "chocolate calda," a mash-up of what I remember from Italy.

The sausage links are not like the States' version. Ours are mostly grease tasting, with some flavor. These are all flavor, subtle and not earthy, and with a finer texture (no small pellets of ingredients to waylay you).

The following are pictures of their main breakfast buffet. To the left are pastries--in this case, strudel, which I haven't seen since that first day.

The weird part of the buffet, of which I never eat includes shrimp in some sort of white mayonaisey sauce, salmon, marinated olives, peppers and fish salad. The yellow round things are chunks of butter and in the lower right are soft cheeses with a variety of outside coatings: herbs, peppercorns, etc. I have tried those.

The middle part, with fresh peppers (here they call them paprika), a caprese salad (tomatoes and fresh mozzerella--I guess they're making the Italians happy, but I never had that for breakfast in Italy!), sliced ham, meats and cheese slices. On the right is oatmeal, and past that is the fruit compote. Above those are two kinds of yogurt. Are you feeling full yet? Obviously there is a possibility of gluttony here; instead, on that first day, we merely overate. We haven't eaten that big of breakfast since.

And the Grand Finale! Weisswurst on the left, with some other kind of unnamed wurst (sausage/brat variety) and on the right, bacon (almost gone--it's popular) and the breakfast sausage.

Weisswurst is a Bavarian specialty, usually served only for breakfast, for in the old days it was kept in a vat of hot water on the back of the stove and wasn't any good past breakfast time. When we were here before, I tried to get one for lunch. Sorry, was all they said. I just can't face this for breakfast.

We had goulash soup that first day for lunch. A small cup of goulash soup for we were flagging and needed a little something, but were still full from breakfast. This had small diced vegetables in a full-flavored tomato base broth.

Toefelstrudel, or something. It has raisins and apples imbedded in a soft cheese, all wrapped in strudel. It's how I gained 5 pounds on my honeymoon, some fifteen years ago. We shared this.

And now to my advice for those of you who want to invest wisely in today's stocks and bond markets: buy Munich drinks. No kidding. The bottle on the left costs about $4 and the apple juice (fizzy) on the right cost about the same. We haven't figured out how to get tap water yet (the cranky waiter from the first night told us he wasn't allowed to sell it--yeah, I know. Just give it to us free. . . ) but we're trying to figure out a way around the fact that our drinks costs as much as our meal.

Okay, so our meal cost more on this night, but it was the same story: $5 drinks. And these aren't even the famous brew that Munich is known for. Apparently there is some concern here in this town that the underage are drinking too much. They believe that one reason is that the soft drinks, or water, costs more than the ales and beers, so it's cheaper to buy an alcoholic drink. We noticed. Non-drinkers are at a definate disadvantage here.

The first thing the waiters will do is ask you what you'd like to drink. I think Germans come in knowing their favorite ale and blurt it out. We are dumb tourists who ask to see their menu and then figure out the cheapest thing and go for that.

Last night I told Dave to just consider it our "tip," that is to say, that we Americans are used to tacking on 15 to 20% on each bill, which they don't do here (usually you round up to the nearest Euro, and in nice restaurants, add 3-4% or a bit more). Our drinks are the equivalent of that 15%. We're trying to wrap our heads around this. Really.

Dave liked the little piggies with the coin in their mouth in the upper left. On the upper right, are the boars, with coins in their mouths. We try to figure out their customs by pure conjecture. Are these good luck treats for Oktoberfest? For year-round? For fun?

We also saw large cones everywhere. Think ice cream cone, but made of cardboard wrapped with colorful paper and LARGE, like 18" tall. I finally asked, and was told they were for the schoolchildren and were filled with candies and small toys for the first day of school. School begins here September 14th, so they are for sale everywhere.

Dinner that first night was at a local Bavarian specialty restaurant: HofbrauKeller, in Wienerplatz, about a ten minute walk down the street from us. We'd been here before in 2004 and I'd written down what I had because I liked it: Bratenpfandl, which is a leg of pork, a piece of suckling pig and some duck, served with red cabbage (had a touch of spice), a potato dumpling and a semiknudel (or bread dumpling). It looks like a lot, but by the time you carve out the bones and the skin, it's a more normal portion.

HofbrauKeller is also one of the top ten Beer Gardens of Munich, with a huge area for table under a canopy of spreading chestnuts. We didn't see it (I'm quoting from the guidebook) but apparently they also have a children's playground. I guess it's so the children can guide the parents home afterwards, but Dave tells me his friend Dietmar could quaff five of those very tall glasses of beer and still function.

Dave had Beef Rouladen "Housewife Style" (they'd given us an English menu). It was beef filled with bacon and pickled cucumber, served with red wine sauce, butter vegetables and mashed potatoes. The pickled cucumber? A pickle.

Ah, Apple Strudel with warm vanilla sauce.

How We Still Stay Married and Happy After 20 Years.

On our honeymoon, we were in a Bavarian eatery and had each ordered their version of the prix fixe meal: salad, entree and dessert. True to habit, Dave finished first (he was the last in a line-up of six children so learned to eat quickly). Being a new bride, I offered to give him a bite of my dessert.

He left me a bite.

So after that we get out a fork and split it. Right down the middle.

Monday's breakfast was more of the same--er--less of the same, and for lunch (after a very long walking walking walking day) we finally stopped about 3:30 in the afternoon for a salad and a pretzel and Highway Robbery Drinks. It was a great salad.

Tuesday's lunch was at the Rathaus in Marienplatz. Dave was at his conference, and I was out schlepping the town, so I decided to be bold: have weissewurst and pretzel. This was the pretzel basket. In America, you can eat whatever's in the basket and it's the same price. Many places here dock you by the piece (another discovery on our honeymoon when we tried a little bit of every bread in the basket and were charged for "5 gebaken" or something. Surprise!), so I was careful to only eat one.

The waiter told me it would take 25 minutes for the weissewurst to be ready. I was happy about that because then I could sit and do my journal and write my postcard and not be bothered. When it finally arrived, it looked like this:

He had to show me how that yes, this was what I had ordered, by gesturing: pick up the spoons Dear Tourist, plop that link over onto your plate and with the bretzel (that's what they call it), enjoy. It wasn't until later that I'd read the bit about them being served in the hot water.

Okay, some amount of trepidation here. What if this is completely gross? What if I hate it? I squeezed out the sweet mustard on the plate, cut off a piece of the wurst and cut it into a smaller piece, and then again (it was now the size of a chocolate chip) and dipped it heavily into the mustard. I tried not to make a face as I put it into my mouth.

Surprise! It was very good. It had flecks of herbs throughout so it was a very mild flavor. The texture was even more velvety than the breakfast sausage served at our hotel--this was almost like a firm puree and very appealing. The next bites I took were more normal, and coupled with the pretzel, a fine lunch. I still can't wrap my head around eating them for breakfast, though.

The view, looking up, from my table.

Dave had heard about the restaurant Kafer from a foodie friend of his, and that it was VERRRY pricey, but amazing food. The view above is not that restaurant, but instead is the bistro downstairs, at a fraction of the cost. They close precisely at 8 p.m. (this IS Germany, after all) so as not to interfere with the dinner business of the restaurant. Dave got home from his conference, did some emails at we arrived here (after a short walk from our hotel) at 7 p.m. It took a while for them to translate the menu for us (very nice people) but we were all seated and ordered by 7:10 p.m.

Kafer's main business downstairs is an upscale grocery store: think specialty foods. Like roses crusted with sugar crystals for decoration. Like candy-coated dark chocolate dragees that are the size of your thumbnail in 15 different colors, including "stone." Like a full menu of prepared foods, and a fruit stand and a vegetable area, fish, wine, "flesh" and bread areas, not to mention the gift shop and linens area one half-level up. A foodie's heaven, a smaller twin to the famous Dallmayr shop near Marienplatz. (I went there too, more on that later.)

Bread, not charged by the piece.

The butter was placed on our plate by the server, a small round tube wrapped in foil.

I had duck liver ravioli, served with morel mushrooms. An earthy, but delicious, taste.

Dave's was a vegetable strudel with a white creamy sauce, atop a bed of steamed vegetables: turnip sticks, white asparagus, broccoli and cauliflower. Light and refreshing (we shared bites of both entrees).

Dessert was a raspberry tart. Instead of a pastry crust, which I find sometime to be tough, this had a shortbread crust with a light filling, and raspberries that they'd just picked from their vines out back. . . or so it tasted. We split this, too.

And how does a tourist get through a long day of hiking around?
Chocolate! In all different flavors!

Strolling Around Munich

2009-09-07T23:42:00.001-07:00

We connected from LAX through Heathrow to Munich. Uneventful, except that I was smarter this time and packed us a lunch to eat instead of relying on their (icky) food.

Travel Story: The couple in front of us, older than us by about twenty years we figure, seemed mighty uncomfortable on the plane. She got up and down and up and down and just as we pulled into the gate, bolted for the bathroom. Upon returning, as we all stood waiting to get off, she announced out loud, that all of us sitting around her may have noticed that she was sick but don't worry that her illness was not contagious, just something that happened to her when she flew. Okey, dokey. A little too much information, I think.

But as we toddled out after them, all of our luggage in hand, it was apparent that they were ill-equipped for the journey up to the main airport and beyond and their wheelchair hadn't arrived. They looked lost. I felt sorry for them, but really couldn't do anything for them. Dave and I discussed this later and decided that they thought they were 50 years old, just like we think we're 30 sometimes. A common problem. I decided we should start making age-related adjustments, and NOW.

Okay, maybe later, just as soon as we get back from Munich.

Just for the record, London Heathrow is a big airport with too many people and too many gates. However they have nice security people who still had one of our iPhones saved after we left it in security. That was a heart-stopping moment.

We took the train into the city center, then transferred to the U-Bahn, or their mass transit system, which is very efficient. Then to the Hotel Printzregent, where we are staying. Love the pillows. We think this is the same room we stayed in last time.

An armoire in the hallway.

The weather is posted everyday on the wall.

Back on the U-Bahn and to Marienplatz, a central square that is ground zero for tourists. We joined them all on this fine Saturday afternoon, the weather a bit crisp, but sunny.

The large door to the New Rathaus (or Townhall), which was built between 1867 and 1908, in a neo-Gothic style, or so the guidebook says. I had gone to Borders before the trip to choose a guidebook for Munich. I chose it on the basis of weight, so some details are missing, but it has a great map in the back. The "Neues Rathaus" also houses the Glockenspiel, the famous chiming clock with moveable figures.

Doorway out to the Marienplatz.

Doorway to the inner courtyard of the Rathaus. Love the frog.

First you notice the buildings in a place, then the people. This waitstaffer was checking his cellphone messages. The long white apron is typical for Germany and we also saw it in Prague, too.

An older couple in typical Bavarian dress. We also noticed this group below, all decked out in their leiderhosen, and hats with feathers. We also loved the guy wearing socks with his sandals.

Signs of the impending Oktoberfest are all around us, especially these cookies with ribbons through the top. Make of lebkuchen (gingerbread), they are heavily frosted with designs and lovey-dovey and good luck sayings. We started seeing them everywhere, in the shops and in shop windows with trachten-moden (traditional dress), the cookies looped around their necks.

I asked a shopkeeper if this was typical, to wear them around their necks. Oh yes, she replied. But first we drink the beer. Then the cookies go around the necks.

So that's the secret.

Many buildings have unique painting and designs, very Bavarian-ish in style. We like it.

This monk, with his outstretched arms is found on the tops of buildings, and of course, on the manhole covers. He's one of the motifs we see repeated everywhere, as Munich means "of monks." Read the linked article for more info.

The dancing figures of the Glockenspiel in motion. I did take some video, but left the passwords to YouTube home. Check back MUCH later, for updated video.

The jetlagged couple.

Munich's Apple store.
I know, I should be noticing the BMW store, but that's way out of town.

Okay, so we decide to try and get something to eat. We think it's time to eat, it may actually BE time to eat, but the night is falling and we're tired, so after looking at a few different restaurants, we stop here. The travel guru Rick Steves always says to watch out for places that bring you a menu in English. And Russian, Chinese, Italian and Spanish, but we're too tired. So we get a cranky waiter who spoke perfect English even though he kept yelling at me that he didn't (that was when I asked him what "swabian noodles" were.) I suspect he had no clue either. Anyone? Sometime the translations are more trouble than they're worth.

So I asked for the German menu again and they were spaetzle. So the above plate has roast pork with mushrooms. By this time we were still freaked out that we had to pay $5 for a small (about 8 oz.) bottle of water, so we just shared the Tourist Dinner (as we've come to call it) and sighed heavily when we remembered the manna we ate in Italy. (Really, this tasted much better than it looks. It's hard to mess up roast pork around here. It's practically their national dish.)

We couldn't get out of there fast enough.

This shop has its Oktoberfest garland all ready: greens with bunches of pretzels tied together with a distinctive blue/white diamond ribbon. The blue/white diamond pattern is like the Bavarian theme, found everywhere. I think it's also on the Bavarian coat of arms.

We walked down the street toward Karlsplatz, another large square, only it's round, where we saw our first "Tor" or city gate. We tried to figure out how to take the electric tram home, a lovely form of transportation, but the lines to our side of the city are all torn up.

So, back on the U-Bahn, where this newer version is all one giant open car, with circular open connections where a normal train-car connection would be. Nice.

And it's nice to be here in Munich.

Munich--City View (Map)

2009-09-01T16:26:00.000-07:00

View Munich 2009 in a larger map

Italy 2009, Hilltowns

2009-08-27T00:19:00.000-07:00

We picked up our car in Florence and headed out to one of our favorite Italian hilltowns: Pienza. We thought we'd missed our exit off the A-1, then it turned out we didn't. No, wait. Are you sure? What does that sign mean? You mean the little yellow bumps? That's a rest stop. Are you sure? I don't know, try this exit. But it doesn't say Pienza. But it says Montepulciano. We have to aim there first. Oh, right. Here we go.

The town hall or something in Montepulciano, where we stopped for lunch. We had bruschetta pomodoro (below), and...

Tuscan beans with tomato, and...

Gnocchi with olives and tomatoes and zucchini, or corgette, as they call it around here. There is olive oil drizzled on just about everything here. It's like the Elixir of Life, I'm convinced.

In every hilltown there are a series of piazzas, or squares. Most have the Duomo, or similar, the town hall, and for the tourists and the local economy: gift shops. Amazingly, we only see one. In Cortona, where we were yesterday afternoon, they had quite a few more, and today we head to Volterra. I've already clued Dave in to the fact that I hope to do some more souvenir shopping. Maybe.

Right at the base of Montepulicano is this sweet little church, San Biagio, designed by Sangallo and is a perfectly proportioned circle within a square.

This is one of our favorite little roadside scenes, midway between Pienza and Montalcino.

We were on our way to St. Antimo, an abbey nearby, to hear Vespers, sung (prayed) in Gregorian Chant. It was simple, tonal, the silences in between the prayers causing us to listen more intently. And it was only 20 minutes long--a perfectly compact church service.

St. Antimo, exterior.

Elizabeth, in Cortona with her hat.

Dave, carrying around the tote bag, free from his conference (a real deal and perfect for us on this trip).

Breakfast in Piccolo La Valle, Pienza.

We stopped at a Coop store outside Cortona to pick up lunch. This lemon-peach cookie is what a Twinkie wants to be when it grows up: tender, flavorful sponge cake with a creamy filling and crunchy sugar crystals on the outside.

Hilltowns are filled with narrow passageways, rich color and sometimes, steps.

This group of trees is on a main highway. I tried to photograph it, but we had to go back and forth three times to get it right. I kept getting things like signs...

...in the way. But success!

Dave and Elizabeth, outstanding in their fields.

The view from our balcony this morning, our last day here. We've enjoyed this trip and will return home tomorrow, at least our bodies will. Because of jetlag, look for our brains to return sometime Sunday.

Arrivederci!

Italy 2009, Day Four

2009-08-25T08:04:00.000-07:00

We're ready for another walk this morning, so we head over to San Lorenzo to see it before all the carts in the mercado arrive (hopefully). Not quite quick enough. This one looks marooned.

The buildings opposite cast shadows on its rough exterior. Found out why the exterior design by Michelangelo, four years in the making, was never added. They ran out of money. Being from California, I can relate.

Dave's with me and the little man who opens up the church to cool it down for the day, has several doors open. This series of signs indicates what's what, especially the small sign to the right: the exterior lighting provided by the Florence Lion's Club--Borgelle chapter.

This morning, in the quiet and the calm, I obtain a good photo of my favorite painting. That's not to say that aren't more worthy paintings in the church. I like Joseph about to place his hand on his son's head, the fact that they are working together in the workshop, the foreshadowing of the cross.

As a parent I don't know what will happen to my children, don't know all of their crosses they will bear, but I like to imagine my hand on their head, and saying what I can only imagine Joseph is saying to his son. For every child it is different, but must include something along the order of wishing to carry their cross for a few lengths while they rest up for the difficult journey ahead. Joseph could no more carry that cross for Jesus than I can carry mine for my children. I only hope that there are workshop moments, where they remember the touch of my hand, laid aside their head.

Back for breakfast, shower and Dave and I make a couple of stops on the way to his conference. First up? Santa Maria Novella. There are some lovely things in here, but of course, no photos. Come to Florence and see for yourself, especially the series of frescoes behind the altar and the cross by Giotto, hanging midway down the nave. Masaccio's Holy Trinity, a fresco along the left side of the nave is a prime example of his new views on perspective, something he figured out intuitively and would be expanded upon by other Renaissance greats.

We head to Mercato Centrale, a large warehouse-style building, and on the way see a lovely tableau of wild animals advertising a butcher (below).

We buy a belt for Dave at the markets and I tell him about Museum of San Marco, so we hike/head over there, but it's closed on the 2nd and 4th Mondays. Okey, dokey. I'd checked for regular Monday closings, but just not the other kind of Monday closings.

So, into Santissima Annunziatta again. The priest is saying mass, so we tiptoe to the back to wait by the confessional booths.

Here's a photo of the bridal bouquets lined up on the altar, a tradition I mentioned in another post. (I took this after the mass was over). I said good-bye to Dave as headed back to Science. I realized that I was going to miss seeing the interior of Santo Spirito AGAIN (missed it last time I was in Florence), so map in hand, tennies on my feet, I booked it across Florence.

Satellite difficulties, Carousel Plaza Repubblica

The guide-lady met breathless me at the door. I held up one hand. "Cinque minuto?" I asked. She nodded. I was in. The church's interior is similar to San Lorenzo, designed by Brunelleschi again, with its classical gray columns against the white plasterwork. I bought a postcard, looked around, and it was time to go.

It's a plain-looking church outside, with just the bones of its design to recommend it. Last time I was here was when I was working on my honors thesis as an undergraduate; the project would combine poetry and photography in a handmade book (of which I still have two copies). I took tons of black and white photos of this church and spent hours in the darkroom dodging and burning the old fashioned way, with paper, hand, cardstock, whatever I could find to bring up the crisp contrasting angles of this design.This church is an old friend.

Double Windows Santo Spirito, Florence

Lunchtime brings with it all kinds of choices as a tourist. Do you go the easy route and find a nice restaurant and sit down and have break? Sometimes. Today I investigated those possibilities, but was drawn to this little place, catty-corner from the church. It's run by this nice woman--love her pizza clock!

Bruschetta Pomodoro.
This was food from the gods, I'm convinced. Paired with a Schweppes lemon soda, I was in heaven. After lunch I hightailed it back in to ask her how it was made, after telling her it was amazing! Chopped tomato, olive oil, salt, oregano, fresh bread--toasted, some basil leaves for garnish. For this to work, each ingredient has to do its part: the tomatoes have to taste like tomatoes, the olive oil has to be of high quality and so on. This is why Americans go dotty for European food--it's the taste! The grand total of this bill was 2.50 euros for the bruschetta (bruss-ketta) and 2 for the drink. But the taste was divine.

I was intrigued by this store, selling seeds, herbs, ingredients, hats, cooking tools. I could buy something Florentine here, I think. I try on hat after hat, the lady helping me. I finally choose one and only later realize it's very much like my mother's favorite straw hat. Of course, I don't look like her in it, because I have a lovely round-round-round face, but I smiled when I thought about it. And yes, it is MADE IN FLORENCE!!

Next up, Brancacci Chapel. I was supposed to have reservations for this. I don't, I confess to the man behind the window. No problem, he says. There's a movie I could watch, but I have Rick Steve's guidebook and feel confident enough with that, so I tell him I'll watch it afterwards. He points across the cloisters to where they'll take my money, and after all that, I head up the stairs into a darkened church interior. To my left is the chapel.

Massacio's frescoes quiet the soul, with their depiction of scenes from the Bible. This one of Adam and Eve in their grief as they are expelled from the garden, is simple, yet I think reflects their agony.

My favorite though is on the left wall, and is The Tribute Money. Not only do I like the subject matter, but the way it's portrayed is intriguing, with the main scene in the middle and subsequent scenes in that timeline on the left and on the right. Head to the link, as my photos don't do it justice.

Oltrarno Gate, Florence, Italy August 2009

This is the site of another outstanding experience in history: its where Elizabeth finally purchased her real live leather purse from Italy. (And Christine, it's yellow-gold!) I've mentioned--no, moaned--to Dave that for all the times we've been to Italy, I've never gotten a real live leather purse. Oh, I bought one in Venice last trip, which I firmly believe was made in China even though it says MADE IN ITALY on the front. It looks like all the other ones in the markets.

But this one is supple, beautiful leather with a cool handle. Another life milestone achieved. When I stopped at another shop, she saw my bag from Roberts and said, "Roberts have nice fabric." I agree, even though I think she meant leather.

Santa Felicita Church is the next-to-last official stop of the day, where outside is this little car. Inside, Pontormo's Descent from the Cross hangs in a teensy little alcove to the right of the front door. One euro will illuminate it for a long time.

Pontormo was one of the Mannerists and his wierd combinations of colors and supple skewed limbs are a hallmark of that style. I love this painting too, having seen it the first time after taking two Art History classes at RCC, my local community college from a 70-year old woman who had no degree in art, but instead had a passion for it, which she communicated aptly to me. I wrote lists of things to see while in Florence that year, and this was one we had studied in class.

But seeing slides of it in a darkened classroom can't prepare you for how the painting looks in real life. It's stunner, which still moves me.

Last stop: Santa Croce. I come upon it from an angle.

They let you take photos in here--just no flash, which I think is a more reasonable approach. This is Michelangelo's tomb. The common belief is that he would have hated it, tricked up as it is. He was more about simplicity, I think.
I wish now that I would have taken photos of Galileo's tomb, since today is the 400th anniversay of the invention of the telescope. (Thanks, Google.)

See the open window? That's air conditioning, Santa Croce-style.

The light from the stained glass window casts colorful rays across this fresco of Mary heading to the church.

Cloister views above and below.

Beyond tired, with every part of me sore and achy and very very hot, I don't even have enough energy to walk up to get a granita, THAT's how tired I am. It's five o'clock, but I've done everything on my list, including getting a purse. I can now leave Florence happy, right after tonight when I hope to convince Dave to get me one more granita.

Dinner? We do a re-run at the restaurant near Santa Croce (don't worry, I took a break for a while).

To get there, we cut through Plaza della Signoria, with its Palazzo Veccchio building, all aglow in the evening sun (this is what we were waiting for last night, but we were off by a day for the Florence Glow-Show).

This cop car made its way down the pedestrian street, pulled over and the two policement went into the Gelato Shop. I guess they don't do donuts here.

Two Davids. But mine's the real one (the other is a replica of what's in the Accademia).

First course for me: melon and proscuitto.

For Dave it was a salad of peccorino cheese, walnuts and pears atop a mound of greens.

He had a pasta dish with Tuscan sausage and black truffle. Love the perky little rosemary twig for garnish.

I had what he chose last night: homemade orecchiette pasta, tossed with arugula, basil, tomato and topped with fresh grated ricotta cheese. Yes, it was the texture of mozzerella, and delicious.

On the way home, we stopped at the latest, most trendy, gelato store: GROM, and ate our teensy servings on the steps of the Duomo. And yes, we found the energy to walk up and buy a granita: strawberry and almond.

We shared, happily.

Italy 2009, Day Three

2009-08-25T01:09:00.000-07:00

Up slowly, we realize we just can't keep up a horrendous pace and still come back in one piece. The bells on this Sunday morning are calling the faithful out to mass, and after breakfast, we head out ourselves to the Bargello Museum. It was built in 1255 as an early Florence police station, and then a prison. Given the surly expressions of some of the museum staff, I can only surmise that some of the early history has been carried forth.

The courtyard, with lots of sculpture, stone plaques on walls (Dave calls them Merit Badges), and a mesh-covered water well in the center. You're getting pictures of these items because we can only take photos "outside."

Dave, looking out a window, technically qualifies as outside. He looks a lot more chipper than I do. I look a thousand years old today, which is why the photo of me that you get is in the middle of this gate on the courtyard steps (below). Touristing really does take its toll on this middle-ager.

Time for Dave to go to his conference, so we part ways. I head over to San Lorenzo, because the Laurentian Library was open, a somewhat rare occurance, apparently. I learned about this when I took art history some 14 years ago, and still remember the slides of the graceful and curving steps designed by Michelangelo.

San Lorenzo cloisters

San Lorenzo, corners.

Cloisters. I loved the orange tree in the middle of the courtyard.

The steps. This area would allow photos, but no flash, so the only light was from the windows in this two-story entryway, or from the doorway. The simplicity of this staircase is its beauty. I lingered here, enjoying the proportions, the curves, the gray stone against the white walls. Michelangelo could do so many things well.

The library, midway down the room from the upper landing. They were doing restoration on some windows, so I moved past the scaffolding to take this. The floor is mosaic/pieced and the room is lined with carrels (now roped off).

At each carrel is a listing of what books were stored there. They were chained to that carrel, but now are all moved into another part of the library, properly stored. But they still have their chains.

Stained window.

The small hidden rotunda was open for a video exhibit about the illuminated manuscripts stored here. The Medicis, who gave money left and right around Florence, and who financed this church and Mr. Michelangelo, left a good legacy with their wealth. Their shield has little circles, that sometimes look like balls, and are a representation of how they started earning their riches: as doctors (medics).

The pause that refreshes a tourist: the laundromat.

And afterwards, lunch again at ZaZa restaurant. This picture of fettucini with porcini mushrooms is what Dave and I shared last night at dinner. I went for a re-run. Boy was it hot this afternoon, and no breeze, unlike last night.

So, I went out for a granita. A granita is a slushy flavored ice, which is what a Slurpee wants to be when it grows up. Anyone out there have a recipe for this stuff? I like it better than gelato, and it's probably better for me, or so I tell myself. I could have 10 of these, they're so good. Today's was strawberry combined with almond.

The afternoon found us heading up to San Miniato church, on a hill overlooking Florence.

I figured out how to set the timer on the camera so we avoid those ghastly "will you take our photo" photos from other tourists. We'd gone up there to hear the monks do their chanting, but it was underwhelming, so we reverted from religious pilgrims to American tourists again.

Then, another shot, with the timer. You may see this again on our Christmas card.

A guy with a tripod and a camera with huge lenses offered to take our photo. He obviously knew what he was doing. We are now at the Piazza Michelangelo, below the church. There is a gathering happening, of all sorts of folks. They wait for the sundown to see Florence all aglow, but with the haze, we're not so sure it's going to happen. We still wait around.

It's like a sedated rock concert up there on the steps, with the guy singing James Taylor, sometimes badly. It's like we're all waiting to be beamed up, or something.

We decide to head down instead, with the help of a taxi, stopping at Santa Croce plaza for dinner at a restaurant recommended in Rick Steves' guidebook. If you head to Florence, borrow mine. It will save you more than once, and has great "tours" of the museums.

We ended the night walking past the Duomo, and went back to our hotel.

Italy 2009, Day Two

2009-08-22T22:57:00.001-07:00

We began the hot Florence day in the early morning, beating out the nine gazillion other tourists down to the Duomo and Baptistry. I think I counted five other people, besides the garbarge and street cleaner trucks out there in the plaza.

Duomo front door.

Directly across from the Duomo is the baptistry with its door of bronze (that are golden). Michelangelo was so impressed with the designs that he called these the Gates of Heaven. The reliefs are vivid and interesting, as in this panel, where Moses receives the Ten Commandments on Mt. Sinai.

Standing beside the Duomo is a capanille called "Giotto's Tower," although I'm sure that's the slang name.

The street carts are heading out to ambush the tourists. I read somewhere that most of the goods available in the markets are from South America, designed in Italy, and sold by foreigners. I began to despair of ever finding a suitable souvenir as one of my requirements is that I be reasonably sure that it was made somewhere in Italy.

Street cleaner.

Plaza della Signoria where the crenelated upper walls denote the Palazzo Vecchio.

Ponte Vecchio bridge. I like how the backsides of the shops are pushed out, held by struts over the water.

Luccheti d'amore.
These locks, lovers locks as they are known, testify to the love between two star-crossed, hormonally driven teenagers who against the regulations of Florence (and chancing a 50 euro fine) lock these onto the monument to Benuto Cellini then toss the keys into the river, kind of like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet.

Back to the Plaza della Signoria and the statue The Rape of the Sabine, one of my favorite statues because of the twisting, turning sinuous shapes and the ability of the sculptor to portray compressed flesh, which must be very difficult to do in marble.

Back to the hotel, and breakfast!

I head past a traditional open air market on the way to my cooking class.

I guess it's like color in the blanks, if you go over the same spot every day, your art washed clean in the morning by the street sweepers.

Cups of fresh fruit share the gelato cases.

And here are my classmates at the in Tavola cooking school (which means on the table). Two energetic cooks actually got seventeen of us to turn out a lunch of two kinds of homemade ravioli and fresh orecchiette pasta.

The first 1o or so were torture to make, but about the time I had shaped 50 of them, I was doing better.

My turn at the pasta machine. Chad, I will reveal all my secrets to you on Elizabeth's Kitchen when I get home, even how to get it to go through the #6 setting with ease.

The orecchiette, with fresh tomato sauce.

Ravioli #1, with an eggplant-ricotta filling (which was good).

Ravioli #2, which we shaped into little bundles--it was stuffed with potato (not my favorite).

And we had Panna Cotta for dessert, and yes we made that too. Recipes to follow.

Rachel, originally from United Kingdom, is currently living in Florence, but hails from Tucson Arizona, where she had lived for 20 years; she's returning there next month. Small world. Her mother sat at our table along with a woman from Great Britain and we had an invigorating discussion on health care.

Finally made it into San Lorenzo cathedral, and I was rewarded with this sublime ordering of architectural elements. Delicious.

And one of my favorite paintings, St. Joseph with Jesus. I like how the board they are working on in Joseph's shop extends upward into the light and shadows as a portent of the cross. It was painted in 1966, and seems to be one of the few contemporary art works in these churches.

So my entry ticket was good for the treasury too, but no photos. I had to sneak this one. I know it's blurry, but you try and focus and turn off the flash and turn off the sound while the Photo Police are lurking in the next room. This reliquary has flourishes, silver lillies, scrolls, cherubs, leaves, garlands, a crown and rubber band to hold in the locket on the little guy's chest.

I just had to show you the rubber band. I know now why San Lorenzo charges for entry--apparently like all the other churches, but maybe not enough. A rubber band. That's the kind of home repairs we do around our house sometimes too. It endears this whoever to me, the person who chose a rubber band as their fixit-tool of choice.

We met up with some colleagues and former post-docs of Dave's and all went to dinner at ZaZa, where we had a three soup sampler of Tuscan favorites, and a dish of mushroom fettucini. Too bad I forgot to take photos, but we were hungry.

It's on the plaza near the Mercato Centrale, so the eating is outdoorsy, and every once in a while we (thankfully) had a breeze. This shot is the series of tables next to us, with fun colored lights.

The gang. All in white (well Dave's shirt is a light plaid, but it photographed white).
Night!

Italy 2009, Day One

2009-08-21T06:47:00.001-07:00

Flying from LAX to SFO to Frankfurt to Florence--whoops! The pilot came on the intercom and said "blahblahblah Bologna blahblahblah Diversion blahblahblah Busses."

From the excited voice of the Italian lady behind me, I was to assume this was NOT a good thing. We were diverted to Bologna (The pilot told me "We couldn't land because the wind was coming from the wrong direction." A scientist, traveling to Dave's conference later told me "He couldn't land because this was a code share with Dolomiti. Welcome to Italy.") and after milling around for an hour another voice came on the intercom and said "Blahblahblah busses primero blahblahblah taxi stand."

Here we are milling around Bologna. Notice on the left the black tube on that lady's back? That's how I knew that group were scientists, traveling with their poster tube to ICEM, the conference Dave's at. I was really happy to see them. You can depend on scientists. I shared a cab with one and the cranky cab driver: "Notta two fares! One fare!" Oh yeah--well I'm not hopping around Florence alone at 10 o'clock at night, after being in the fascinating Bologna airport, the hour-long bus ride over the Appennine Mountains--or under them in a succession of tunnels--in a giant bus gliding within inches of large square trucks while coming down a mountain.

Well, I made it. I kept thinking. I spent hours on hold and talking to AT&T so I could use my phone in Italy and then I couldn't figure it out? I ended up borrowing a phone from the guy beside me (paid him 2 euros) to call and leave a message at the hotel. Wild.

This is the view out our bedroom window. We have a winner in this hotel, not only for its location (2 blocks from the Duomo) and its view...

. . .but also for its breakfasts on a terrace with the view below.

Breakfast. Rolls, fresh--check. Fruit--check. Egg dish thing--check. Bacon/sausage thing--check. Blood orange juice--check. Pastry--check. Yummy--check! The other menu item that was amazing was a very soft cheese, displayed like a opaque white firm jello mold with sculpted sides. It was cheese-like but sweet.

I walked Dave to his Congresso place where the ICEM conference was being held, and on the way back saw lots of bikes, some chained to the window grates.

Love the colors here.

Curious, I head down to the Duomo, in the heat. By the way, did I mention that Cairo, Egypt was 100 degrees yesterday? So was Florence. I was also looking for hair spray, because after all my lists and planning and packing--I forgot the hair spray. Lacque, is what I think it's called and the first two shops by the Duomo wanted 10 euro for a small bottle. Yeah, right. That's about 15 bucks, American money. Finally found some later for about 2 euro.

Looks good. I'm wondering how many of these cups of gelato I can eat and not keel over from a heart attack. We'll see.

Guys waiting to sell original artwork to unsuspecting tourists. This year's crop of pictures are large, and all include draped nudes, a la Hugh Hefner. Whatever happened to Italian scenery?

I feel your pain. She has held up that piece of the wall for centuries now. I'm reminded of the front of the church in Orvieto, but Orvieto's cathedral has more golds and reds. The Duomo is in greens, pinks and white. Someday I'll have to post those 2007 pictures from that other Italy trip. Yep, some day.

Walked past this on my way to find an ATM, the other necessity for tourists. There's always a moment of panic when you insert your card: will you get it back, or will the machine eat it? Or will they treat it as a cash advance and start charging you big bucks? I talked to the lady at the Tourist Information Center and she said it's called an International Transfer, or something like that, and gave me the name of three banks. Only she said DON'T go to one of them. She's thorough. I obeyed and got some money.

Since I've stood in lines for the David and for the Uffizi before, I decided to skip those and look at some lesser known places. This was a former convent: Cenacolo de Sant'Appollonia and one wall has Castagno's Last Supper. There's a lot of Last Suppers around Italy.

Exit doorway for the Accademia. Love the roundrel over the door coupled with the grotesque mask-like painting inside.

This is from the interior of the church of the Santissima Annunziata, from 1444. Newlyweds bring their wedding bouquets here to ensure a happy marriage. There were a few around the other side.

Lunch, from a mercado consisted of fresh foccacia bread with mortadella. I bought tomatoes and lettuce on the side to add, along with a gala apple and a bottle of the Medici's finest water. I ate in the plaza just outside the church, a pleasant way to spend a few minutes on some shady steps.

Then over to the San Marco museum to see the Fra Angelico frescos. He was a monk here, and considered painting to be a form of prayer. That observation from Rick Steve's guidebook, made me think about the concentration it takes for the creative arts. Fra Angelico made his prayerful painting a main part of his life. Coming up the stairs to the monk's cell, the famous The Annunciation greets you. It is amazing--so much better in person. This was worth the whole trip to Florence, even if I never see another thing. I swayed back and forth, just like the guidebook said, to see the angel's wings sparkle from the glitter mixed into the fresco. Oh my. The depiction below is from the web, because I was trying to adhere to their no photo rule, but it was okay to take pictures of the outside.

This was the Medici's cell where they prayed. It felt sort of outside--what can I say? They had signs everywhere announcing that the upstairs (where all the monk's cells were) would close at 1:40 and the whole San Marco museum would close at 1:50. So while I'm standing in the gift shop, buying my postcards at 1:20 p.m. the saleslady starts draping everything with her red tablecloths. Okey dokey. The tourist next to me mutters under her breath, "Welcome to Italy." I selected mine quickly and beat my way out of there.
From the sublime to the giftshop.

The massive lines for the Duomo had disappeared, so I went in and did my tourist thing. It's basically a big empty church, with tons of tourists, including the American girl (why is it always Americans?) trying to argue her way out of wearing a "poncho" made out of that cheapy recycled stuff. It's posted EVERYWHERE that there are no bare shoulders in churches, and she was trying to convince the guard that this wasn't really a church. Just put the poncho on, sweetheart.

Duomo, outside. It's real name is the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiori.

The Baptisty.

Duomo, front. Did I mention the crowds? Oh, there's some crowds here, but I was feeling pretty good then, because I'd had a granita: basically a highly flavored icy thing, that is slushy and you eat it with a spoon. I had peach mingled with lemon. Their lemon is very tart, but it was really refreshing up against the sweet peach. I avoided having a gelato with this, but I wasn't disappointed at all--it was just perfect for this very hot day in Florence.

After a break, I decided to go and see the church behind us, San Lorenzo. It's an interesting church, somewhat noble in character, but surrounded but TONS of carts selling genuine made in Florence Indian scarves, belts, earrings, pashmina, sunglasses (I'll bet you didn't know Florence had a sunglass factory too!) and all other worldly goods, but all handmade right here in Florence.I think Dave would really be styling with some checkerboard belts.

I kept thinking of the time when Christ cleared the moneychangers and others from the temple. Not that these guys are in the temple, but it just crossed my mind. I'll bet the people in the church would love to have a fraction of the day's receipts to spiff the inside of San Lorenzo--but it would be an uneasy partnership at best.

The front of the church. Apparently there was a design by Michelangelo, but obviously it never was added.

We went out to dinner with one of Dave's former post-docs, Drew, and his fiancee, Lisa.

Dave and I shared a mixed salad first, then he had rigatoni, and I, the gnocchi verdi (below).

Then we split the swordfish with potatoes. After dinner, we all walked over to the Duomo area, joining in the other one billion strolling Florentines and tourists. It's still hot, but we're tired, so pass up their offer for some gelato and head back to the hotel.

Italy • August 2009

2009-07-17T15:59:00.001-07:00

We're headed to Florence, then to Pienza, a very small town in the hilltown section of Tuscany. (We could retire there, but we'd miss our grandchildren and their parents.)

Florence Places of Interest

2009-07-17T15:18:00.000-07:00

View Florence Italy 2009 in a larger map

Lyon--Day 7

2008-11-02T14:53:00.001-08:00

The last day in Lyon, before I head out tomorrow (too early) in the morning. Dave will stay on through Wednesday morning, but this is my last chance to enjoy this city. First glimpse of the morning from our balcony window.

I pass on eating breakfast at Paul's in Ampere Square (kitty-corner from McDonald's, which is always packed at lunchtime) and head to the artisan bakery: Le Boulangerie D'Ainay, near my favorite little church--the Carolingan (which is how I refer to it).

Cleaning the small square in front of the church, the squirter guy wields the hose from the washer truck.

I pick up an orange drink at the market across the street. These are everywhere--about every four blocks and stock just about all you'd need.

I walk to the river Saone and across from me are the ancient Roman walls of the upper city. At night, they are illuminated. I walk down the steps to the banks of the river, perch on one of the steps and enjoy my breakfast in the chilly morning air.

The pain du chocolate went first (the half-eaten roll in the front) and the other, a soft chewy bread studded with chocolate chips lasted me all morning and until my late afternoon lunch, one delicious sweet mouthful at a time.

The sky is filled with clouds, the water like a looking glass, so I take some photos to remember Lyon by.

The sun crept out for a few minutes from behind the clouds, and I was amazed at how it changed the colors of the walls and water.

My artsy shot of the reflection.

Upstream is this sturdy bridge, washed clean in the morning light.

On Dave's last day, he snapped it in the afternoon, the low warm colors reflecting off the underbelly of the bridge.

Further up the banks, the Marche (market) was just getting going. See the other posts for photos from there, including the baskets at market.

Pedestrian bridge leading from the left bank, where the marche was being held, to the right bank, and the old town of Lyon.

I spent some time in St. Jean church in the heart of Vieux Lyon (Ancient Lyon) and saw my first hot chestnut stand when I came out. Dave had told me about them (he had them while on his mission) and they are a sign that fall has arrived. I thought this one was interesting to get Quasimodo (from Paris) with Guignol the puppet (from Lyon).

The Lawyer's Court, in Vieux Lyon.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door in the corner of the Lawyer's Court and saw this perfectly lit scene--I was a little shaky though, so it's not completely crisp. Below is the underside of the next floor's staircase--all in stone.

(Still the Lawyer's Court)

As I walked up the cobbled street, I remembered that I'd put my traboules and courtyards map in my backpack and pulled it out. I ran into someone from IARC (actually, a wife of someone in Dave's conference) and together we explored some old courtyards.

We parted, and I walked up to the next pedestrian bridge, crossed it and was headed to buy the Japanese toys that Christine and I had found earlier. But Wow! another painted building. Lyon's famous for these, if I haven't already said so, and I've only scratched the surface in finding them.

All these balconies and the people (from Lyon's history) are all painted.

I posed with Paul Bocuse (in the chef's regalia) in his doorway.

A group playing Ring a Round a Rosie, only the song was different. They all dropped to the ground at the end, so same idea--different language.

Although the large trompe l'oeil (trick the eye) buildings are the norm, even the smaller grocers get in to the act of painting. Both of these are painting, but the picture below--even though it could be a still life--is the real thing.

Not trompe l'oeil, but interesting, nonetheless. Each city has its themes, the things it replicates in some fashion or another, throughout its blocks and buildings. Painting is one thing that Lyon "does." Good food is another.

Christine and I found this store of collectible Asian toys and I was going back to retrieve a couple more. It's not that the toy hunt was the object of this day, but I've found that sometimes if you are on the hunt for something different, it moves you out into different areas that you wouldn't normally stay in as a tourist.
Molly Qee was the item on the Big Game hunt today.

Too quirky.

(To prove they're popular in Asia, I've taken a "snapshot" of the comments this picture generated, seen below.)
When I showed my class back home, one student asked, "And what's the point?"
"Point?" I replied.

Okay, back to France.

I've finished off my breakfast roll, it's now almost 2 p.m. and I'm tired. So I find the metro--this one's a tramway on a hill and I like the colors and the angles.

This train/tram is going into the tunnel, up the hill to Croix Russe. I'm waiting for the one to take me downtown.

I exit "Ampere", grab a Le Parisienne sandwich--buerre and jamon (butter and ham)--from Paul and the refreshing soda (recommended by Christine, who had it recommended to her by Jeremy) and head to the hotel.
I blog a bit, then come to my senses and head out for the last afternoon. I stop by some favorite shops--one advantage of going somewhere twice is that you know some favorite shops to stop by twice.

One of these is Tousoie, which Dave tells me means "all silk." It's a shop full of all kinds of tubular bolts of silks, some retailing for upwards of $100, all of which are gorgeous, some of which are hand-painted and embellished. I head for the scarves, little luminous drapings of silk by which to remember Lyon's once ubiquitous silk industry. Tousoie is a "factory store," a place where one of the last silk factories has a place to sell its wares. The shop owner also informed me (when I asked) that some of their silks went up to Paris, to the designers. I was fascinated with the two-color scarves; the warp thread in red and the weft thread in turquoise, or aqua.

Then she said "aqua like duck?"
I must have looked confused because she said this color was named for the French ducks, who were this blue-green, and they say "A-Qua, A-Qua." Her voice took on that sharp quacky-edge of something imitating a duck.
The light went on inside my head. Our word aqua came from what French ducks say. Okey-dokey. I believe it.

After strolling around France for a week, I see so much that is exported to our language and to our country (we return the favor by exporting McDonalds!). The food and fashion style are only the most visible. I think of how many people in my area say "wal-la," not realizing this two-syllable sound is a mangled version of the French "voila" (see there). There's a real temptation to assist with more importing by going crazy in the shops, but it's getting dark, Dave will be coming home and we're heading to the final Paul Bocuse restaurant for our last meal in France together.

Our street, normally.

Our street, today. In Place Bellecour they were having an event of some kind, with several large white tents set up. Dave took these shots.

We change, get on the Metro and head for a new area of Lyon. Upon exiting, we see that this was an old train station that has been converted to shops and restaurants.

We're at L'Est--the East--and it is called the food for "Les Voyages." Around the ceiling's perimeter runs a small electric train on a suspended track.

In each of the Bocuse brasseries, they bring out this little dish of marinated goodies. We couldn't figure out the interesting one with the stem. They kept telling us it was a caper, but it was like none we'd ever seen. The best info I could gather is that it's a "caperberry," or a semi-mature flower bud.
Okay, maybe. It was about the size of a thumbnail in some cases, tinier in others, but all had the stem. (If you really want to educated about these, head to this page with pictures of their flower.)

The kitchen at L'Est.

We always play a game called "Who's the Winner?" It's after each course, when we decide who was the winner for that dish. Dave won tonight for his Courge Soup (pumpkin) with tiny croutons. (I had a plain salad, and lost.)

He had the white fish with potatoes and I had a salmon with a creamy sauce. We both won.

We shared our desserts. First up was the Grand Marinier souffle; I had to quickly take the photo as it was beginning to deflate. Sugar on top--delicious.

And a perfect closer: their merigne dessert with three types of sorbet, chantilly and fruit on top, with a berry coulis puddle around the outside.

We walked home, vowing to eat gruel in Riverside to atone for this delicious food. But the interesting thing is the size of the portions are mostly manageable--the don't pile the food on the plate, overstuffing you as is the tradition in our mainstream restaurants here in the U.S. Sometimes smaller, more savory courses, satisfy better.

I hate to think of leaving Lyon--who knows if or when we'll come back? It's what Dave and I call a "second tier" tourist site, with not too many recognizable tourist sites to see. Because of this, the pace is slower and more relaxed. I could take a morning walking the Saone, browsing the markets because there's not a rush to the next attraction. I could linger in the St. Jean cathedral, photographing the changing colors of the stained glass windows on the stone. By the time I leave Lyon, I'm refreshed and renewed and ready to tackle the next difficult chore of my life--getting home!

Lyon--Day 6

2008-10-23T20:17:00.000-07:00

This last day we started easily as Christine had to pack and bring her luggage to my room. It's go-slow day, but we launched ourselves finally on the Quest to L'Ouest for napkins.

L'Ouest--the West--had a small boutique that sold all of the four brasserie's napkin styles, and we were collecting. We'd started with Le Nord, walked to Le Sud, but still had two more to go. So Christine and I took the red Metro line to the end and found our way to the river, which would lead us to the restaurant.

She stopped into a market to buy 2 clementines, and the young man heard us talking English.
"You like Bush?" he asked.
I shook my head and he grinned.
"Obama," I said, and he grinned again, giving us a thumb's up sign.
Everyone likes to talk about our elections.

After a brisk twenty minute walk (When did I ever start walking so slowly? Compared to Christine, I'm a tortoise, I think) we arrive. Unlike the small charming brasseries in the town center, L'Ouest caters to the business lunchers, the busy suburbs.

We sat across from the kitchen--perfect ringside seat to the action. We were directly across from the dessert prep area, which when we arrived was nearly idle. By the time we finished our lunches, this area was hopping, and we had fun watching the chantilly (whipped cream) being piped from a gleaming silver machine, dressing up the presentations.

This restaurant had a palate of soft jewel tones, and the glowing lights in the front of the kitchen echoed these colors.

Christine's lunch of foie gras--perfection.

My salad was a work of art. Underneath the mushrooms and cheese was a coil of split haricot verts, cooked & chilled. Artichoke hearts, quarters of romaine, asparagus and tomato rounded out the feast.

Walking along the Saone river, after leaving the restaurant.
We relaxed at the hotel room for a while (she checked in for her flight) and then we were off to the train station, via the Metro. She had her carry-on, with straps like a pack, over her shoulders and carried her straw bag. I managed her suitcase. One transfer, two more stops and we were there at Part Dieu. The tracks were a crush--Friday afternoon rush hour. Christine figured out where our car would be, and we snaked our way to the approximate place. The train stopped and a wild crush of people crowd the door. She got on, I lifted her suitcase up, kissed and hugged her good-bye and stepped off the train. Within 3 minutes, the train slowly pulled out. They don't mess around with late schedules, here.

I waved good-bye and walked over to the Mall, intending to tackle Carrefours (their version of Wal-Mart) but was too tired to face it. I bought the folders I needed at the local stationers, and headed down the escalator to the Metro, hearing English--but with an accent.

It turned out to be two young men down from Ireland for the weekend to help a friend celebrate his birthday. They followed me along through the transfers to Place Bellecour, where we said good-bye. It was a bit wild, for I'm fine if I'm bumping around trying to find places, but when I have to show others, it's a bit nerve-wracking that I'll mess up. I did fine, though, in the Metro's Friday night rush hour.

I gathered up the clothes and headed to the laundromat--just a few steps away from our hotel (another reason I like it so well). They've upgraded dramatically: their control machine (for soap and the washers/dryers) now accepts paper bills. Yay!

Thirty-five euro later (three loads, wash and dry) we have clean clothes. (Good thing, because at home is still my broken washer.) Dave finds me at the laundromat, carries some laundry home.

We think about Christine on her way to Paris, then home, and miss her already. We walk the neighborhood, looking for a place to eat, and decide to try the restaurant at Institut Paul Bocuse (it's a theme, yes) where they have a hotel/restaurant management school.

I thought of our daughter Barbara, and her love of chickens when I saw the display behind Dave's chair.

The warm breadsticks were brought in this crushed plastic cup--only it was ceramic!--which instantly made it Very Cool.

This was "millefeuille de legumes grilles et marines au pistou" and remember that Blogger doesn't do accent marks, of which there were many in that phrase. It was a multi-layered stack of grilled vegetables, with a garlic pistou, or sauce.

It was topped with a prosciutto-type ham, and it was delicious.

We each had "thon rouge a la plancha et ratatouille" in other words, grilled pink tuna atop ratatouille. On the side was risotto, and the wild looking garnish was an anise-tasting vegetable (can't think of it's name).

Okay, this one's "macaron chocolat, coulis fruits de la passion" and it's delicious with a great presentation.

It's a giant macaroon, with passion fruit sauce and some bananas for garnish.

We walk home. The weather's turned colder today, and the street's quieter. We have both had to sleep with earplugs to keep out the street noise (we keep our windows ajar), but maybe not tonight. We call Christine in Paris to make sure she's safe and sound--she is.
And so the week's coming to an end. Last day for Christine and one more day for me. Dave's staying until his "conference" is over, coming home next Wednesday.

Lyon-Day 5

2008-10-18T06:04:00.001-07:00

In the hallway of our hotel by the elevator, Christine had seen an intriguing modern art poster. With her encouragement and a morning of train hassles, we finally got out of Lyon. We went to St. Etienne to see the Modern Art Museum, a low-slung building set on a hill over this industrials city (of which we didn't see).

The artists were Anthony Gormley, which we both quite liked and Jean-Michael Alberola. While we waited for the taxi to take us home, we posed in front of the museum, enjoying the beautiful clouds (it had been raining earlier).

Christine by the advertising posters, which are all over the hotels and the metro stations.

Christine had fun photographing this art (at the train station), with its transparent and opaque plastic leaves.

We zipped inside the station, hunting for our quai (platform), got it. Nope! Wrong one. Down the stairs, and up the stairs and into the waiting train. It left about 4 minutes later. Christine had a close call with her Paris-Lyon train, and was determined not to repeat that.

Paul Bocuse is a famous Lyonese chef, who has had a great impact on fine dining the world over. We frequent his brasseries because they are well-priced with high quality ingredients and inventive, good food. Tonight's brasserie is Le Nord, which features traditional Lyonese dishes.

Christine had sausage inside brioche. Dave commented that it looked like a duded-up pig-in-a-blanket. We all shared bites of everything and the taste of this was far beyond that.

We had squash soup. When we were trying to figure out what type of squash the soup was made of, the waiter smiled and said "Halloween." Ah, pumpkin.

Being the adventurous one, Christine had a quenelle. It was light, delicious, and the best choice of all the entrees at dinner.

The pièce de résistance--the best? The dessert of merigne with fruits rouges. Okay--it's two five-inch long piped merigne "logs" with three flavors of sorbet pressed between them: mango, vanilla and and chocolate (I think). Chantilly, or whipped cream is piped on top, with berry coulis (sauce) puddling around the creation and more berries for garnish. Heaven.

Christine wanted a souvenir of a napkin, and then thought how fun it would be to have one from Le Sud, another Paul Bocuse brasserie where we'd eaten on Monday evening. So we walked down Rue des Republique, through Place Bellecour and to Le Sud.

They had the happy birthday organ grinder box out again.

It's a Paul Bocuse theme show, I think, because we found the Institute Paul Bocuse on our way home. It's a hotel (Hotel Royal) and restaurant that the Paul Bocuse Institut runs. It's basically a school for hotel and restaurant managers. They don't have any fancy napkins to buy (just kidding), so we head home.

[Christine's not the only one with Paul Bocuse brasserie napkins. More on that in the next post, but I've got to go out and enjoy my last day here in Lyon.]

Lyon--Day 4

2008-10-17T22:30:00.001-07:00

First stop of the day is back to the Paul Smith store. We'd seen some fun stuff there, and after thinking about it a night, decided to act on it. As I was finishing my purchase, the owner disappeared around to the back room, came out with something in his hands and cut off the price tags.

They were bracelets. One for Christine, which coordinated with the necklace she'd purchased.

And one for me, to go with the necklace I'd bought. I held up my hand to show the bracelet, and he clasped it. Very charming, these French.

After stashing them back at the room, we walked down to Perrache Metro/Gare to head out for the day. There was a demonstration of apprentices. Many orange-helmeted guys in groups of 4 or 5 busy cutting out the same shape, bending their set of rebar in the same curve, busy hammering. And of course, one official guy overseeing each group. Quite a display.

We took the Metro red line to City Hall, then transferred to the yellow, which truthfully was like an underground funicular. We could feel the steepness of the climb in the tilt of the train car. We were heading up Croix-Rousse, an ancient hill of this city, established in Roman times. We paused to get our bearings at the top, and behind Christine was. . .

. . . this fabulous group of French ladies.
We keep noticing the style, which seems to be DNA-coded in the women here. A scarf casually rolled, the shoes perfectly matched, the jacket just so. Of course there are others without that, but we seem to agree that there is a predominance of good fashion and classic style sense that doesn't seem to exist on a national level in the United States.

A street fair was set up, with La Petite Serene sign atop one of the fairway games. It reminded me of my granddaughters.

The previous few days, Christine kept saying, there's this drink that Jeremy told me to get. And we'd try this one, or this one. But today--we found it. Agrum. I took a photo so we could remember. We paused in this sliver of a park atop Croix-Rousse to enjoy the view of the neighboring hill, where the Notre Dame du Fourviere basilica is sited.

Why did we head up here? To see the traboules, the stairways and passageways where the silk workers from earlier days passed from one factory to the next, always staying out of the rain. It's a World Heritage site collectively.

One of the more famous. It's on all the brochures.

Sometimes we'd head through small courtyards on our trek. I couldn't resist photographing Christine against this perfectly pinky-beige wall.

This stairway was locked, so I looked up and caught the symmetry.

I saw this doorway last time: CSL. I pointed it out to Christine and she said: Cynthia Sessions Lippincott! Yep. I thought so too.

Passage Thiaffiat leads down from double stairs, through a small narrow courtyard. We paused here to window shop (okay, okay, I bought some perfectly quirky earrings with Eiffel towers dangling from a small jewel) and in front of our store as we stepped out, a lady in turquoise stockings was comforting a weeping friend. She quickly stepped across the courtyard to usher her friend into another storefront.

We continue on, through Moire courtyard--yes, the man who developed the process did it here. I like the cart paths on the side of the stairs.

Our eventual destination is Place des Terraux. This fountain (photo taken from a museum window) was designed by the same man who designed our Statue of Liberty. Facing this fountain is the Beaux Arts museum, housed in the 17th-century Palais St-Pierre, a former Benedictine convent for the daughters of the nobility.

The museum is a square, with a large courtyard in the center. This is a view of one of the "hallways" on the lower floor, just to my right as I entered (but before we were in the courtyard).

We were tired, so the first stop was the terrace. This little refreshment stop was typically French, with a long wait for the waiter (is that why they call them that?). He took our order, another long wait. I had orange juice, and Christine had lemon juice. They brought me water and sugar (it needed the sugar!) and I was supposed to dilute the juice with the water to make an orangeade. I told Christine that I was from Southern California and we don't dilute our orange juice there. I ended up doing it, not only to be "with it," but also because I needed some hydration. Another long wait for the check. We gave up and went inside and paid.

A painting in the Musee des Beaux Arts, detailing virtures and vices. Check out the devil blowing red smoke in the lady's ear on the right, as well as the anger box (to the right of that), with a thorny border.

A window to a stairwell.

A lower salon with beautiful stone statues alongside the windows.
We went home, tired from the day. Shopping and sightseeing is hard work. We checked email and talked until Dave came home and off we went to Momento, a restaurant we'd found on our last trip. The owner experiments a lot, and most dishes are successful; some are not, but it's always an adventure.

Salmon atop toast and greens--Dave's appetizer. A winner.

Three tastes: mushroom soup (good), panna cotta with mushroom and dried, cured beef (wierd), and fresh greens.

A roasted chicken leg with swirled pancetta and mashed potatoes. One of the interesting things to notice is the use of drizzled sauces and chopped garnishes to make the presentation really interesting.

Fig cake. It was delicious, but the lunch version was superior.

Christine had molten chocolate cake with a basil sauce. I don't know if that one "worked" for me, but it was adventurous.

Good night.

Lyon--Day 3

2008-10-16T00:55:00.000-07:00

We leave our windows open at night to get the cool fresh air (the A/C has been disabled for the season) and every morning the street washers wake us up. A large truck slowly moves down the street as two men wield firefighter-sized hoses, sweeping the street with water in front of them, spraying some down the side streets to clear away the previous day's debris and dirt. Although it looks like it's the middle of the night, it's about 7 a.m. The sun doesn't rise here until nearly 8 a.m.

It was a day to Go Slow, so we did. I blogged, dressed and we finally left mid-morning. We stopped by the Post Office for timbre (stamps) and then went right over to Momento for lunch.

Christine's dish of dried thinly sliced beef with shards of cheese.

I had the salmon atop a bed of camelized onions and shallots, with three potato chips on top.

For dessert, we shared the fig cake. It was amazing.

We decided to go and write our postcards, since we now had the stamps, but detoured when we saw this dress salon. Everything is custom-made, but the hand-painted silk dress fit Christine. The owner, from Tunisia originally, had worked in the couture shops in Paris (his mother still works at Balenciaga) and he assured us he could have the dress done by tomorrow or Friday. Tempting. We floated out after an enjoyable few minutes talking clothes. All his things were so exquisitely made and inventive. Lyon is known for its food, but its design and fashion can't be far behind. We've seen so many interesting pieces of clothing. We're limited by our budget and the size of our suitcases, so we admire a lot, but don't indulge.

We sat in Place Bellecour and wrote postcards, enjoying the day and the sun. Afterwards, we walked by the Paul Smith shop, admiring his jewelry and clothing and we went in. Pretty soon the owner had us trying on all sorts of coats, jackets, etc. Some went home with us, but we left a promise to return after we thought about a few others. Home, via Leonidas to get some chocolates for Dave: medallions that are two or three raisins and a nut or two atop a chocolate circle.

Our street from the hotel window, looking out to Place Bellecour.

We checked email, wrote and whiled away the pleasant afternoon, waiting for Dave to arrive. Heading to dinner through Place Ampere--named for Mr. Ampere who discovered amps, I guess--we enjoyed the changing lights on his statue.

The Carolingan abbey belltower.

Dinner was at Little Italy, a place we discovered just by walking around after we couldn't find our first choice. Menu: green salad, and we all shared a dish of ziti and a pizza. We walked home along the Saone river, through Place Bellecour, where work, then sleep, awaited us.

Lyon--Day 2

2008-10-13T23:39:00.000-07:00

This little scene--of two molded plastic chairs, a little table with a pot of flowers on top--is directly across from my hotel window. When we went on our first trip to France, so many years ago, we calculated that we'd eaten outside more times than inside--a lovely habit epitomized by this promise of a meal on a teensy balcony, four floors above the street.

So, our first meal of the day is from Paul, a chain of bakery shops that has consistently high quality. Dave's eating a whatever but it's made of brioche-like dough, round and flat with sucre (sugar) and fresh raspberries on top. I had one also and we shared a quarter-sized baguette with large chunky crystals of sugar on top. It looked like salt, but it wasn't.

Quirky car we saw while we were hunting up hair spray.
Several corner markets later, we found some in my price range and size (small--for airline carryon). It's called Lacque, as in lacquer, I suppose, so I can shellac my hair into place. We're staying near the gare (train station) so we can meet Christine.

She arrives! in a flurry of fun and good cheer. We slide back to the hotel and get her checked in and drop off her luggage, then head out again. We're standing in the Carolingan church, in the side chapel that dates from the 9th century.

Window from this same chapel.

The exterior of the church, with a steeple shaped like, I think, a Bishop's miter (hat).

We pick up lunch from a tiny artisan bakery, that also makes great desserts, like the cookies above. Lunch: two baguette sandwiches one with ham & tomato and the other with cheese and tomato. We couldn't resist their dessets, either.

Dave's was chocolate-coated "tulip" cookie shell filled with custard and topped with raspberries, strawberries and a current cluster for decoration.

I had a molded ganache-like treat and Christine's was a small tart, filled with pistachio-almondine and topped with raspberries. We'd taken everything up--via funicular--to Fourviere Hill for a "picque-nicque."

We ate in the park next to this basilica. Very symmetrical, so I knew Dave would like it. Inside are beautiful mosaic murals in shades of blues and greens with gilt highlights, but the light was low so they didn't photograph too well.

This four-winged angel was in adjoining side hall.

Interestingly, underneath the main basilica, was a smaller "church" dedicated to Joseph, spouse of Mary. These candles were in a side chapel. We then walked down through a switch-backed trail that meandered through gardens.

We joined the blue-legged jogger to while a way some time in this garden.

Christine and Dave.
Fall colors decorate an empty house, with door ajar.

Lyon is known for its painted buildings. This is one--and there really is a bookstore business at street level. I included some of the side facade with windows for comparison.

We walked down past St. Nizer church--a gothic looking structure tucked in between the city buildings. Inside was a new scene for me: a brown/beige and cream stained glass window, striking for its neutral tones.

Window with all types of sneakers.

We came home and crashed for a while--worn out from all the walking. Dinner was a Le Sud (again, I know), but it's such a good restaurant how can you lose? Christine's first course was a patty sandwich of potatoes with thon (tuna) in the middle, swimming in a tomatoey sauce.

Dave's main course was a tajine of semolina and vegetables. They'd brought a mini soup tureen of jus and more vegetables, that he ladled over the dish. He said it was great.

I had the chicken (as did Christine). The prevailing wisdom is if you want to really see how good a chef (or a restaurant) is, order chicken. If it's amazing, then you've found a good chef. This was amazing. It had a side of roasted potatoes and a thumb-sized portion of spinach.

We kept hearing some music and several people pulled out their cell phones. But when it came nearer our table, we realized it was a hand-cranked organ grinder and the waiters were singing Happy Birthday to the customer. It was funny that people kept checking their cell phones.

We struck up a conversation--or should I say, Dave and Christine struck up a conversation--with a lovely French couple. They'd traveled around California seeing all the National Parks, and here we were in their hometown--they were both born and raised in Lyon. We asked them advice on museums, more Paul Bocuse brasseries, and had a pleasant conversation. We were happy that they were friendly and willing to chat with us, as this is what really makes foreign travel so interesting--getting out of the cocoon we live and into other lives and other ways of doing things. Sign of the times: we traded email addresses afterwards, in order to send photos.

We walked home via Place Bellecour and all went to bed. A lovely day, a lovely evening.

Note: the links on this page are to last year's trip to Lyon, with more photos.

Lyon--Day 1

2008-10-12T13:09:00.000-07:00

We're off!

(I added to this on Monday morning after the garbage man woke me up.)

But not too fast. Initial flight to Munich was delayed 3 1/2 hours--at least we got a free dinner out of it at one of the illustrious restaurants at LAX (courtesey of Lufthansa's meal vouchers). The reason why we were delayed was a medical emergency in the previous flight--they had to detour to Iceland to drop a passenger off at the hospital.

Luckily for us, we were supposed to have a 4 hour-layover in Munich, was which now reduced to 45 minutes. We were very happy to get on that tiny jet taking us to Lyon. They served us "sausage" sandwiches, which turned out to be tiny seeded rolls with black forest ham. So good, we each had two. The first thing we saw in the Lyon Saint-Exupery Airport was this mural of the Little Prince and his flyer-author, who was born in Lyon.

We caught the airport bus to Parrache Train Station, wheeled our suitcases three blocks to our hotel, only to find that they'd given away our room. I sat down in a chair, while Dave handled it. We ended up at another hotel, more expensive and had to pay for the cab. The clerk at the desk was *clueless* even though Dave spoke French to him. My favorite moment? When the clerk said, "You weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow." Dave pointed to the confirmation notice sitting on the desk. "No. It says right here, that we will be here on the 11th--Saturday." I was politely snarky, calling out little comments like "You have a problem--hope you can fix it," to the hotel clerk, who luckily couldn't understand much of what that crazy American lady was saying, who looked like she'd been run over by a bus. The cab driver was nice, and we only had to switch rooms once in the new hotel (phone and A/C didn't work in the first room).

Looking out from our room in Hotel des Artistes at the sunrise. . . at 8 a.m.

So we showered, dressed then walked over to the "marche" or street market, held on the adjacent street. We love walking up and down the rows of colorful vegetables, fragrant flowers, chicken men, paella sellers, Boy Scouts selling their calendars (some things are the same the world over), and looking at all the odd things we never see in American markets.

Rosy-yellow pomegranites.

Restful chicken.

Golden mushrooms.

My zinnias at home are all burned up from the heat (but then again, these may be dahlias).

Cabbages and leeks.

The chicken man. We bought a half chicken from him, and roasted potatoes from another vendor, and raspberries from someone else . . .

. . . and bread from someother vendor, and macaroons and pain du raisen and pain du chocolate and an amandine tart. And I think that's it.

Fall's arrived at the market.
We finished off lunch, packed up and walked over to our hotel--and yes, they had a room for us. In fact, please check out these 5 rooms. So we did, and chose a large one on the fourth floor with three windows, two facing two different streets. The sunlight streaming in was delightful, and with the double-glazed windows closed, it's rather quiet. If the windows are open, the street noises filter up. Not too bad today--maybe worse tomorrow.

We dressed, caught the Metro over to church. We'd been here last year, but it must have been Stake Conference or something. We walked in with the missionaries (one from Florida, one from Paris) to an abbreviated chapel that obviously was also an all-purpose room.

The stake president came over and introduced himself to us--6 wards and 3 branches in his stake. He invited us to come to the celebration of the hundredth year of the church in Lyon, but alas, we'll be back in the states. 100 years in Lyon. I thought about that the whole sacrament meeting (as I couldn't understand a word), along with the faithfulness of the saints in this part of the world, carrying on with great faith and dedication.

Back home on the Metro, along with half of Lyon it seemed like, then change clothes and enjoy our room for a while before dinner. Here's a look out our window, up the street toward Place Belcour--a huge huge huge city square in Lyon.

After snoozing a while, then trying to wake up (jet-lag!) we went for a walk. First we checked on one of our favorite restaurants, Momento, seeing if it was still in business (it was) and then out past this little square, dedicated to Lyon's first doctor. Dave caught a good shot of the fountains.

A new sculpture we hadn't seen before: a flower tree made of giant oversized blossoms. European art, when not of the fountains and traditional elements kind, can be very interesting.

Close-up. These blossoms were about 4 feet across in width.

Pivoting 180 degrees from the Flower Tree is a randomized foutain, in front of some old architecture. Dave caught a sloping formation. To the right of these fountains is Le Sud, where we headed for dinner. It's one of our favorites, a brasserie from Paul Bocuse.

Dining in foreign countries is a bit like a treasure hunt. The food will be mostly good and always interesting, as what's printed on the menu is not always what's imagined in the mind. Here's an example. Salmon with toast. It turned out to be sashimi-like: thin slices of raw salmon drizzled with olive oil and herbs.

Salt helped.

Next course: Dave had trout over vegetables which turned out to be a 4-inch "patty" made of spinach, then grilled onion, red and golden bell pepper, formed into a circle, with the trout on top. Mine was roasted veal with a eggplant coulis of some kind and roasted potatoes. If I could have used the bread to sop up the gravy I would have, but I was pacing myself for what was coming.

The cheese course. Mine was the half-circle of a local specialty which reminded me a cross between camembert and brie and brought up stories of my father's love of camembert at one time in my life, and the special yellow plastic holder with the wedgie thing that kept the insides from oozing out. Dave's was a soft cheese with a red berry sauce. It reminded us of a panna cotta-cream cheese-yogurt sort of amalgamation.

Last course was a "chocolate pie" as the one friendly waiter put it. (The other wait staff just kind of put up with us.) It was made with Valrhona chocolate. When it came, in honor of our recent anniversary of our first date (and first kiss), I carved our initials in the top of mine with my fork.

Dave countered with the number of our recent anniversary. Yep. Nineteen years of marriage, twenty years of kisses.

A picture of the restaurant. He has three others; this one's "The South." Guess what the others are named?

The brasserie is right beside the river, and the reflections made for an enjoyable photo shoot. Dave caught this one of a grand building, all decorated up like a dowager going out for the evening.

I looked over the wall and found the stark diagonals of the steps down to the water a nice counterpoint to the shimmering blues. We took many many more. It's something we enjoy doing--and we find that our shots overlap sometimes. Dave's really good with the landscape, and I like the details.

A poetry memorial of some kind, with Dave playfully (at the request of the photographer) peeking out from around one of the slab-like columns. And that's it for the first day.

Map of Lyon, France Trip--October 2008

2008-10-03T11:35:00.000-07:00

City Sights--Lyon France (Map)

2008-10-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

View Lyon, France in a larger map

London: Tourists, Various and Sundry

2008-08-07T14:22:00.001-07:00

Monday was our final day. This trip, so planned for and thought about and dreamed about was nearly over. I asked Dave to take my photo (and I took his) so we could have a photo where we looked slightly awake and perky, not in the middle of dragging about and sightseeing. Here we are outside our hotel.

We look so fresh and alive!

After the Tate Museum, we boarded a double-decker bus and saw the sights from above ground. We jumped off at Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament to play tourist.

I believe that when we brought our children in 1999/2000 (yes, it was the Millenium) Big Ben was all wrapped up getting spruced up. Nice to see his face.

It only took three tourist-tries, but I finally got someone who could take a photograph of us.

House of Parliament

Note the Churchill statue to the right.

We liked the gilt flags on the building across the street--which must be the backside of Westminster Abbey.

Britain's Home Office, or their version of the State Department.

We hit Harrod's--this is the ceiling in one of their rooms. We finally bought something at Harrods: chocolates to save for August 11th, our anniversary.

I had wanted to buy some earrings, or some other souvenir of London but the conversion rate of 2 dollars to 1 pound made it next to impossible. It wasn't so much about the money--I had savings and could have purchased things. But it became about the value of the item. I saw a silver charm for my charm bracelet. I could have purchased it for 39 pounds, but I didn't think it was worth 80 bucks, so I passed. In conversations I began saying to people: "Come to America--we're having a sale. Everything half off!"

Cool ornamentaion on the tops of these more modern buildings--crowns.

Back home to our hotel for dinner. I liked the multi-culturalism of these eating places. We chose the one to the left (out of camera range) and had pizza.

So that's it. Just like the gates of the British Museum, our time here was closing.

Dave had good conferences, we saw a lot (and missed a lot--next time).

But, we're ready. And like Dorothy knew, as she chanted it to the crowded square in Oz: "There's no place like home."

London's Museums

2008-08-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

We began the day with a ride on the tube, entering from the tube station near our hotel.

He wasn't at our tube station, but somewhere in our day of traveling London's mass transit.

We started at the Tate.

We headed for the Singer-Sargeants and enjoyed seeing Lily, Lily, Carnation, Rose once again, navigating groups of school children.

All of a sudden Dave says, "There's someone running through there."
I looked, didn't see anyone. "Someone running?"
"Yes, right through here."
Still didn't see anyone, so we went to an exhibit by Alan Michael who's realism really captured Dave's interest. If we were independently wealthy, I would have bought him a painting for his birthday right then.
Then I saw the person running. They began at the far end of the Great Hall, dressed in running clothes and ran for everything they were worth to the other end of the hall where they turned a corner and disappeared.

It turns out we were "participating" or seeing Martin Creed's Work No. 850. The guard at the hallway entrance and chatted about the runners. There were six runners, who seemed to come out of nowhere, and disappeared after their run.

The artist's statement on the wall provided reasons for its genesis:
In Palermo we went to see the catacombs of the Capuchin monks. We were very late and only had five minutes to see it all before closing time. To do it we had to run. I remember running at top speed with my friends through the catacombs looking desperately left and right at all of the dead people hanging on the walls in their best clothes, trying our best to see it all... it was a good way to see it. It was that kind of delirious running which makes you laugh uncontrollably when you're doing it. I think it's good to see museums at high speed. It leaves time for other things.

Living in Riverside, I don't get out to mainstream museums very much. But it's this exhilaration at seeing something that stimulates, that tweaks your ideas of things that provides wonderful reason to brave the traffic, time constraints, weather, and my own inertia to take in different views of the world.

Outside the Tate.
We took a bus around town (see next post for our tourist tramping around) and headed to Liberty, another museum as my sister Christine refers to it. Good description.

This photo is for my mother.
We had tea in Liberty's once, she and I, after shopping.

The store has an interior courtyard with carved woods, fine plaster motifs, elegant clothing and furnishings. I bought a half-meter of one of Kaffe Fasset's prints.

I grew up on aphorisms, so am attracted to them when I see them. This is on the catwalk between Liberty's and another building.

Liberty's side view

We took the tube then to the British Museum and Dave again found his bliss among the ancient stones and ruins.

A younger thing between two older things.

I liked the super-imposed writing atop the bas relief hand.

The museum courtyard has an undulating glass ceiling, with the reading room in the middle. This view reminded me of a pueblo-styled building.

I sipped a coke while waiting for Dave. A storm front had moved in and the thunder rattled the panes with rain washing over it in a muffled drumming sound. We were late in the day, and the galleries started closing.

Dave's take on the ceiling.

After, we stepped outside and called Chad from a phone booth. He'd called us from London the last time he was here and we wanted to return the favor.

Arriving in London

2008-08-07T13:16:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning we left Yorkshire, turned in the car at York and after one canceled train and another train delay, close to noon we finally boarded a train to London. We visited Harry Potter's train platform, bought an Oyster Pass (Chad had lent us one already from his last trip) and headed down into the tube to ride to our hotel.

We headed to St. Paul's cathedral; this is a cool bridge near Old Bailey.

Old Bailey--London's jail/courthouse

We were hoping to catch evensong. We missed it, so after looking quietly at the cathedral from out seats (it was Sunday--no sightseeing) we headed out in the rain. Tired tourists, we were hunting for something to eat that didn't require us to trade in one of our children as ransom.

We ended up at an Indian restaurant. The sole waiter was listening to Wimbledon on the radio, a nice clash with the wailing Indian tunes in the background. It was a rather skimpy meal for the price. We both balked at one piece of nan bread costing 2 pounds. When we commented that in the States we'd get at least two pieces for that price, he said, "Well, you are in London."

Traveling Around in Yorkshire

2008-07-27T15:52:00.000-07:00

We start the day with rain and drizzle and a fast trip to Wensleydale Creamery in Hawes. Yes, we try five varieties of Wensleydale (some plain, some "mature," some with cranberries, etc.) and decide not to buy anything but a tea towel. The clerk gives me Wallace and Grommit stickers to give out to my family--we're fans.

Hawes is a small town that is bisected by a stream, complete with stoney bridge. Very picturesque.

And did I mention it was raining?

The B&B host had mapped out a ride on the white roads of death, up over a rock formation called Buttertubs, through the Yorkshire Dales park, but when we couldn't see out of our windshield, we decided on a more forthright course of action: drive the other direction on red-roads. We headed through Swinithwaite, West Witton and Wensley to Leyburn. I don't know what we were expecting, but it was still raining and the town (that we were willing to explore with umbrellas) ringed the paved-over town greens. Lunch was from a grocery store, where I'm sure the clerk was snickering to her pal about those strange Americans. I tried to be polite, asking for "chips" to go with our sandwich and she said "they're in the freezer."

She meant fish and chips. I meant potato chips, what they call "crisps." Snicker, snicker.

Back in the car at the car park we ate our sandwiches while watching the rain. We retraced our route to take another daring step: home for naps.

Later on the sky had cleared enough that we decided to venture out for a drive and head to dinner.

We arrived at Swinithwaite just in time to see the cows moved into another pasture.

This pastoral view was replicated in many turns of the road.

We headed south, detouring into a small town, West Burton, where I finally saw a proper village green. I'd heard about village greens in storybooks, but had never seen one. Basically it's a Central Park for small towns--a large open grassy area where people meet and greet and play.

The Methodist Church on the village green--we were suprised at how many Methodist churches we saw.

Near Thoralby, a tiny town in the Dales.

Near Newbiggin, another tiny town in the Yorkshire Dales.

We stopped here for dinner--taking the brilliant suggestion of our B&B host.

The Street Head Inn. I think the lamb I had for dinner was frolicking in the pastures behind them last week--it was like no other lamb I've ever had.

View into the dining room, from the entryway. We were the first diners--we like an early dinner.

Roasted vegetables in a vol-a-vent was my appetizer. I could have stopped right there.

Dave had the butternut squash soup.

His dinner was three different types of sausage, I think--yes--they were the local award winners, or so it said on the chalkboard where the day's menu was written. This time we didn't look like idiots when they said head to the bar to order. We knew the drill.

I had stuffed lamb rolls, presented like this. The sides (in upper R corner) were green salad and vegetables. The lamb, like I said, was amazing.

We drove past Aysgarth Falls, Caperby, heading for Castle Bolton. I also wanted to get a video clip of lambs and friends bleating in the fields. It was so quiet there, that this was a common sound. Dave waited patiently for the sun to hit the castle.

Victorian Rock Garden

2008-07-21T09:42:00.000-07:00

Across the street from Heather Cottage is an old-fashioned Victorian Rock Garden.

Apparently, when it began, travelers would bring back plant specimens the way we bring back souvenirs, and plant them in their rock gardens. Much of this garden was alpine, the flowers and plants tucked into the rocky hollows. Follow the above link to learn more about its history, which began at the turn of the century.

When the present owners purchased the house, it "came" with the Rock Garden, which was fairly run-down and in bad condition. Angela, one of the owners, has restored it and it is quite interesting. Quite a novelty.

These plantings are amazing--from the street it looks like a small rocky hill, but it has a winding path past a motion-activated waterfall, under a rock bridge, around a few bends until the upper garden is reached.

Looking back to the Yorkshire Hills through the rock bridge.

Dave, enjoying the upper garden.

This area has a little bench, grassy area rimmed with large rocks and plantings. A quiet oasis.

We watched the video about the restoration of the garden and several times Angela says she's an amateur gardener. I guess in England that means they're an expert, because in her backyard, on the way to the car and the hen house is this small rock garden, with teensy pond, and array of flowers in complimentary hues. A treasure. She said one time she was back here working, and a Scotsman (complete with kilt) admired her rock garden. She pointed out that the bigger one, the one they'd traveled to see, was across the way. I hope she smiled at that error--I'd be happy with this garden to gaze at.

Heather Cottage, Aysgarth, Wensleydale

2008-07-21T07:25:00.000-07:00

We drove along a red road now--the A684--heading for Hawes. Where are we staying? asks Dave? I consult my travel book and look up. There! I say. Heather Cottage in Aysgarth. And so we arrive at our B&B.

Heather Cottage from the other side, at the bend in the road.

Our gracious and kind hosts for the weekend, Peter & Angela Jauneika.

She raised chickens (for our English country breakfast--which included eggs) with a proper hen-house out back. And no, we didn't hear the roosters at all. This was a terrific place to stay. (More on the Victorian Rock Garden in another post.)

Aysgarth, Wensleydale, England

2008-07-20T21:00:00.000-07:00

Notwithstanding the flowers in the bumper in the previous post, we did drive safely, arriving here on the afternoon of the 4th of July. Our bed and breakfast (Heather Cottage, see next post) is at the bend of the road just before you head on to Hawes, site of Wensleydale Creamery.

Aysgarth is actually about 3 blocks long, with two bends in the road. On one bend was our B&B, and on the other end was the George and Dragon Inn and Restaurant, where we headed for dinner.

We walked in and they to go sit in the pub and have a drink while you decide what to eat. This pub culture was new to us--let's be real--as non-drinkers all pub culture is new to us. We don't drink, I said lamely, but we went to a bar stool in the pub area where the evening's menu was written on a chalkboard. We watched the bartender--always an interesting sight--as we chose what to eat. I selected squid and spinach pasta with salmon and Dave selected roasted chicken. They wrote it on a piece of paper, and impaled it on the hook next to a number--our table number, I supposed. Then the waitress came and got us from the bar and took us to our table.

First was our soup: an amazing tomato soup, but with a sweet taste like they'd added some apple juice to it. (Sorry the photo's blurry.)

Dave's chicken was artfully stacked. One of the challenges of eating in a foreign country is trying to match up what you think you are ordering with what they are actually serving. I thought I was ordering a pasta that was colored black with squid ink and colored green with spinach, all with salmon. Wrong.

I actually ordered SQUID and SPINACH and pasta with salmon. Yep, those long tubular shiny things are pieces of squid. "Calamari," said Dave, trying to be encouraging as I stared at my dish. I cut it up into ribbons, but could still taste the rubbery-ness with the strands of pasta. I managed to eat enough to be respectable, but let's just say that the salmon was the high point of the meal. I've never been a fan of squid.

We walked the two blocks home (about 8 buildings) but the evening was beautiful and a little lane behind the B&B beckoned.

What's Harper Wath? we wondered. Later, at home I looked it up.

Wath: This surname suffix is said to be derived from the Viking word meaning "ford" or a shallow river crossing. Down the lane and around the bend was a small series of waterfalls and yes, you could have forded it at that point.

However, Dave thinks it led to another signpost that directed across the fields, heading upstream.

On our way back up, we saw these farm trucks moving across the field, then navigate the small opening in the rock wall. We waited while they moved on, then continued home.

We loved this tree, photographing it many times.

Dave braved the midges (and their biting) to get this sunset.

For the final entry in this post, the river and its sounds:

Yorkshire Dales National Park

2008-07-20T20:56:00.000-07:00

"We are in serious babe country," says Dave, looking around.
I was surprised. He usually never mentions the women. And the women in Milan and northern Italy I thought were more provocative. I mention this to him and he says,
"Not babe. Babe," and makes the sound of a lamb bleating.

Yes, we are in serious Babe country.

These photographs are taken over the next two days while we travel around the Yorkshire Dales National Park--where we're staying.

This area has many dry stone walls piled in zig-zagging rows across green fields, white fluffy clouds (well, today we had them), grazing animals; James Herriot, the man who wrote All Creatures Great and Small lived in this area as well.

Another drive-by photo: I'm snapping as Dave drives from Grassington up the B6160 to Swinithwaite, through the Yorkshire Dales National Park. The scenery is bucolic, enchanting, all the cliches apply here. Okay, I'm finally "into" little English towns and they're lovely.

We pause at the crest of the hill (perhaps just past Buckden?) because I tell Dave he just has to see this vista.

This photo is just after a rainstorm, the fields vibrant green against the gray-blue sky.

Thistles by the side of the road.

I'd seen this lone tree the day before as we drove and we went back to capture it digitally.

On July 5th, we headed to dinner near Newbiggin, but first drove up towards the summit of where we'd been the day before. The rainstorms had blown through, for the moment.

This is behind our B&B, taken after a rainstorm when everything's misty and ethereal.

I currently have this photograph as a desktop photo/wallpaper.

Dave liked how the trees grew as a canopy over the road. This is near Aysgarth Falls, or Fells: a series of short waterfalls. We're used to looking for high waterfalls in the Western U.S., such as the drop in Yosemite, or Bridal Veil Falls in Utah. Here, the waterfalls are more like gentle cascades, with several short drops.

Aysgarth Falls
From a local tour book: "Aysgarth Falls are a breathtaking triple drop waterfall, carved out by the River Ure as it flows through the Wensleydale countryside."

Grassington, Wharfedale, England

2008-07-20T19:17:00.000-07:00

July 4th--Happy Independence Day

To celebrate properly, we decided that we should sing Our Country 'Tis of Thee as we drove along small country roads. The tune is based on the English melody God Save the Queen. Fitting, we thought. We really owe a great debt to being of English lineage; when I say "we" I mean three of us: the USA, and both Dave and I.

We left Fountains Abbey, and drove down a yellow road. I should explain. On the maps there are blue motorways (like an American freeway), green highways (some divided, most only two healthy-sized lanes with side shoulders), red roads (two lanes sometimes with a dashed line showing division). After that come the yellow roads, which have NO shoulders, no dashed lines, but are wide enough for two cars. And sometimes a farmer's tractor and a car. The last one, which we went on for about 100 feet and quickly turned around are known, according to my niece Jessica, as the "white roads of death." Well-marked maps clearly state that they are less than "4 metres wide." That's less than two car widths.

Dave did pretty well. Only occasionally did I say, "a little close over here." When we arrived at our destination one night we did find a tuft of flowers in our bumper, yet no finger dents in the door handle from the grip of death. I practiced zen-like deep breathing. Just kidding--Dave was fairly good at this by now.

So, we headed on the yellow road to Grassington. Lots of websites raved about this little town. I frankly just wasn't in the groove yet for little English towns. I guess my head was still in little Italian town mode. There wasn't much there, really, but we did find the toffee shop where we purchased some goodies for the drive.

A wonderful shade of green, on a door in a rock wall.

Loved the horse shoes over the door. For a long time, we hung a four-leaf clover over our front door. I finally gave it back to Matthew (who had found it), but I like to think that this brought us luck.

Finally, I'm getting in the mood for rock walls, green fields and small gray building-towns. But as we stride by, I notice they are hungering after Southern California beach.

I had begun my search for Whitby Jet in York, fixating on this type of "stone" as it was from the area. (If you want to know about it, watch Persuasion with Gwyneth Paltrow--in one scene she is shown in Hammond's shop in Whitby with a lovely carved black brooch on her coat. Below are some earrings.)

We toyed with the idea of driving to Whitby, but couldn't execute (too tired). The prices in York at Hammond's shop, already steep, seemed too high with the exchange rate of two dollars to a pound. So I passed on a necklace there. I wondered if I could find Whitby Jet in the netherlands, maybe at a jewelry or at antiques shop.

In Grassington, I visited with a woman in a jewelry shop about Whitby Jet. She said it should sound like plastic when you tap it against you teeth. If it sounds "sharp" then it's French Jet, and is made of glass. I asked her if she had any for sale, and she didn't. But she did bring out her collection of jet bracelets that she'd picked up at auctions. With her permission, I tapped the stones of one bracelet against my teeth--yep, sounded like plastic. She wouldn't sell any of her bracelets, and there was no other in the shop. Although Dave and I looked for it after that, it was not to be found.

Couldn't resist taking a picture of this sign--Humped Zebra Crossing--which meant the stripes painted on the speed bump on the road, not the lady waiting on the bench.