zento's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries

zento's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member zento on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/zento en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 24 Jan 2008 11:12:43 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com Triad of Cathedrals — Amiens, France http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196024580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196024580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196024580/tpod.html Thu, 24 Jan 2008 11:12:43 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Amiens, France

Northern France is rich in Gothic cathedrals much like eastern France is rich in excellent wines, and southern France in luxurious beaches. So on our way to Calais to take the train back to England, we couldn't possibly have dreamed of passing up the chance to see Amiens. Beauvais, which holds the highest Gothic cathedral, was already checked off the list and there was barely enough time for Amiens, rumoured to have the most beautiful of all Gothic cathedrals...at least that's what my Art History professor always professed. It was evening when we arrived, and much to our delight, this was no sleepy, boring town like Beauvais had been, but an aristocratic, bustling city. We parked the car in the center of the town and marvelled on the beautiful Renaissance and Gothic architecture of the square and its surrounding buildings. A playful Chritmas market was taking place complete with a carrousel and a small ice skating rink surrounded by pine trees decorated in tiny yellow lights. A huge plastic bubble held a miniature castle inside in which fake snow rained from the top, like a life-sized SnowBall. Pink and red Chinese lanterns hung from various stands as people walked by with their families and dogs. The smell of Nutella crepes seduced Ed away from me and we got lost for a few moments until I found him about to take the first bite of his chocolate-and-banana-filled crepe. He let me have the last few bites.

The Cathedral of the Lady of Amiens was not too far from the market, but unfortunately it was closed for the day. From what I remembered from school, this church was one of the most beautiful examples of the Classic Gothic style and also one of the tallest. Together with the cathedral of Chartres and Reims, Amiens completes the illustrious triad of Classical French cathedrals. UNESCO designated Amiens Cathedral a World Heritage site chiefly because of its harmony and unadulterated Gothic style. Joihn Ruskin (1819-1900) had previously agreed by declaring that Amiens was: "Gothic, clear of Roman tradition and of Arabian taint, Gothic pure, authoritative, unsurpassable, and unaccusable... not only the best, but the very first thing done perfectly in its manner by northern Christendom."

The front façade had clearly been recently restored revealing traces of polychromatic paint that once graced the statues of saints and angels on the main portal. Their faces turned to each other, interacting with elegant and aristocratic smiles, a technique called sacra conversazione, meaning 'sacred conversation'. Each sculpture on the portal represents a scene of the bible, the only means for the illiterate medieval pilgrims to 'read' the holy book. A gallery of 22 life-sized kings stretches across the entire façade just below the huge rose window, illuminated by ghostly lights. I was sad we were not able to explore its interior, but was happy that we had discovered this unique little city and its gorgeous cathedral. For now, it was back to London until next time.
]]> The Colossus of Beauvais — Beauvais, France http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196010060/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196010060/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196010060/tpod.html Thu, 24 Jan 2008 10:18:43 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Beauvais, France

Dark and beautiful, she shot up from the ground like a shadowy mountain, her spires defensive shards of stone. In the tranquility of the low buildings of this midday town her presence is surreal, as if pertaining to some ancient fantasy world of dark artists and minxes. She is a serious temptress, luring souls in like a siren to a sailor; guardian of earth, watcher of Heaven. The Cathedral of Beauvais can be seen from the next town, and the town before that, and it looks as majestic as anything you've ever seen.

Truth is she is the highest Gothic cathedral ever built. Ambition alone was the fuel to construct this colossal which took close to 400 years of headaches and problems, and is still an unfinished masterpiece. It's no accident she was built in France, the cradle of Gothic architecture. Work begun in the 13th century, a time where the growing burgs of France competed against each other for the most beautiful and daring cathedral. The city of Beauvais simply wanted the highest one. We arrived in the sleepy town of Beauvais at around noon, when not a single soul or car was in sight. We parked and looked around, wondering if we really were alone, half expecting tumbleweed to start rolling by. The sight of the massive church distracted us from the solitude, and we approached silently, carefully, as if afraid it was going to collapse. Construction scaffolding was covering the first few meters of the façade, but we were able to observe the gargoyles and the details of the elegant spires as we drew nearer. Faces, some frightened and others placid, emerged from the stonework as well as flowers and vines. 157 feet of stone masonry and vitreaux windows loomed above us against a cloudy sky, and we quickly entered her.

The interior was darker and probably colder than outside, and although the eyesight immediately moves upwards in search for an end to its vaults, the cathedral itself is quite disproportionate. This is because it was never finished: it only consists of a transept and choir with an apse. This basically means that only about 40% of the cathedral was built, and even so, the vaulting collapsed a couple times in the 13th century and then again in the 16th century. Either way, it is large enough to hold a decently populated congregation during mass. We walked around the choir where 7 small polygonal chapels were decorated with frescoes and tapestries from the 15th and 17th centuries. The fashionable Gothic Flamboyant style was employed here, consisting of flame-like shapes of the arches and tracery. Although the walls are many meters thick, the colorful vitreaux make the interior seem airy and light, filling the church with light and color. After the first collapse of the vault, the architects became less interested in size and more interested in decoration and total stability of the building. Since it was still being added on in the 16th century, moments of Renaissance ornamentation can be seen in the woodwork. One of the chapels holds a lavish astronomical clock built in the 14th century, originally designed to signal the different offices of each day. It accounts for 700 years of time keepsake and is probably the oldest chiming clock still in working order.

It was getting bitterly cold inside so we exited in search of something warm to eat. While walking through the lonely lanes of the town, we turned back every now and then to get a glimpse of the omnipresent cathedral. And as we ate our moulles and escargot over cherry beer we could see through the window of the petit French country bistro the lace-like spires protrude from other lesser, humbler buildings. She seems rigid in her posture, proud and elegant too, crafted by hundreds of years of work and dedicated men who served her. And even though today's engineers are still having problems keeping her balanced, she is still the highest Gothic cathedral in the world...no small feat for this tiny French burg.

]]> Venice: The Fragile and the Extraordinary — Venice, Italy http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195309500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195309500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195309500/tpod.html Sun, 20 Jan 2008 08:58:55 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Venice, Italy

Venice at twilight. The sea mist which enveloped the city the entire day seems to be disappearing, and the sky begins to reveal herself. Thick ribbons of peach and rose hang below the clouds, making every palazzo and church dome blush. From the edge of San Marco's Basin the stationed gondolas ebb awkwardly with the tide, their elegant curvatures looking out onto San Giorgio Maggiore across the canal, white and misty. Behind us, San Marco's golden lunettes begin to glitter faintly, its lambency from past centuries half vanished, half darkened. Pigeons dart past our heads like bullets in the square whose pavement has been permanently soiled by their multitudinous presence. And in the silence of the dimming daylight, there's something about Piazza San Marco that leaves you breathless.

If it was cold during the day, it is freezing now but at least the drizzle and dew that were making us miserable are gone. We leave the Square and listen to our footsteps echo in the tiny stone alleys and walkways of Venice. A few polished gondolas decorated in brocade and gold brass still glide lazily through the narrow canals and under the bridges, looking for some brave couple too in love to care about the cold. We are definitely not one of those couples. There's romance, and then there's stupidity, and there are better things to do in Venice for €80. Since the moment of our arrival we had been mesmerized by a city as unique and magnificent as every art history book had mentioned. We took the vaporetto down the Grand Canal and saw the palazzi emerge, decaying; the once bright exterior peeled and faded, their striking doorways crooked and broken. Some waterfront palaces had been turned into exclusive hotels, remodelled and kept true to the Venetian style. On the Rialto Market, right below the Rialto Bridge - which we mistook for the Bridge of Sighs and kissed, convinced we were keeping to tradition - there were hundreds if not thousands of Venetian masks, all of which you were not allowed to touch, photograph, get close to or even ask for the price. And when we asked for directions to the Piazza San Marco, we were pretty much dismissed with an irritated point of an arm.

There were churches in every corner, street and campo, each one with the Classical elements that characterize Venice, some with bright ceiling frescoes and others with wonderfully sculpted altarpieces of angels and the saints. Not that we were surprised, as Venice in the 15th and 16th centuries had been the most important centre of art in the world. Venetian painters were celebrated for their distinctive and masterful use of colour. It is said that the painters of the School of Venice were influenced by light that reflected on the water and the white marble of the churches and palaces. Color was paramount, and such was the case of Tiziano, whose frequent use of brownish-orange earned him his very own colour: titian. Architects were in the spotlight too, faced with the challenge of building stunning edifices atop the low islands of the Venetian Lagoon. The maritime wealth and power of Venice was reflected in the exquisite Renaissance palaces commissioned by the patrician families of the 15th and 16th centuries. Equilibrium and symmetry were regnant in the palazzi of Venice where rich ornamentation, tall facades, and important balustrades all formed part of exhibiting family fortunes. Since there are no roads in Venice, the palaces' most lavish ornamentation was focused on the waterfront façade, where guests would arrive by boats and be escorted up the stone steps to the inner courtyard. Important cities like Rome, Florence and Milan have about 6 to 8 palaces each, whereas Venice has over one hundred, bearing witness of the incredible wealth, and ostentatious drive that the Venetians possessed. Unfortunately, according to ancient law, only one palace was permitted to be called Palazzo and that is the Palazzo Ducale which was the home of the Doge, the head of the Venetian Republic. All other palaces were simply called 'Ca, short of casa, or house.

It was from the balconies and windows of these Venetian palaces that the beautiful courtesans of Venice called on to the men they wished to entertain. Courtesans in 16th Century Venice were the most educated women of the Republic and probably the world: having the privilege of being able to intimately talk to the most illustrious and successful men of the city, they were able to read and write, and discuss art, literature and politics. A woman who succeeded in winning patrons which desired her company more than they desired her body, received the title of cortigiana onesta, or honest courtesan, a title very hard to obtain. Veronica Franco was the most celebrated honest courtesan in history, having written two volumes of poetry and rumoured to have had a brief liaison with King Henri III of France. They say she was a woman of incredible beauty and that men were bewitched by her, which is probably why she was charged with witchcraft during the Inquisition, a common punishment for courtesans of the time. Nonetheless she was a model and spokesperson for women everywhere, letting the world know what women could be stronger, smarter and more powerful than men; all they needed to do was believe it. Veronica was no stranger to hedonism, and neither was the Serenissima Republic of Venice. The world famous Carnivale was linked to ancient fertility rituals taking a stronghold of the city in the Middle Ages. In the 17th century Venice reached its peak of hedonistic decadence where men and women of all classes, wealth and status would hide behind their intricate masks and, in the comfort of anonymity, engage in the most reckless and often illegal erotic and sexual practices...in public. Priests with prostitutes, nuns with aristocrats, officers with officers poured out onto the streets to play out their fantasies incognito, where the boundaries of age, gender and beauty had no limits. It wasn't only about sexual celebrations though: most people simply put on their masks to depart form the life of protocol they were leading, to reveal their real persona. These licentious festivities would sometimes continue for months until Napoleon invaded Venice and spoiled all the fun banning the Carnivale for good. It wasn't until the 20th century that masquerades became popular once again, and are today celebrated as a fun catharsis before the austerity of Lent.

Venice at nighttime. We continue to walk reaching the Jewish Ghetto, by now the dark has finally made the city still and only a few locals hurry on, probably seeking shelter from the cold or in search of a warm dinner. The lights of nearby restaurants and cafes reflect on the murky blue waters of a small canal, and I pry away from my partner's hand and look down onto my reflection. I am mirrored in the water like all the palazzos and church domes, gondolas and bridges, street lamps and balconies that make up this brittle city. It's a tired city, bastardized by tourism with inflated prices, poor quality food, and hosts who don't make an effort to make you feel welcomed. But it's Venice: it drags people in. Its decaying grandeur whispers the tales of wealthier and more extravagant times, times that come alive by just walking the streets or gliding down the Grand Canal. My reflection is blurred by a passing boat, so we continue to walk hand in hand succumbed to an extraordinary yet fragileVenice.
]]> The Sun King and his Palace — Versailles, France http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195918620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195918620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195918620/tpod.html Fri, 04 Jan 2008 09:35:33 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Versailles, France

Imagine garden tables under the moon dressed in rich damask tablecloths, laid out with silver candleholders entwined in cherry blossom twigs and plump red roses. Crystal decanters holding rouge Bordeaux which stains the lips of the merry guests, dancing and laughing hysterically. Trays of roast meats glazed in honey and dripped in caramelized onions, decorated with herbs, violets and ripe plums. And imagine a show of dazzling fireworks exploding in the sky and reflecting on the watery mirrors of the fountains, on the bronze of the garden statues, and on the rubies of the ladies' necklines while chocolate truffles and flavoured cheeses with freshly cut figs are served. This is how the Sun King liked to entertain at his home. Any king who spoiled his court in this fashion was probably seen as a bon vivant, a hedonist, the incarnation of Bacchus himself; but the self proclaimed Sun King, Louis XIV of France was smarter than that. He gathered his court and kept them happy with shows and music, and extravagant games and banquets, showed them the earthly delights in exchange for loyalty and submission. He kept them all in his palace of Versailles. It's just a small town barely outside of Paris, but as soon as you enter it, the infamous Chateaux de Versailles is imposing, grandiose, commanding. Perched on a low hill it stands upright, like a blue-blood with his white wigged head tilted upwards, his eyes sneering down upon us. For a cold autumn Saturday morning, there were already clear signs of overcrowding in the entrance, a sight which worried us considering the palace had been open for just barely 15 minutes. After the long queues, 17€ bought us a pass into every attraction in the palace, a tour which would take the entire day. Louis XIV had an ego like no other king preceding him, but it was this ego which made France one of the strongest powers in the world. Under him, French culture and art became the most appealing in Europe, a model for elegance and refinement which still exists today. So it was in 1682 that the Palace of Versailles became the official residence of the court, centralizing the French government in once place. This happened after about 50 years of designing, remodelling, and redecorating the greatest palace in Europe, one which would serve as inspiration for other courts and palaces in Europe and Asia.

Our tour started in The Chapel Royal, one of the last additions to the palace. There's something humbling about standing in such wealth and artistic mastery; the richly decorated ceiling seems to float above the ground as the chapel is bathed in light entering from the windows, reflecting on the gilded altar. Louis attended mass everyday, particularly towards the end of his life when his family was all dead and gone, and his religious fervour had grown substantially. This second stage of his life contrasts significantly from the first one, characterized by libertinage and excess. The Grand Apartment reflects this relaxed period of his reign where he chose the sun, the life-giving force for the world, as his personal symbol thus becoming the Sun King. Apollo was the Sun God, god of peace and the arts, which is precisely what Louis strived to be. "And since the Sun is the emblem of the King, seven planets were taken to serve as the subject of the paintings of the seven salons of this apartment" (Félibien des Avaux, 1674). These apartments included the salons of Mercury, Venus, Mars, Diana, and Apollo which were all dedicated to a heavenly body. But as we entered the first salon, we gasped as we looked on to the famous Apotheosis of Hercules by Francois Lemoyne decorating the ceiling. It depicts Hercules being welcomed into Olympia by all the gods and goddesses of the pagan world after completing his labors and making the world a safer place. This is meant to represent Louis's feats for France and his dream of entering Paradise as a hero.

But which better way to glorify Louis than by designing a grand hall, a hall in which the light of the rising sun would enter through the windows and reflect on the mirrors and gilded candelabra, capturing the magnificence of the sun. The Hall of Mirrors is probably Versailles' masterpiece, a hall in which Louis proved to all those who visited him here that he was indeed the Sun King, in case anyone ever doubted him. The large painted ceilings depict the monarch in various guises: as Roman emperor, great administrator of the kingdom, and victor over foreign powers.

The Queens Apartments can be found at the other side of the Hall, and although they were built for Louis XIV's wife, it was Marie-Antoinette who found it to be terribly old fashioned when it was her turn to sleep there, and had it all refurbished. Today it stands as she left it in the height of the French Revolution when an angry mob entered these apartments in search for her. Luckily, she had escaped through the secret passages linking the rooms of the chateaux with the aid of her bodyguards. The Rococo furnishings together with the silk hangings and woven patterns of lilacs and peacock feathers add a more feminine and elegant touch to the chambers.

Outside, the gardens looked barren and unkempt, a faint memory of what they must've been like centuries ago, or maybe in summertime. By looking at the detailed map, the parks spread out in geometrical shapes around the palace in the form of orchards, lagoons, fountains, groves, and basins. Andre Le Notre, although the Royal Gardener, was not often seen with a rake and shovel in his hands. He was an expert in botany and architecture, so combining his two skills, he became the royal landscape artist. His challenge was making the marshy swampy lands of Versailles into lush green gardens, perfecting the French style of landscaping. The objective was to dominate nature in every sense, and make it succumb in all shapes and sizes, however irregular and unnatural they may be, much like Louis's absolutist monarchy aimed to rule in France. Bushes were shaped into triangles and hearts, spirals and mythical animals. Exotic trees, plants and flowers from every corner of the earth were brought over to Versailles, costing the state thousands of francs.

Past the Grand Canal was the reserved yet equally splendid Trianon, Louis's sanctuary from the strict protocol of the court ceremonial where he could relax and have meals with his family. Decorated in the elegant Empire style by Napoleon during his brief stay in the Trianon, the interior of the palace drew influences from the Roman Empire which translated into simpler designs than the Rococo of Versailles. Pink and red upholstery in silk and velvets, green marble vases and table tops, sphinxes and griffons and winged lions decorated tables, chairs and fireplaces. Comfortable chaise longs were placed in front of fireplaces where I pictured Marie Antoinette eating rose bonbons and sipping champagne.

Sadly, the Petit Trianon is closed during the cold seasons but we still got to see the Trianon Gardens. There was a magical sense to these gardens, more so than the perfect symmetry and balance of the Versailles gardens. Marie Antoinette wanted the botanical gardens that Louis XV had built, redesigned in the landscape style of England. This style was more free-flowing, allowing nature to take its course without the constant hand of man shaping it. She had a Rock Pavillion built, a Temple of Love, a Venus's Grotto and several hilly mounds which spiralled upwards revealing different species of trees, bushes and plants, perfect for her enchanting promenades.

By the time we exited the Trianon Gardens, the water running through the small streams had frozen and the sky light was almost completely gone. Lights were being turned on in the gardens and in the faraway palace, and from above we could spot the tiny streets lights of the town of Versailles. The gates were still open letting everyone out of castle grounds and before we exited we took one last look at the palace that shaped French history for centuries, a symbol of wealth and power but also of oppression and absolutism. Today it's just another tourist attraction, one that still holds Louis's ego inside, immortal and undisturbed.
]]> Serendipitously Chilled — Alghero, Italy http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196524500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196524500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196524500/tpod.html Fri, 04 Jan 2008 06:31:15 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Alghero, Italy

Driving down the limestone hills: the sea to our right, ample woodlands to our left.  It's not particularly warm, but we roll down the windows to let the salty scent of sea and the sun rays in.  I rest my head on the side of the door allowing my hair to annoyingly whip my face in the wind.  This place is like a dream that I've dreamt yet can't remember, and even in the autumn sky, the temperate climate and the deep green surroundings seem dreamy, surreal.  We are headed to Alghero, a seaside city on the northwest coast of Sardinia, in the hopes of finding something savory and sinful for lunch. Our drive is interrupted by the sight of a large deer, crowned with worn-out antlers walking awkwardly by the side of the road.  Behind him, a woman dressed in a wildlife protection uniform follows his every step and motions us to slow down.  Intrigued, we stop to observe the animal with glazed eyes as he wanders to and from the road, not knowing what to do or where to go.  Ed calls out to the sentinel in his disgustingly good Italian and finds out that the deer is old and disoriented, venturing on a road which his instinct would have otherwise told him to keep away from.  The deer looks at us for a moment through eerie milky eyes then scampers off into the dense backwoods, disappearing from sight and into safety. Back on the same road we continue our serene ride closer to sea level. Through the grassy mounds and low hills we can spot coves and small beaches of turquoise water and decide to stop again, this time to get close to the shore.  If it wasn't for the guardian of the deranged deer we bumped into, we would've thought the island was deserted.  Even the waters seem to be asleep with its lazy waves, its pale colors.  A sleepy cat stirs from within a bush, startling us with his insistent purring, following us wherever we step.  Plop, plop, plop - Ed stands on the shore and throws pebbles in the water as we gaze on to the surrounding hills and wonder what it'd be like to live here. Entering Alghero we see more human activity: passing cars and slow-walking pedestrians.  A beachside promenade of conifers entices us to stop once again.  Thin pine trees twist and coil as they reach upwards, and beyond the sand dunes we get lost in the forest by the beach.  Ed picks up a few pine cones and playfully threatens to throw them at me as I run for dear life towards a clearing.  The sun filters from behind thin clouds into silver light which masks the sea and sand.  Again, all is deserted except for a barefoot man and his dog jogging on the shore. The sand is soft and white, like a fine flour, the kind that makes you want to take your shoes off and walk to the other side, wherever. A pine cones hits the back of my calf which somehow reminds me that I'm still hungry.   It's nearly 3pm.  The fortified port of Alghero is bathed by a downward sun and people start to emerge from their homes to sit in the small seaside cafes for a coffee or panino.  We find a traditional looking restaurant in the old town, facing the rusty canons of the times of the Doria rule.  We were greeted in both Catalan and Italian, a clear sign of the Catalan influence dating back to the 14th century but still omnipresent today.  Sitting under a large straw umbrella we enjoy the rosso house wine and a superb dish of seafood spaghetti with clams, oysters, gambereti and fresh tomato sauce.   The late lunch leaves us to delight in the flawless sundown by the fortress walls that face the horizon.  The sky is tinted flowingly as blood tints water, and the entire city is left pink.  We walk along the old walls observing the waves below and the traditional buildings above, all with their colonial-styled balconies and tiles. Palm trees decorate the walkways where once watch towers and garrisons were posted.  As the sun disappears we reach the harbour now reflecting the tiny lights of the boats and yachts left resting.   Eventide encloses Alghero and we walk through the labyrinth of narrow lanes and streets which are virtually car-free with the exception of reckless Vespas.  Jewellery shops offer necklaces, pendants, and beads made from Precious Red Coral of the dark underwater caves of the Mediterranean.  Local legend says that Perseus, after decapitating the monster Medusa, placed her head by the shore as he washed his hands in the water.  When he turned back, he realized that her blood had turned the seaweed into red coral.  We prefer to leave the blood of Medusa in the depths of the waters, undisturbed, and move on past the shops. The neoclassical portico of St. Mary's Cathedral is covered in small paper hearts and fragments of broken plates; the echo of cheering for the newly weds still present.  The smell of chocolate and almond crepes seduces the crisp air as we find our way back to the old city walls.  Christmas lights and decorations hang from the intersections of every street but are sadly turned off, making them seem as if they'd been forgotten for years.   People are crowding the streets now and our tired feet beg for a rest.  Ed and I embrace to keep warm as we decide whether to retire to the hotel or keep exploring until dinner time.  Hotel it is then, sealed with a kiss.  Maybe later we'll pop out again for a quick dinner and some of those hot chocolaty crepes.  Away from the old center of Alghero the residential streets are dimly lit and peaceful; a few passing cars briefly interrupt the silence, but it's just our footsteps and our quiet talking now.  Tomorrow morning we'll be flying back to London, back to the cold and madness of the city; the memories of this tranquil undisturbed island as fresh as the seafood, and fruity red wines, the secluded beach forests, that immaculate sundown, and this serene seaside town behind fortress walls and ghostly canons.  Perhaps in the summer it's more chaotic and congested with summer tourists and beach enthusiasts, but for us, this part of Northern Sardinia will always be serendipitously chilled.
]]> Neptune's Grotto — Alghero, Italy http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196513700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196513700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1196513700/tpod.html Wed, 02 Jan 2008 07:47:43 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Alghero, Italy

`You can come back in half and hour when the tour starts,´ the chunky man at the ticket booth smiled as he raised his face towards the sky, `in the meantime have a nice walk, enjoy the sun, the sea...´ The sky he was motioning to was dotted with a few clouds, the really puffy kind that makes you want to spontaneously grow wings and whiz through them. His enthusiasm and evident love for the simple things in life were instantly contagious, and being the nervous urban beings that we are the notion of waiting for 30 minutes was annoying; but it was the best advice we'd received since we arrived in Sardinia.We were standing in the highest point of Capo Caccia, a range of impressive limestone cliffs wedging out to sea as a small peninsula in the Northwestern part of the island. From up here we could see an irregular and mercurial coastline, stepping out towards the ocean then changing its mind and retracting, creating bays and small coves of turquoise water. The not too far away old town of Alghero can be seen in the distance, its low sandy architecture as repetitive as the tiny blotches on an Impressionist's canvas. And all around, the fathomless color of the sea, which in all fairness deserves a name of its own: Mediterranean Blue.

Our friendly Sardinian ticket-salesman had been convincing: the underground caves of Neptune´s Grotto would have to wait half an hour more. Other people were sitting around admiring the landscape, waiting for the tour to begin, but I grabbed my boyfriend´s hand and escaped off down the road behind the peaks that would show us the other side of the cliffs. We followed the map to Cala del Diavolo or Devil´s Cove, a fitting name judging by the sharp fall to the angry waves below. The seascape here was interrupted by a mountainous island right in the center of the cove, like the gargantuan fist of the diavolo himself rising from the depths of the ocean. At least that´s what my disobedient imagination told me as I sat on a white limestone rock and did precisely what the happy Sardinian had ordered. Half an hour later we were back were we started, this time more airy and light-hearted, equipped with our 10€ tickets ready to walk through the gate that would lead us down the 654 stone steps to Neptune´s Grotto.

The Escala del Cabirol, strangely meaning `Goat´s Stairway´ in Catalan was carved out from the side of the mountain and descended seawards brightly lighted by the noon sun. The 654 steps would otherwise be daunting had it not been for the magnificent views of nothing but sky and sea all around. The stairway was built in the 1950´s and was apparently named after the only animal that could easily make the perilous path downwards before its construction. But as we continued to climb down another animal seemed familiar with this trail: high-soaring seagulls that dipped nonchalantly between the rocks as if they too were vacationing.

The entrance to Neptune´s Caves was a small passageway, like a rocky wormhole, forcing us to duck through the low stone formations which, with the little daylight creeping in, shone with purple reddish ribs and quartz-like surfaces. We waited in the rocky vestibule which fittingly had a large opening to the sea, and believe me, the 10 or something people that were there stood hypnotized by the waves that receded and swelled up like a large belly, ultimately crashing and spraying white foam like fireworks. Our tour guide appeared from another passageway and guided us away from the light, into the dark and silence of the depths of the earth. We walked single-filed through the narrow steps and platforms as the sunlight gradually disappeared, and we were left with the orange glow of the artificial lighting inside the caves. The loud splashing and crashing of the waves quickly turned into a faint hiss as we were led deeper into the underground grotto.

Suddenly, an opening, and the gigantic cavity of the Grand Chamber revealed itself, instantly turning quiet chatter into gasps and awe-struck silence. `It´s precious isn´t it?´ our guide seemed to savor our admiration, as if remembering the first time she stepped into the chamber herself. Enormous columns of rock protruded from the roof of the cave, merging into the walls, contorting into wondrous organic formations, and finally plunging into a placid lake of salt water below. As our guide explained in perfect English, the caves were discovered circa 1700 by two fishermen who wandered inside by accident. The superstitions and little geological knowledge of the time led the marine caves to be named Neptune´s Grotto by the local people, who deeply believed that Neptune himself dwelled in these remarkable caves with his nymphs and mermaids. My educated self would have believed it too, as the cavern seemed perfectly fit for the pagan god of the waters. But more recently this place was the refuge of a large community of Mediterranean Monk Seals, an adorable species whose lack of fear of man and curious nature sadly contributed to their total extinction despite preservation attempts.

The cave is calculated to be thousands of years old, giving an incredible glimpse of the geological history of the area. The multi-year-old process consists of drops of natural rain water seeping in from the ground above, dragging with it the calcium carbonate found in the earth. The calcium-laden droplets then drip from the ceiling of the cave downwards onto its floor, and once the water evaporates, the calcium is left behind forming deposits of limestone icicles and columns called stalactites and stalagmites. `One centimeter of limestone takes about one hundred years to form,´ the guide added as she looked up towards the colossal terraces and pillars of rock clearly making her point. Church organ pipes, helmets of medieval warriors, curled up tobacco leaves, and delicate chandeliers of rock were pointed out, stirring everyone´s imagination throughout the serpentine passageways and chambers. Many a king and lord from all over Europe have come to the grotto since its discovery, but in the late 18th century when the caves were first open for tourism, the interior was lit with thousands of candles positioned everywhere, including on tiny plates floating on the lake creating what must have been a surreal dreamscape for the regal visitors (although quite real for the person assigned the task of lighting the candles). Today, the electrical lighting reflects an orange glow on the walls of the cave, and green mold can be observed on some places due to the presence of these lights.

We were begged not to touch any of the formations as the natural grease on our hands could most likely disrupt the continual growth of the stalactites and stalagmites whereby the mineral-filled water would not be absorbed by the rock. The guide commented that many of the rocky growths had been broken off by previous tourists, visitors and even scientists, in the hopes of gaining a souvenir, a trophy, a specimen. The only souvenirs we planned on taking home with us were the pile of photographs we snapped of the shy but photogenic grotto. The lighting wasn´t the best and we refused to use flash as the cold light stripped the place of its magical warmth. After the tour was over we strayed behind with the tour guide who revealed to us that just recently a new network of caves with underground lakes and even bigger and grander chambers had been discovered linked to Neptune´s Grotto via very small passages. When we asked her if she had seen them, she said shuddering `Dio mio, no! I don´t like narrow spaces and small passages.´

After we thanked our claustrophobic cave-tour guide, we began the arduous task of climbing the 654 steps of the Escala del Cabirol back up. The sea gulls accompanied us upwards and I rather envied their serene flight over our heads as we panted and struggled upwards with the grace of a couple of Sumo wrestlers. The sea looked as azure and content as it did before, and as we finally reached the top of the stairs we caught a fresh gust of wind which helped cool our overheated backs. Catching our breath, we looked around the surrounding landscape wondering what to do next. There was a little bay just around the corner with a lazy beach surrounded by crooked pine trees, and further inland were some hills peppered with different greens and an occasional lagoon. There was also the old colonial seaside town of Alghero offering traditional seafood dishes, underrated wines and old fortress walls. But for now, we decided to continue taking heed on the cheery ticket-man´s advice which, so far, seemed to embody perfectly what Sardinia was all about.
]]> The Newly Weds — Barcelona, Spain http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1194106740/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1194106740/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1194106740/tpod.html Thu, 27 Dec 2007 14:13:20 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Barcelona, Spain

My sister Paula and her new husband, Ignacio moved to Barcelona a couple weeks ago. Now that we're only around the corner Ed and I thought we should pay them a visit, albeit a quick one since flights to Barcelona over the weekend were not too varied.We met in Plaza Catalunya where the noon sun was beating down hard. Coming from a cold London we were clearly overdressed. Ignacio was wearing a summer shirt and my sister was in a tank top whereas Ed and I were carrying heavy sweaters and jackets. Ugh.It was amazing to see my sister again, although last time I saw her was for her wedding in Buenos Aires only 3 months earlier. I felt really proud that they had been able to pick and leave everything much like Ed and I did a year and a half ago, and now they know as well as we do how difficult it can be.

We didn't have much planned for the day except catch up and wander around the streets of Barcelona. But seeing as it was as hot as a summer day we found a bar in a small square flanked by the massive buttresses of an old Gothic church, and enjoyed a few drinks. Talking about their new beginnings here in the Old Continent reminded me of how it was when Ed and I first arrived, back when we landed in Mallorca to work the summer in 2006, pretty much timorous of starting out in a new country and a new culture, timid of everything and everyone. Paula and Ignacio were pretty much in the same situation we had been in: they now need to find jobs and get settled in so we gave them the tips and pointers that had been useful for us back then.

One thing that did change in Barcelona is the prices. Apparently prices have gone up substantially and it was very noticeable for Ed and I who had enjoyed a laid back 10 days last year before flying into London to start anew. Where before my rum and cokes were about 4.50€, now they cost around 6€. Paula mentioned that in the short while they had been in the city, they had heard negative comments from people about the raise of prices and how it's affecting the general cost of living, particularly food and rent.After a quick stand-up falafel lunch from the same shop Ed and I had pigged out in the first time we were here, we took the metro to Mount Montjuic, probably my favorite part of Barcelona. A huge change from the busy din of La Rambla, the quiet streets of Mount Montjuic were indeed a haven in the city. The dense gardens spiraling up the hill looked out to the elegant domes and spires of the National Museum of Catalan Art, glowing in afternoon light.

The old Botanical Gardens which Ed and I had enjoyed so much last trip were unfortunately closed, but I made sure my sister and her husband remembered the place for another afternoon walk. The little bars that are so common in Spanish squares and parks were enticing so we sat down for a few more chilly San Miguel's. As the sun started going down the temperature began to drop fast, and I was now glad we had brought the previously useless sweaters and jackets. Paula and Ignacio took us to their new home which is shared by two other Mexican chefs. A bottle of rum, a bottle of champagne, many beers and a bowl of Spanish olives and gherkins later, we had a good time just sitting there talking and laughing.

Ed and I left for the airport at 4am, with promises of seeing each other again real soon, maybe for Christmas or soon after. I left relieved that they looked happy and relaxed, as two newly weds should. As for me, I was happy to have my sister closer to home now, within arms' reach.
]]> The Lady of the Lagoon — Venice, Italy http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195410660/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195410660/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1195410660/tpod.html Thu, 27 Dec 2007 13:33:47 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Venice, Italy

Venice is bathed in the blue-green waters of the Adriatic, and although one of the most contaminated of the world, Venice is still called the Lady of the Lagoon. Venice is femening from anywhere you look at it, be it from the round domes that emerge from the horizon as plump breasts, or the curvaceous loops of the Grand Canal running through the belly. But most probably it's the white marble and stone which she is made of, like the elegant lace covering the face of a maiden. Venice is a woman, even though her face is that of a lion's.

The cold in Venice seeps through your clothes and your skin down to the marrow of your bones, and every step you take is painful. They say getting lost in Venice is the best way to get to know the city but we ended up trying to stay out of the streets and out of the cold. We were impressed with the amount of people there, despite the bad weather conditions. Apparently Venice is a city that thrives on tourism no matter what time of the year. The crowds got particularly bad as we were reaching Piazza San Marco, and although it was dark and hazy, we were left speechless as the first golden lunettes and the elegant spires of the Basilica di San Marco appeared before us from an opening in the low buildings. Saint Mark, patron saint of Venice is its muse and mystical celebrity. His evangelistic symbol is the lion, an icon which can be found in almost every church, cathedral, basilica, or chapel in the world. But here, in the Piazza San Marco, he stands on a great granite column looking out to sea, showing to all those who enter Venetian waters the power and might of the maritime city. The fact that it has never been torn down as a hated symbol of oppression speaks of the benign nature of the Venetian Republic. Next to it stands another large pillar with the image of Saint Theodore, Venice's first patron saint before Saint Mark's remains were smuggled here from Alexandria in the 9th century. Public executions took place between the two columns and even today, superstitious Venetians will not be seen walking between the two pillars.

Next to Saint Mark's Basilica is the Palazzo Ducale, a pink and white marbled Gothic palace on the waterfront, palace of justice and home to the Doge of Venice for centuries. Its lace-like Istrian stone arches and trefoils makes the palace a light and airy building. We took a tour around its chambers and halls but were not allowed to photograph them, and got told off when my flash accidentally went off. The most impressive room for us was the Sala dello Scudo, which was panelled in old maps of the world and in which two two huge 18th globes stood cast in a rich wooden frames in the centre. For me, this room represented the glory of the Republic of Venice, with its maritime power and trade routes, its rich merchants and tradesmen flowing in to the Serenissima from every corner of the earth. We walked through the Bridge of Sighs adjoining the Palazzo Ducale to the prison. It is said that it was the prisoner's last glance at the sea, at Venice, and probably at their families watching as they were escorted into prison after judgement at the palace. The name comes from the sighs that they let out as they cross it, a sad and hopeless suspire.

The vaporetti, or water buses, are the best way to travel in Venice. The lack of roads means lack of cars, and so the public transportation is entirely done over water. The best way to tour the Grand Canal, known to the Venetians as the Canalazzo, is by a vaporetto. Sweeping through the heart of Venice, the Grand Canal will give you the best views of the decaying palazzi and their once-grand family names. We cruised under the Rialto Bridge and stopped in what we thought was the most exquisite example of a living palazzo: 'Ca Rezzonico. It houses a museum of 18th century Venice, including paintings, furnishings, frescos, art objects, and an original 16th century gondola. The Rezzonico's were a family of merchants-turned-bankers from Genoa who brought the semi-finished palace from the indebted Bon family. A huge part of their fortune was dedicated to the purchase and decoration of their waterfront palace, and they became renowned in Venice for the lavish celebrations they put on when their masterpiece was finished. None other than Giorgio Massari painted the ceiling of their extravagant ballroom in the breadth of the building.

Santa Maria della Salute stands white and immaculate at the very end of the Canalazzo. Henry James said this church was like "some great lady on the threshold of her salon...with her domes and scrolls, her scalloped buttresses and statues forming a pompous crown and her wide steps disposed on the ground like the train of a robe". He was right. There was something feminine and elegant about this church, and the fact that it was built in thanksgiving for the end of the 1630 plague probably accounts for this. When we walked in, service was in process but we were allowed to stay inside and light a few candles. Out of all the churches I always wanted to see in Venice, Il Redentore always called my attention first. Perched on the island of Giudecca, it can be seen from Venice from behind the mist and fog that almost always covers the lagoon. Giudecca used to be a pleasure ground of palaces and gardens, today a quiet residential place with old factories turned into modern lofts and flats. Andrea Palladio designed and built Giudecca's main attraction: Il Redentore which was also built in thanksgiving to the end of a plague, this one in 1576 which wiped out almost a third of the population. Palladio was obsessive about harmony, proportion and symmetry, and Il Redentore is a faithful witness of his master's perfectionism. Built in a very classical style it is an austere and elegant church built almost entirely of white marble, a contrast to the extravagant and gilded Baroque churches of Venice. For 2€ we hopped on the lift that took us up to the highest dome and enjoyed the most impressive views of Venice and its surrounding lagoon islands.

We got back into the Vaporetto and sailed back to Venice as the sun started going down. There were still tons of things left to do and see, and one weekend was definitely not enough. There is no doubt that Venice is unique, romantic, and gorgeous, but we felt it has been stripped of the warmth, friendliness, and passion that any Italian city has. Tourism has probably been its main killer: the locals were not helpful, did not make us feel welcomed, no one smiled and some were just plain rude. It is senselessly expensive, the food which is supposed to be great is actually mediocre to bad, you can' take pictures anywhere, and you are charged for absolutely every little ridiculous thing (like turning on dome lights in a church). The worse part is that no one wanted to make an effort in making sure we return because, hey, it's Venice, someone else will always want to come to spend their money. Although we had seen a cold and unfriendly side to Venice, we had still been charmed by the canals and lonely bridges, the art and architecture that are ever-present, the photogenic corners and walkways, the memories of masquerades and glorious decadence. Venice seems like a treasure which has been faded by time, but surprisingly looks undiscovered and alone.

Yeah, we were ready to give her another chance. Every woman deserves one.
]]> The Romantic Road - part VII — Fussen, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1193589360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1193589360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1193589360/tpod.html Sat, 15 Dec 2007 08:46:56 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Fussen, Germany

Horse-drawn carriages were driven by chain smoking nervous Bavarians in single-feathered hats, while myriads of tourists were queuing up for their turn in a very un-orderly fashion. The carriages pulled on by the tired horses were steered up the hill amid tall auburn trees, mountain waterfalls, and a forest ground cushioned by layers upon layers of red and yellow leaves. For those who decided to spare the poor horses of such servitude and bondage, it was a 40 minute trek up to Neuschwanstein Castle.

It didn't even seem that long as Ed and I took detours through the forest just to feel the damp squishes of the leaves. Mushrooms grew on broken tree logs and Ed pointed the spot where a wood pecker had furiously tapped his way into the bark. From not too far away we could hear the heavy hoofs of the horses carrying the overweight or otherwise lazy tourists, while their loud chatter and camera flashes disrupted our moment. Halfway to the castle was a resting place for the horses, an unbelievably over-priced souvenir shop and a coffee kiosk. A young man in an apparent hurry sold us hot chocolates and two oversized brezels with salt rocks as big as uncut diamonds, all for an €11 rip-off. A frail and unkempt greyed-hair woman with a restaurant uniform sat on one of the benches, her bony back curved downwards into her lap smoking a cigarette and looking from her apathetic, cadaverous eyes on to the castle entrance.

Looking up from behind the trees we could already spot the legendary round peaks of Neuschwanstein's towers, so tall we had to curve backwards to see if they ended or if they continued up to the clouds. The mountain mist seemed to be slowly clearing away revealing the baby blue sky, a perfect backdrop for this white-stoned fantasy castle. As Ed and I looked on to its dramatic presence, we wondered what dreamworks King Ludwig II of Bavaria had conjured up here amid the grumble of the white-capped peaks, high above and far away from the rest of the world. What did he do to turn this place into the most visited castle in Germany, and probably the world? Neuschwanstein, or New Swan Stone Palace, seemed to be a part of the mountain, rising up from the rock taking shape from its Romanesque base up to its slender limestone towers and turrets. From its many small arched windows one easily transcends reality and pictures fairytale maidens letting down their hair or calling for their lost prince with flustered hearts. This was what Ludwig had imagined, a Romanticized medieval castle invocating the epic poems of Wolfram von Eschebrach and Richard Wagner's majestic operas.

After a wait in the busy courtyard our number was called and we climbed a tower where the tour began. Together with a group of American students and their unresponsive teachers, we were reminded that photography was not allowed inside the building, and warned that cameras were watching us big-brother style should we forget. A lovely beginning. It was hard to keep up with the guide who liked to start talking before the entire group had made it in the room, or with the loud and impressionable students who I enjoyed shushing every now and again. Nonetheless, we managed to catch that the castle was never finished, even though construction continued a while after Ludwig's death. His family, driven to debt because of Ludwig's extravagances, opened the castle as a museum soon after his mysterious demise. Ludwig named his castle after Lohengrin, the Swan Knight of Richard Wagner's operas who he wanted to pay homage to.

The Throne Room was the grandest of all, like a small Byzantine basilica whose tiny blue and golden stones decorated the walls and apse with an almost religious zeal. Inspired by Hagia Sophia of Constantinople, the room had a tremendous gem-encrusted chandelier and pillars of stucco imitating porphyry and lapis lazuli. The wall paintings show law makers from the heathen and Christian worlds, although the throne, a symbol for authoritative law-making, was never made. Ludwig did not expect this room to be destined to diplomatic receptions, but rather as a fantasy realm where he imagined himself as Parzival, the Grail King. His bedroom is carved entirely of oak in the elegant Gothic style that he so adored. It took 14 skilled woodcarvers four years to complete the elaborate appearance of spires, quatrefoils, pointed arches, and tracery windows. The bed itself resembles a small Gothic church and is draped in richly decorated thick fabrics. On what little space is left on the walls is the tragic scene of Tristan and Isolde drinking the love potion that sealed their fate. Little would Ludwig know that his fate was also to be sealed in this room where he was to be arrested in 1886.

Adjoining a study is the Grotto Room, probably the most bizarre room in the castle. Reflecting Linderhof's Venus Grotto, this little room was made to look like a real dripstone cave with colored lighting and a conservatory with glass panels that gave an uninterrupted view of the mighty Alps just beyond. The tour finished much too quickly and it had been difficult to view the intrinsic details of the rooms with so many people crammed inside. The tour guide had been indifferent and cold, and had not expressed Ludwig's vision as I had hoped. Nonetheless, it was clear that Ludwig knew what he wanted and did not allow anyone to tell him otherwise. He materialized his fantasy of medieval knights and epic love stories, of grand kings and religious love, and although people called him and continue to call him crazy, no one seems to remember how Ludwig kept many long-dying crafts alive by the building of this castle. He used the most modern technologies of the time including steam engines, electricity, heating pipes and modern ventilation. Moreover, he brought electricity to the people of Bavaria.

He was declared insane and soon after found dead lying face-down in a shallow part of Lake Starnberg together with the doctor who certified him. No one really knows what happened but talk of suicide and murder has not stopped echoing around these Bavarian foothills throughout the centuries. We exited the castle and climbed the gate that leads to the waterfall bridge from where we could see the castle for all it was. The bridge united two mountains from whence underneath ran a cascade of spring water creating surreal emerald pools of water. And from beyond rose Neuschwanstein like an ivory citadel on a lonely peak, a sight not for the faint hearted.

Not content, we crossed to the other side where a trail leading up the highest peak curled up amid fields of snow and deer droppings, fresh pine trees, roots and mushrooms. The sun finally won its battle and crept out fully, creating shadows of pine cones and tall trunks on the ground, as if flicking a switch in the mountain. A few hours later and we were still climbing, unable to stop. The castle was well below us now, almost invisible behind the mist of the day but still wonderful in between the two lakes of the valley behind it. We had come unprepared so we sucked on balls of snow for refreshment, until our lips and tongues were red. The rocky growths of the peak were becoming more apparent, more beautiful, and as we neared an opening, we felt the wind icier, fresher, pristine. And suddenly across from the mist was the view we were expecting, the alpine peaks of snow which seemed to crumble down but were as firm and as old as the earth itself. Up here in the clouds it's hard to remember your life below, in the airy landscape Ludwig knew well. It's here, in this stillness, that lies his flight of fancy, reachable by anyone who really wants to see it.

This was how our Romantic Journey ended, on a mountainous landing looking down unto misty Bavaria. Neuschwanstein castle blended in just as well as the white trails of snow left behind by last night's fall. After what was probably the most beautiful trip Ed and I had embarked on, it was hard to pop back into the real world, out from the clouds and the mist, the operas and the poems, and return to our earthly realities. Our make-believe fantasy was now safely tucked in between the mountains surrounding this Romantic Road.

]]> Salzburg from Above — Salzburg, Austria http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1194754260/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1194754260/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/zento/eandl2006/1194754260/tpod.html Sun, 09 Dec 2007 12:12:45 -0500 The Lady and the Drifter: Serenades from Nowhere

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Salzburg, Austria

The next morning I peaked through the curtains of our hotel room and saw a white Salzburg looking back at me. It had snowed the night before, just as Ed had predicted and now everything was covered in snow. Having lived in tropical climates all my life I am still mystified by the presence of snow, and seeing the baroque domes and the tall pine trees bleached white had the same effect.Dressed as warmly as we could, we walked out into the chilly morning, stepping on the slushy snow, making our way towards town. We took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in what used to be a large green park. The now white field looked stunning as it highlighted the mighty Hohensalzburg fortress just above it, perched on a rocky hill.

The funicular which was supposed to take us up the steep hill to the fortress was closed for repairs which meant we had to walk up. It had started raining again but we made our way up with other stray tourists who were interested in seeing the castle, despite the weather conditions. Hopefully it would be warm inside. The views of Salzburg from the top were gorgeous, grey skies and all. We could see the not too far away snowy peaks of the mountains guarding the city and the dark steeples of the church towers of the Old Town all covered in snow. We made it to the entrance and soon after found a bar decorated medieval style with a full armours and swords, shields and torture wheels. We decided to stop for a beer before continuing to check it out, even though it was barely 11 o'clock. Inside, Ed discovered there were medieval hats and robes one could try one plus the props which were swords and crossbows. Ed tried everything on and played the medieval warrior while I sat and photographed him.

We took the guided tour of the fortress through the dungeons and torture chambers, the beautiful medieval state rooms, and the towers with the best views of the city. The tour culminated in the Golden Chamber, a magnificently furnished room of the royal chambers of the archbishops. Two long walls were taken up by benches decorated in lavish vines, golden grapes, rosettes and small animals.

We were let lose on the courtyard to explore the fortress on our own, but it was so cold and windy up here we just wanted a hot cup of whatever was available. We explored themarionette museum and the arms room before eventually exiting the castle. As we were walking out Ed spotted a tower in the distance which he wanted to take a closer look at, but I just wanted to get out of the freaking rain, cold, and wind. He won this time and pulled me by the hand through a path away from the castle and towards a park.I had to admit I was glad Ed convinced me to follow him to the hilltop park because from up here we could see the best postcard-perfect views of the city: the blue-grey color of the River Salzbach complementing the greenish roofs, domes and steeples, framed by the white capped mountains behind. It all made me forget about the icy wind......for a few minutes.

As we got ready to leave Salzburg at dusk, the smell of fresh pines enticed us to a small hidden courtyard behind the St Peters monastery. We were probably trespassing as it looked like private property, but we couldn't help it as we were enchanted by the 20 something natural Christmas trees decorated with tiny yellow glowing lights, like small fireflies hovering around the branches. Overall Salzburg had been good, a little more expensive than expected but the people were generally kind and helpful, something which is hard to find in a city that has more tourists than habitants. It's a place we'd come back to but in warmer times of the year, when the verdure of the many trees and nearby mountains of Salzburg are sure to be spectacular.
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