My Greek Diary
Bergen - Amsterdam Flight was short and smooth. My neighbour was a Norwegian who seemed to be desperate to get out of the rain and cloud. He was going to Thailand (one of those whose still go there). The Amesterdam - Athens flight was with some turbulence, longer and so boring too. But one could see such natural Landmark like the Alps all covered in snow. So was most places till we came above Greece.
In the flight itself I experienced something I was missing for so long; the Sun! And Athens had more of it.
The city I should say doesn't look pretty. But there are so many people and the structure surprisingly is similar to Bangalore or Cochin. The Sunlight too is similar.
Aristoteles gave a decent room but the hotel is not in the best spot. It overlooks something like a small street in Ernakulam!
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I stepped into ancient history today without making any history. Climbed the Acropolis and visited all those sites around. "Good days of Pericles" at Erichtheon, Dionysian theatre, Roman and Ancient Agora, and above all Temple of Ahena were spectacular. I walked a lot around the acropolis hill, along those narrow streets interspersed with modern and delapidated buildings. Sites like Church of Metamorphosis(Accociated with St. Paul?) and lots of street dogs were on the way(adding some more similarity to our place!).
Athens so far has been a good experience and the rain here too has the scent of the ones in Kerala. The closer if gets to our place the better it looks.
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Post breakfast(which the hotel provides) stroll was to The National Archaeological Museum. This is one of the best museums in the world and has the best collection from the Greek civilization and its precedents in the region. The Cycladic, Minoan, Myceanean and the Anciet Greece antiquities were breathtaking, especially those intricate potteries from the neolithic times and the gold works.
Though I neither like museums (nor gardens), this one was quite an experience.
At the Syntagma Square, towards which I walked next to have the lunch, it is always a festive atmosphere with lots of street performances, vendors, photographers, ponies, hordes of people(who charge through the street amidt ruleless-unlike Norway-traffic), and street dogs(pious looking creatures that play with children). An American Indian band played something called 'Flying Eagle' in their tongue, giving no space to doubt an inextricable link to their land(or what they called, the Spirit). Greeks flock to these places and express themselves (again unlikein Norway).
I witnessed the famous changing of guards ceremony before the syntagma by the Evzones adorned in mickey-like costunes(they come from the village of Evzonia) while thedogs pecefully dozed in the sun.
The dogs look as if they are the denizens of the Ancient city watching you close especially when they follow you and lie down near you when you stop!
The Temple of Zeus whose construction began in the 6th century B.C. was completed and innaugrated by the Roman Emperor Hadrian and one has to pass through the huge Hadrian's Arch to see the remaining Doric(started as doric) and Corinthian(ended as corinthian) Pillars of the largest Greek Temple.
Next destination was the Panathanaikos Stadium where the first modern olympics was help in the Year Appachan was born (or the next year).
Yesterday night too I walked a lot and travelled in the Metro(which is very convenient) after the evening.
Now I am back near the hotel for rest.
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Yesterday late evening I started to the port outside the city called Piraeus from where the boats start for the Islands around. Walked a lot in front and around the harbour and had something Greek for the first time, called the Pita Bread. There could be Turkish influence in it. Grilled chicken from a rotating conical mass is chopped off and put on the bread with some sauce and vegetables and the whole thing is rolled and given in a butter paper.
I slept late and by the time I finished breakfast the next day it was already 9. So a plan to attend a Greek Orthodox service toppled as all the services end by 10. But I watched one the local TV, and it looks too similar to the Syrian Orthodox one. Yesterday at Piraeus I had witnessed the photo session of a Greek Wedding, the photographer beginning to give the bride and groom a hard time!
Keramaikos as the name indicates(in Greek) was where potters used to work. The outer walls of this place separated the sacred Gates from one of the largest cemetries excavated. The Sacred gates were the entry points of the Panatheniac festival the procession of which went through the Ancient Agora to the Temple of Athena(Parthenon which displays the procession in a frieze). The Agora was a place were many used to flock in the ancient times as we continue to do today. The temple of Hephaestus and Odieon of Agrippa are also found here.
In the small museum at Keramaikos could be seen, among other things, a bull that stood near the tomb of Dionysius.
The market at Ermau street and the flea market of Monastriaki is where people swarm like ants amidst the calls of vendors. They sell anything from the seemingly sophisticated to outright thrash!
I had a beef Pita Bread and came back to Aristoteles. The American Indian band had also followed me to Monastriaki where they were engaged in a similar act.
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Yesterday night a group of nine came into the hotel lobby. It turned out to be a Professor of Ancient History from Australia, her Daughter, and some students.. The former rented a mini bus and rode all around Greece and beyond like Macedonia. The professor and her daughter had been to Kerala and the latter was interested in Jews of Kerala. Cheryl(the professor), Cristo and the American professor of art I met with at Keramikos gave some informed picture of many sites. I was wondering how massive columns, Blocks of Stone or the Roman Bricks stuck together to form those stunning structures. Here the above folks helped.
There are a large number of Bangladeshis and Srilankans in Greece. Some might be even from other places of South Asia and they could be seen all around Athens. I walked a lot that night on a chicken Souflaki. Souflakis were known as Greek Hamburgers. Now Hamburgers are known as Greek Hamburgers!
Mycenae and Delphi were the two places I wanted to go if I can. The former because that was the place that inspired Homer. The latter because of Sheryls suggestion(I have heard the name Delphi in connection with the Oracle, being the navel of the wotld in the ancient time beacause of one of Zeus' tricks to measure the earth!, but I had no plans to go there before).
And I ended up going to Corinth! Atleast I was now in Pelopponese which is more than one hundred kilometres away from Athens centre. The Isthimus of Corinth that used to land link Athens with Pelopponese was always a problem. So Nero started digging a canal which was finally completed in the 19th century. In the ride to corinth I witnessed vineyards, farmlands and sheep farms. Corinth is tranquil compared to Athens. Tranquility is depressing, unless its a place like Corinth. Here the wine from Nemea is called 'Heracles Blood'(Heracles had earlier took pains to slay a Lion from Nemea) and its here that Apostle Paul spent a long time trying to preach the wayward Corinthians and ended up writing letters for them!
Today I did not go to any site. Upto now I have been using foot, public transport and unguided tours. May be that is why Mycanea was left out. But the Lions gate of Knossos andthe Mycanean sites may be a little too much for tomorrow, the last full day here.
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Last full day in Athens(Its hard to believe that and I really don't want to leave now) began late because of a very long walk that went late into night(or very much into morning). I also got a chance to speak to the policemen here as they stop pedestrians in the late hour. They were really decent and the reason why they are here is maily because of the football feuds are very much on here and the violent spectators sometimes perform best in the Omonia Square.
The second trip to the Ancient Agora added wonder as Sheryl(we went together) helped me link a lot of things that otherwise remained in isolation. Thus Themistocles and his ostrasisation(the manner in which this was done), Odieon with the Bouletrion or the monument of Eponymous Heroes got networked and the Agora was no more a mere Market. We punctuated the long walk in the Agora(last time it was much shorter) with Coffee and Yogurt/Honey(Honey that comes from the Filippapos(?) hill we faced when we had it). The Roman Agora with its tower of eight winds personified octagonally too made more sense. Sheryl told me that most of those monuments including the Parthenon used to be painted. Now they all are white(parian or pentelic marbles showing their orininal hue)
Sheryl turned out to be very informative and her area of study is Greco Roman history with a special emphasis on Alexander. She gave me her Australian address and wants me to visit her if I step down under.
Monastriaki market looked more peaceful though with huge number of people enjoying the bright sun with Greek Coffee and some Orthodox priests in their familiar attire bargaining for some DVDs and dogs going about their usual business. Ryan(Lebanonian/Palestinian born in Greece and having an Irish name) who works in one of the numerous Jewelleries that line the street(small shops like the others) talked about almost everything under the sun. He is a part time student of Classical music.
In the evening I went for a small shopping, when I met Ryan once more still active fishing for customers.
I really don't know what makes me sad to leave Athens. May be it is the huzz and buzz, may be its the Greek Language(which I desperately want to learn), may be the wonderful faces in the streets, may be its history or may be its tendency to break written rules. But its hard to think I fly back tomorrow.
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I had to leave Greece and Athens with a heavy heart, but Greece didnt seem to leave me. George, from Patras near Athens, who is doing Astrophysics in Leeds accompanied me in the Flight to Amsterdam. He is very Greek, loves talking, unprejudiced (as most whom I talked to) and political. We talked about his land, the way he goes fishing with his uncle, his evening with friends and even physics. Next time I go to Athens we might have a Greek Coffee together.
I had a glimpse of the sighboard saying \Athina\(Athens) once more from the Flight window and in three and a half hours I was in Amsterdam and now in Bergen.
I put on the extra clothing once more.
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Letters from Lisbon: Multilevelled City with Fados and Obrigados
At Recidencia Princessa in Lisboa...
So I am here, at Recidencia Princessa, opposite academia Militaria, in sun
blessed Lisboa (as they call it). The flight landed on time despite a shaky
start both technically and emotionally.
The weather in Bergen remained cold with some westerly winds to give a bumpy
take off and the mediocre mocerella sandwiches didn't help us either,
besides there were other problems. As soon as we got through the security
clearance only Yifan and I got a special examination (baggage and enquiries)
after the guys asked our Nationality (this seemed to be reserved for
Asians). This was in the same cold way that I was questioned when I was back
in Bergen last time. But I put them at ease talking with some artificial
gaiety. The next treatment, which was after all the formalities, when we
were waiting at the Gate, was humiliating. A Black Labrador Dog was prowling
around tagging along a uniformed guy. This intelligent animal suddenly got
interested in us, probably because of the big chocolate I had or for some
doggy reason! Following the doggy wisdom Yifan and I had to face another
enquiry, for this dog; according to its follower was a drug-dog. I was only
asked questions (Like ~Why do I think the dog is Interested in me?-for which
I should have replied "Ask Mister Dog!" But instead I was rather good with
those cold Norwegians.) But Yifan had to go to the extend of stripping! One
can understand this, for after all Dog knows best, but the cold and dry
treatment followed by a refusal to give a documentation when Yifan asked for
it (His enquiry was in a closed room and he had to come in again through the
coveted Bergen security check) is nothing but Human Rights abuse (from a
place that gives sermons in every corner of the world). And we plan to take
this up in different forums.
BUT FOR TODAY, WE WILL PUT IT WAY BACK IN OUR MIND, TO BE RETRIEVED LATER.
Lets try to talk about Lisboa. We landed at aeroporto lisboa at around 10 so
nothing except the neon lights welcomed us. The first Portuguese guy I spoke
to helped us with the route to the hotel which was followed by same warm
treatment by the people at Tourist Information and a guy who sold telephone
cards (this guy even came with us to the public booth and dialled the number
for us for we couldnt do it first). The Lisboetas continued with their
helping hand, now in the street, and we were in Residencia Princessa, a
student hostel near to the heart of Lisboa (which would mean it is near such
land marks like Marquis de Pombal and Avenue Liberdad-named after the
establishment of Republic in 1910).
The hotel on Rua Gomez Friere road looks decent and yours "Peacefully". Soon
after we checked in we got out and went along the many roads that spidered
off from the centre only to find out that Life lies elsewhere. Later this
was confirmed by Sofia, the girl at the reception, who turned out to be one
of the liveliest people I have ever met. She told us where we can go and
find 'Life'. And after all it was 3 in the morning. She became 'our lady of
hunger' and offered us tea in the hotel canteen which is supposed to be open
only in the morning. After this we talked about the day-the bumpy start at
Bergen to Sofia and went peacefully to Cuckoo land.
Good that I wrote about the canteen. Its already near 10 in the morning and
I am using this computer at the mercy of the receptionists. Besides food
won't wait for more than half an hour.
blessed Lisboa (as they call it). The flight landed on time despite a shaky
start both technically and emotionally.
The weather in Bergen remained cold with some westerly winds to give a bumpy
take off and the mediocre mocerella sandwiches didn't help us either,
besides there were other problems. As soon as we got through the security
clearance only Yifan and I got a special examination (baggage and enquiries)
after the guys asked our Nationality (this seemed to be reserved for
Asians). This was in the same cold way that I was questioned when I was back
in Bergen last time. But I put them at ease talking with some artificial
gaiety. The next treatment, which was after all the formalities, when we
were waiting at the Gate, was humiliating. A Black Labrador Dog was prowling
around tagging along a uniformed guy. This intelligent animal suddenly got
interested in us, probably because of the big chocolate I had or for some
doggy reason! Following the doggy wisdom Yifan and I had to face another
enquiry, for this dog; according to its follower was a drug-dog. I was only
asked questions (Like ~Why do I think the dog is Interested in me?-for which
I should have replied "Ask Mister Dog!" But instead I was rather good with
those cold Norwegians.) But Yifan had to go to the extend of stripping! One
can understand this, for after all Dog knows best, but the cold and dry
treatment followed by a refusal to give a documentation when Yifan asked for
it (His enquiry was in a closed room and he had to come in again through the
coveted Bergen security check) is nothing but Human Rights abuse (from a
place that gives sermons in every corner of the world). And we plan to take
this up in different forums.
BUT FOR TODAY, WE WILL PUT IT WAY BACK IN OUR MIND, TO BE RETRIEVED LATER.
Lets try to talk about Lisboa. We landed at aeroporto lisboa at around 10 so
nothing except the neon lights welcomed us. The first Portuguese guy I spoke
to helped us with the route to the hotel which was followed by same warm
treatment by the people at Tourist Information and a guy who sold telephone
cards (this guy even came with us to the public booth and dialled the number
for us for we couldnt do it first). The Lisboetas continued with their
helping hand, now in the street, and we were in Residencia Princessa, a
student hostel near to the heart of Lisboa (which would mean it is near such
land marks like Marquis de Pombal and Avenue Liberdad-named after the
establishment of Republic in 1910).
The hotel on Rua Gomez Friere road looks decent and yours "Peacefully". Soon
after we checked in we got out and went along the many roads that spidered
off from the centre only to find out that Life lies elsewhere. Later this
was confirmed by Sofia, the girl at the reception, who turned out to be one
of the liveliest people I have ever met. She told us where we can go and
find 'Life'. And after all it was 3 in the morning. She became 'our lady of
hunger' and offered us tea in the hotel canteen which is supposed to be open
only in the morning. After this we talked about the day-the bumpy start at
Bergen to Sofia and went peacefully to Cuckoo land.
Good that I wrote about the canteen. Its already near 10 in the morning and
I am using this computer at the mercy of the receptionists. Besides food
won't wait for more than half an hour.
|
|
Castle de Sao Jorge
We had a decent breakfast and good coffee from the hostel and started our
days walk.
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was only a book I had read. Now it became a reality
with tram number 28 taking us from the town of Graca to Alfama where the
Castelo da Sao Jorge is. Before the entry there is a cafe from where one
could get excellent Miradouro (view) of the huge April 15th bridge that
hangs over Rio (or Shall I call it the sea for its so huge) Tagus and the
city of Lisboa.
The Castelo began to be in the early ADs with the Visigoths. But the
contributions of Moors and Dom Denis' Portugal followed. In 1755 an
Earthquake, that even shook the Portuguese empire, struck down most of this
mighty castle. Later several reconstructions took place. From the castello
we could see ships sailing through Tagus, on the same waters that once
anchored the mighty Portuguese fleet. Jesus Christi the savior with his arms
stretched (this is a replica of the much larger version in Sao Paulo) watched
over the river. We attended two presentations, one of which was a virtual
tour of the town which was quite ordinary. But the second one was quite
creative. From one of the towers of the castle mirrors reflected the Live
Town on to a concave mirror inside the tower around which we stood (using the
basic Physical laws of Concave mirrors-nothing electronic). A guide explained
what is what in the whole city. How is that?
By now it was evening and hunger took us to Sim ou Soupe in Bairro
Alto(pronounced bayyo alto) where we had wonderful Tarte de Coquemelos com
Frango(Mushroom-chicken) and Juliana de Legumes(veg-soup, but the name is
more that the soup).
Now I mail from a strange kind of internet cafe which operates on complicated
principles. I have not checked the mails so far and the minutes left are
few. I will check them later and mail.
days walk.
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was only a book I had read. Now it became a reality
with tram number 28 taking us from the town of Graca to Alfama where the
Castelo da Sao Jorge is. Before the entry there is a cafe from where one
could get excellent Miradouro (view) of the huge April 15th bridge that
hangs over Rio (or Shall I call it the sea for its so huge) Tagus and the
city of Lisboa.
The Castelo began to be in the early ADs with the Visigoths. But the
contributions of Moors and Dom Denis' Portugal followed. In 1755 an
Earthquake, that even shook the Portuguese empire, struck down most of this
mighty castle. Later several reconstructions took place. From the castello
we could see ships sailing through Tagus, on the same waters that once
anchored the mighty Portuguese fleet. Jesus Christi the savior with his arms
stretched (this is a replica of the much larger version in Sao Paulo) watched
over the river. We attended two presentations, one of which was a virtual
tour of the town which was quite ordinary. But the second one was quite
creative. From one of the towers of the castle mirrors reflected the Live
Town on to a concave mirror inside the tower around which we stood (using the
basic Physical laws of Concave mirrors-nothing electronic). A guide explained
what is what in the whole city. How is that?
By now it was evening and hunger took us to Sim ou Soupe in Bairro
Alto(pronounced bayyo alto) where we had wonderful Tarte de Coquemelos com
Frango(Mushroom-chicken) and Juliana de Legumes(veg-soup, but the name is
more that the soup).
Now I mail from a strange kind of internet cafe which operates on complicated
principles. I have not checked the mails so far and the minutes left are
few. I will check them later and mail.
Melancholic Fado..
What are the Portuguese/Portugal? I didnt ask this myself for this time I
was not alone and the added talk makes thinking less I suppose.
But one thing is sure. There are miles between the Fado songs of Amalia
Rodriguez(the greatest of them all) that Sofia played for us and the live
singing at the dingy taverna in Bairro Alto last night. Bairro Alto is where
nightlife is in Lisboa. Here the city centre and the live locales stay
apart. So we took bus number one hundred to Bairro, walked in the midst of a
horde of live drinkers and talkers. Most take their drinks outside the
respective pubs (which are very often the ground floors of Bacos(Balconied
old houses on either side of narrow cobble stoned streets) and the cobble
streets transform to one huge bar. We sat (or managed to Install!! ourselves
with two Portuguese youngsters) with a beer and a cup of coffee and let the
melancholia that goes with intermittent high tones and ending on a very high
note into our ears. The people among whom the singers sit and talk on those
low benches (everything in Portugal looks old and dilapidated) are part of
the Fado. They sing along and shout. Here everyone becomes Portuguese.
The walk back through the long Avenue De Liberdad was different. It was
already 3 in the morning and I recalled the first roosters (like our naadan
poovan kozhis) and hens (with geese and peacocks) that made a part of Lisboa
a literal kozhikoodu, many people who managed to help us, the majority who
could neither understand nor speak a word in English(which can at times be
difficult as explained by a French Dancer whom we met in the Metro who was
in a similar situation a couple of years back!), the melancholic Fado,
formidable Rio Tagus(Tagus River), and the frequent brigadoes(Thank
You-s).
Tonight I was in Portugal.
was not alone and the added talk makes thinking less I suppose.
But one thing is sure. There are miles between the Fado songs of Amalia
Rodriguez(the greatest of them all) that Sofia played for us and the live
singing at the dingy taverna in Bairro Alto last night. Bairro Alto is where
nightlife is in Lisboa. Here the city centre and the live locales stay
apart. So we took bus number one hundred to Bairro, walked in the midst of a
horde of live drinkers and talkers. Most take their drinks outside the
respective pubs (which are very often the ground floors of Bacos(Balconied
old houses on either side of narrow cobble stoned streets) and the cobble
streets transform to one huge bar. We sat (or managed to Install!! ourselves
with two Portuguese youngsters) with a beer and a cup of coffee and let the
melancholia that goes with intermittent high tones and ending on a very high
note into our ears. The people among whom the singers sit and talk on those
low benches (everything in Portugal looks old and dilapidated) are part of
the Fado. They sing along and shout. Here everyone becomes Portuguese.
The walk back through the long Avenue De Liberdad was different. It was
already 3 in the morning and I recalled the first roosters (like our naadan
poovan kozhis) and hens (with geese and peacocks) that made a part of Lisboa
a literal kozhikoodu, many people who managed to help us, the majority who
could neither understand nor speak a word in English(which can at times be
difficult as explained by a French Dancer whom we met in the Metro who was
in a similar situation a couple of years back!), the melancholic Fado,
formidable Rio Tagus(Tagus River), and the frequent brigadoes(Thank
You-s).
Tonight I was in Portugal.
Campolido and her Aquaduct of Free Water...
When my Spanish friends told me there is not much English in Spain I never
imagine it in the way it needs to be. Now I can. From the drivers to the
signposts, from the metro information to the hotel menus, from the old to
the young...English is almost nowhere! So Saidawith the running boy's
picture has to be exit.
We started our next day with a tragedy when Yifan lost his favourite digital
camera between Sendalho and CidadeUniversity stations. We have to wait for
our luck either from the Foreigners Police or the Baggage recovery. But
Lisbon is too big to be hopeful and it has lots of people who might need
cameras.
Despite this I managed to browse the Museau du Cidade (city museum) that is
housed is the mansion built by Dom Joao five(who later built many later to
be monuments) for his mistress, while Yifan dozed peacefully in one of the
rooms that housed roman city plan. The Romans seemed to have a city plan
comparable to the present size of Lisboa during Caesar Augustus.
I felt strange to pass the houses near to the museum and University
Cidade(where we ate our lunch with the Medical students) and later on that
typical Mediterranean residential area overlooking Aquaduto de Agua de
Livre(Aquaduct of Free Water). Here at Campolido I was quite sure of the
architectural influence the Portuguese must have had on the dwelling places
back home.
Aquaduto de Agua de Livre, another adventure of Mr. Dom Joao(not for his
mistress I suppose), was built between 1728 and 1748 only to stop
functioning in 1755 during that disastrous earthquake. It resumed its duty
of supplying the city its first clean water in the 1800s. This Mediterranean
hillside is plated on its sides by Azeulejo(hard painted tile) which is
typical of Portuguese art.
Despite Campolido's grip and magnificence of Aquaduto, the mornings tragedy
was still there in the back of our minds.
Now we were back in Recidencia, Yifan went for a doze, while I talked with
Pedro by the reception. He gave me some valuable tips and then we became
friends! Now they had rooms for more days too! So I made a reservation. I
liked the place.
My earlier plans to take a late night walk was toppled by an enthusiastic
Algerian (southern Portugal). So Sophie, the receptionist who comes on the
night shift, went on talking about Ever, Algarve, and PearlJam...
May be I can be nocturnal tonight.
imagine it in the way it needs to be. Now I can. From the drivers to the
signposts, from the metro information to the hotel menus, from the old to
the young...English is almost nowhere! So Saidawith the running boy's
picture has to be exit.
We started our next day with a tragedy when Yifan lost his favourite digital
camera between Sendalho and CidadeUniversity stations. We have to wait for
our luck either from the Foreigners Police or the Baggage recovery. But
Lisbon is too big to be hopeful and it has lots of people who might need
cameras.
Despite this I managed to browse the Museau du Cidade (city museum) that is
housed is the mansion built by Dom Joao five(who later built many later to
be monuments) for his mistress, while Yifan dozed peacefully in one of the
rooms that housed roman city plan. The Romans seemed to have a city plan
comparable to the present size of Lisboa during Caesar Augustus.
I felt strange to pass the houses near to the museum and University
Cidade(where we ate our lunch with the Medical students) and later on that
typical Mediterranean residential area overlooking Aquaduto de Agua de
Livre(Aquaduct of Free Water). Here at Campolido I was quite sure of the
architectural influence the Portuguese must have had on the dwelling places
back home.
Aquaduto de Agua de Livre, another adventure of Mr. Dom Joao(not for his
mistress I suppose), was built between 1728 and 1748 only to stop
functioning in 1755 during that disastrous earthquake. It resumed its duty
of supplying the city its first clean water in the 1800s. This Mediterranean
hillside is plated on its sides by Azeulejo(hard painted tile) which is
typical of Portuguese art.
Despite Campolido's grip and magnificence of Aquaduto, the mornings tragedy
was still there in the back of our minds.
Now we were back in Recidencia, Yifan went for a doze, while I talked with
Pedro by the reception. He gave me some valuable tips and then we became
friends! Now they had rooms for more days too! So I made a reservation. I
liked the place.
My earlier plans to take a late night walk was toppled by an enthusiastic
Algerian (southern Portugal). So Sophie, the receptionist who comes on the
night shift, went on talking about Ever, Algarve, and PearlJam...
May be I can be nocturnal tonight.
Avenida da India...where Da Gama kept Vigil.
Today we wanted to be in Belen, the place that has a lot to do with early
Portuguese expeditions. So after the same old breakfast (which is good
enough) we took the bus number one hundred from the stop in front of the
hostel and went to Praca da Figuera from where tram fifteen took us to near
Belen in Avenida Julho(July, another one of the obsession with months).
Belen faces River Tagus and on the other side the Savior (the smaller
version of the one in Sao Paulo) could be seen with his arms stretched. A
two hundred meter lazy walk (following the Portuguese example) took us in
from of Mosterios Jeronimos, an enormous Cathedral built in the sixteenth
century by Dom Manuel in memory of Vasco da Gama's voyage to our land. The
Manueline architecture came up after Dom Manuels experiments. Manueline is
considered by many as an extension of Baroque style charaterised by fine
architecture and ornamentation. The enormity of this cathedral is explained
by the archways inside. One has to keep silence inside as the place is still
used for worship. A very old woman who was brooming came to be and asked me,
in the most polite way, to take off the Cap. I was happy and did what she
told me and got an brigado' in exchange.
One half of the Mosterios is converted to a set of Museums. Among them is a
naval museum(which I never bothered to go inside, though I took a snap of
the palayamkodan like Plantain on the doorside!), A museum of Roman
Irrigation systems(which needs at least two days of careful browsing), and a
museum for the religious practices from a place in Iberia called Lusitania.
Here among the lusitanian archeological finds I saw steles erected to young
kids and generals with their inscription of the mysterious link between
living and the dead. Pateras(offerings for Gods) could be seen from several
points of time. A good many of the offerings were made for a lucky god
named Endovellicus (may be the name endovements came from this lucky god).
Aeturnus Hispania and Aeturnus Roma converged with the famous pax Romana in
Iberia, giving the peninsula its early Catholicity. May be this laid the
foundation for the later influence of Roman Catholicism. Orbis Romana from
the third century seems to be influenced by Christian and other oriental
belief systems as seen in some of the burial rites,. The selective
application of Hellenistic traditions by the Romans and the later
convergence with Aeturna Hispania may be seen in Lusitanian Iconography.
Suddenly I felt I am seeing Rome more and Portugal less. So we went to Torre
de Belen(the Tower of Belen). Partly in Tagus, partly in land, this was
also built in the Manueline style and it also seemed to have served the
purpose of a Fortress. Torre de Belen too is linked to the voyage to India.
Besides it stands beside Avenida da India!
Hunger, as always, was a constant threat. We rushed to the bus stop nearby
through the Avenida da India (one Chinese and an Indian), passing the
cultural centre. Soon we where in front of Sim ou Soupe where we has
excellent food yesterday. The waitress with a smile told us ,"We are
closing(the Portuguese version of this- check an English Portuguese
Dictionary)"! So we resumed walking only to find every restaurants and
pastelarias closed in that Clubby area(where life starts by Mid Night). Cats
and Dogs were running up and down the cobble street and old ladies still
gazed down to the streets occasionally waving their hands. Now we came to a
snack bar and had an ordinary food(I may call it Fish bondas!), with some
locals watching a Portuguese serial and finding time to make important
comments about the developments in screen. The shopkeeper seemed to be more
interested in small talks than shop keeping.
Back in the Room we had to plan for the next day as we had reservations only
until tomorrow. But instead we ate kebabs, I walked around for some more
time, and slept in peace.
Now we are going to Rua Esperanca, where we halt tonight. From tomorrow we
will be in Recidencia Princessa where we managed to get another reservation.
Long talks with Sophie and Pedro did not go in vain.
Portuguese expeditions. So after the same old breakfast (which is good
enough) we took the bus number one hundred from the stop in front of the
hostel and went to Praca da Figuera from where tram fifteen took us to near
Belen in Avenida Julho(July, another one of the obsession with months).
Belen faces River Tagus and on the other side the Savior (the smaller
version of the one in Sao Paulo) could be seen with his arms stretched. A
two hundred meter lazy walk (following the Portuguese example) took us in
from of Mosterios Jeronimos, an enormous Cathedral built in the sixteenth
century by Dom Manuel in memory of Vasco da Gama's voyage to our land. The
Manueline architecture came up after Dom Manuels experiments. Manueline is
considered by many as an extension of Baroque style charaterised by fine
architecture and ornamentation. The enormity of this cathedral is explained
by the archways inside. One has to keep silence inside as the place is still
used for worship. A very old woman who was brooming came to be and asked me,
in the most polite way, to take off the Cap. I was happy and did what she
told me and got an brigado' in exchange.
One half of the Mosterios is converted to a set of Museums. Among them is a
naval museum(which I never bothered to go inside, though I took a snap of
the palayamkodan like Plantain on the doorside!), A museum of Roman
Irrigation systems(which needs at least two days of careful browsing), and a
museum for the religious practices from a place in Iberia called Lusitania.
Here among the lusitanian archeological finds I saw steles erected to young
kids and generals with their inscription of the mysterious link between
living and the dead. Pateras(offerings for Gods) could be seen from several
points of time. A good many of the offerings were made for a lucky god
named Endovellicus (may be the name endovements came from this lucky god).
Aeturnus Hispania and Aeturnus Roma converged with the famous pax Romana in
Iberia, giving the peninsula its early Catholicity. May be this laid the
foundation for the later influence of Roman Catholicism. Orbis Romana from
the third century seems to be influenced by Christian and other oriental
belief systems as seen in some of the burial rites,. The selective
application of Hellenistic traditions by the Romans and the later
convergence with Aeturna Hispania may be seen in Lusitanian Iconography.
Suddenly I felt I am seeing Rome more and Portugal less. So we went to Torre
de Belen(the Tower of Belen). Partly in Tagus, partly in land, this was
also built in the Manueline style and it also seemed to have served the
purpose of a Fortress. Torre de Belen too is linked to the voyage to India.
Besides it stands beside Avenida da India!
Hunger, as always, was a constant threat. We rushed to the bus stop nearby
through the Avenida da India (one Chinese and an Indian), passing the
cultural centre. Soon we where in front of Sim ou Soupe where we has
excellent food yesterday. The waitress with a smile told us ,"We are
closing(the Portuguese version of this- check an English Portuguese
Dictionary)"! So we resumed walking only to find every restaurants and
pastelarias closed in that Clubby area(where life starts by Mid Night). Cats
and Dogs were running up and down the cobble street and old ladies still
gazed down to the streets occasionally waving their hands. Now we came to a
snack bar and had an ordinary food(I may call it Fish bondas!), with some
locals watching a Portuguese serial and finding time to make important
comments about the developments in screen. The shopkeeper seemed to be more
interested in small talks than shop keeping.
Back in the Room we had to plan for the next day as we had reservations only
until tomorrow. But instead we ate kebabs, I walked around for some more
time, and slept in peace.
Now we are going to Rua Esperanca, where we halt tonight. From tomorrow we
will be in Recidencia Princessa where we managed to get another reservation.
Long talks with Sophie and Pedro did not go in vain.
From Saurashtra to Lisboa...
Saturday Nineteenth of March; here we are in Hospedaria Verde Esperanca on
Rua Esperanca. We didnt find it as expected. There was no board and there
was no lobby to be seen. A short man(like me) offered help and sign language
led us to a shop run by an old couple (let St. Antony save him). The old
couple who were running the shop turned out not to be Goans as I assumed.
The led us to what was to be Hospedaria Verde Esperanca. The scent (or
smell) of Fresh Paint indicated maintenance work. She showed us our room and
afterwards I talked to this couple. The rest was a long sorry of a Journey
that began somewhere in Saurashtra, went through Lahore and Mozambique
towards Lisboa.
Partition took them to Lahore, his Grandfather took them to Mozambique, and
PostColoniality took them to Rua Esperanca, Lisboa. Noorjahan and Qurbani
Khan had a lot to tell. Noor said, "Jawan Aaye Bude Yaha Ho Gaye." The room
reminded me of our old house and some of the houses inside our U.C.College,
with their wooden doors with Sakshaasand high ceilings. Thatched houses
surrounded the hostel. Old ladies sat for no reason at the Balconies for
Hours and Youngsters loitered below. I could believe Qurbani Khan when he
told me Portuguese are Lazy, neither in their colonies, nor in Portugal did
they bother to build Industries or Infrastructure. Their once opulent
nation, Qurbani says, in now one of the poorest in Europe.
The Portuguese prefer sipping (or gulping -as for them its like water) wine
and drowning in football.
The place was away from the city centre and it was also a bit nostalgic. I
felt like being part of a long story that started in Saurashtra and going on
here. I knew I don't want to stay in this hostel another day.
At night we walked through Rua de Commercia to Igreja(church) Conceicua
Velha and then back to Praca Commercia through some of those narrow lanes
filigreed with wine shops. After some grilled meat and pudding we walked
back lazily(the Portuguese way).
Rua Esperanca. We didnt find it as expected. There was no board and there
was no lobby to be seen. A short man(like me) offered help and sign language
led us to a shop run by an old couple (let St. Antony save him). The old
couple who were running the shop turned out not to be Goans as I assumed.
The led us to what was to be Hospedaria Verde Esperanca. The scent (or
smell) of Fresh Paint indicated maintenance work. She showed us our room and
afterwards I talked to this couple. The rest was a long sorry of a Journey
that began somewhere in Saurashtra, went through Lahore and Mozambique
towards Lisboa.
Partition took them to Lahore, his Grandfather took them to Mozambique, and
PostColoniality took them to Rua Esperanca, Lisboa. Noorjahan and Qurbani
Khan had a lot to tell. Noor said, "Jawan Aaye Bude Yaha Ho Gaye." The room
reminded me of our old house and some of the houses inside our U.C.College,
with their wooden doors with Sakshaasand high ceilings. Thatched houses
surrounded the hostel. Old ladies sat for no reason at the Balconies for
Hours and Youngsters loitered below. I could believe Qurbani Khan when he
told me Portuguese are Lazy, neither in their colonies, nor in Portugal did
they bother to build Industries or Infrastructure. Their once opulent
nation, Qurbani says, in now one of the poorest in Europe.
The Portuguese prefer sipping (or gulping -as for them its like water) wine
and drowning in football.
The place was away from the city centre and it was also a bit nostalgic. I
felt like being part of a long story that started in Saurashtra and going on
here. I knew I don't want to stay in this hostel another day.
At night we walked through Rua de Commercia to Igreja(church) Conceicua
Velha and then back to Praca Commercia through some of those narrow lanes
filigreed with wine shops. After some grilled meat and pudding we walked
back lazily(the Portuguese way).
In one of the oldest Diocese
Twentieth of March, Yifan got an allergic cold probably from that fresh
paint. Anyway we were checking out of Hospedaria.
On our way to Belen to see the Cloisters of Mosterios Jeronimos (for the
entrance was free on Sundays) we had some snacks at a nearby shop. I felt
like attending at least one Church service. Our bus stop was near Igreja de
Santos de Velho and it was Sunday. We went in. The service was in Portuguese.
So I wouldnt dare explain what went on!! This church belongs to one of the
oldest Dioceses in the world.
The origin of Lisbon diocese dates back to the early ADs from the Civitas of
Olisippo during the Romans. It survived many later challenges like
evangelising the Visigloths, Moorish Domination up to a revival in the Later
Middle ages with St Antony at the drivers seat. Modern times oversaw the
expansion of empire with the age of Discoveries and here comes in somebody
of the name St John de Brito. He is said to have spent a long time in India,
and was later Martyred (as was fashionable among many Saints). Later
challenges from Liberal ideas and French Revolution was more powerful There
was expulsion of church institutions, tension between the crown and the
clergy, but still the Church went on. After all it was built on a strong pax
Romana of pre Christian times. The influence of Catholicism is evidenced in
the later Dominican orders that came up, slaves of our lady of Fatima (three
shepherd kids is said to have witnessed some miracle off late!), up to a
Catholic University in 1967.
But the service we attended reflects a realty of present Europe. The
attendees were almost all old people. Though perhaps not so much as
elsewhere here too nunneries and monasteries and cathedrals turn into museums
overnight.
We moved now to Jeronios once more, this tie to see the cloisters that once
housed the monks(16th century) and then attained a special significance
being stage to significant events during the age of Discoveries(Mr Da Gama
kept vigil here before he came to us. So any things seems to have went on
here thanks to the Parangi-landing) to Portugals Adhesion treaty to EU.
Religious Royal and Natural symbols fuse in the manueline architecture of
this cloister. We attended our second church service here, this time a more
serene one in one of the most significant cathedrals in Iberia.
We passed through the Torre de Belen(the tower) and took some snaps of those
canons that faced the Rio Tagus (there was no enemy at sight and no more
canon balls). Back in the good old Recidencia Pricessa Yifan tried to regain
his health with some Alandra table wine and long talks. And now he felt
better. He told me "One thing that makes the streets here different from
those of Bergen is that you always have the feeling that you might get to
know someone while walking by." It seems so from our Balcony that faces two
roads converging below and lines of thatched houses that stretched to Tagus.
After the wine (we had quite a lot) my feet were a little light! But I
managed to move out of the room, into the streets, where I walked till
around 1:30 am the today.
paint. Anyway we were checking out of Hospedaria.
On our way to Belen to see the Cloisters of Mosterios Jeronimos (for the
entrance was free on Sundays) we had some snacks at a nearby shop. I felt
like attending at least one Church service. Our bus stop was near Igreja de
Santos de Velho and it was Sunday. We went in. The service was in Portuguese.
So I wouldnt dare explain what went on!! This church belongs to one of the
oldest Dioceses in the world.
The origin of Lisbon diocese dates back to the early ADs from the Civitas of
Olisippo during the Romans. It survived many later challenges like
evangelising the Visigloths, Moorish Domination up to a revival in the Later
Middle ages with St Antony at the drivers seat. Modern times oversaw the
expansion of empire with the age of Discoveries and here comes in somebody
of the name St John de Brito. He is said to have spent a long time in India,
and was later Martyred (as was fashionable among many Saints). Later
challenges from Liberal ideas and French Revolution was more powerful There
was expulsion of church institutions, tension between the crown and the
clergy, but still the Church went on. After all it was built on a strong pax
Romana of pre Christian times. The influence of Catholicism is evidenced in
the later Dominican orders that came up, slaves of our lady of Fatima (three
shepherd kids is said to have witnessed some miracle off late!), up to a
Catholic University in 1967.
But the service we attended reflects a realty of present Europe. The
attendees were almost all old people. Though perhaps not so much as
elsewhere here too nunneries and monasteries and cathedrals turn into museums
overnight.
We moved now to Jeronios once more, this tie to see the cloisters that once
housed the monks(16th century) and then attained a special significance
being stage to significant events during the age of Discoveries(Mr Da Gama
kept vigil here before he came to us. So any things seems to have went on
here thanks to the Parangi-landing) to Portugals Adhesion treaty to EU.
Religious Royal and Natural symbols fuse in the manueline architecture of
this cloister. We attended our second church service here, this time a more
serene one in one of the most significant cathedrals in Iberia.
We passed through the Torre de Belen(the tower) and took some snaps of those
canons that faced the Rio Tagus (there was no enemy at sight and no more
canon balls). Back in the good old Recidencia Pricessa Yifan tried to regain
his health with some Alandra table wine and long talks. And now he felt
better. He told me "One thing that makes the streets here different from
those of Bergen is that you always have the feeling that you might get to
know someone while walking by." It seems so from our Balcony that faces two
roads converging below and lines of thatched houses that stretched to Tagus.
After the wine (we had quite a lot) my feet were a little light! But I
managed to move out of the room, into the streets, where I walked till
around 1:30 am the today.
Outlandish Oriente and Outstanding Oceanarium...
It was drizzling in the morning and by now its raining. But the rain very
tropical, though the temperature dips one or two degree. We have been having
above twenty on the thermometer(it even touched 29!) and now its around
eighteen. Good enough.
Oriente is the terminal of the newly built metro line (Lihne Vermelha-red
line). The largest Oceanarium of Europe is located here. We were there by
noon. This part of Lisbon looks rather outlandish with all the commercial
marks of a world Exposition(1998) of which many Lisboetas talk about.
Through a mammoth shopping complex we entered the lane that leads to the
Oceanarium that is located beside the Atlantic.
The Oceanarium boasts more than four hundred living forms from the four
major oceans. It is designed to perfection, with the open sea forming the
base and separate zones that surround this part representing life from the
major four oceans. One feels like being in the ocean with breathtaking
creatures, though in confinement. But I was happy to recall some of those
names with which I was in love. Lantern eyed fishes lit the darkest parts of
pelagic life, sea otters(the most energetic of all) presented outstanding
choreography, penguins lazed around, Manta Rays flew on the surface waters
and Huge Groper fishes stood still with an ancestral disposition. It took
hours for us to go around once. We went back once more to be with the new
born Otter cub that was now sleeping on the belly of its floating/cuddling
mother.
Mothers and Fathers kissed their kids, girl friends kissed boyfriends, and an otter
cuddled its cub in the Outlandish Oriente. The whole part of Lisboa seemed
to cut itself away from the rest of the town with its Mac Donalds and
Vodafones. But the Oceanarium was worth seen.
Rain is still falls with small gaps. People pass by the cafe with their lit
cigarettes. I am also going out, may be for a walk around Rossio.
tropical, though the temperature dips one or two degree. We have been having
above twenty on the thermometer(it even touched 29!) and now its around
eighteen. Good enough.
Oriente is the terminal of the newly built metro line (Lihne Vermelha-red
line). The largest Oceanarium of Europe is located here. We were there by
noon. This part of Lisbon looks rather outlandish with all the commercial
marks of a world Exposition(1998) of which many Lisboetas talk about.
Through a mammoth shopping complex we entered the lane that leads to the
Oceanarium that is located beside the Atlantic.
The Oceanarium boasts more than four hundred living forms from the four
major oceans. It is designed to perfection, with the open sea forming the
base and separate zones that surround this part representing life from the
major four oceans. One feels like being in the ocean with breathtaking
creatures, though in confinement. But I was happy to recall some of those
names with which I was in love. Lantern eyed fishes lit the darkest parts of
pelagic life, sea otters(the most energetic of all) presented outstanding
choreography, penguins lazed around, Manta Rays flew on the surface waters
and Huge Groper fishes stood still with an ancestral disposition. It took
hours for us to go around once. We went back once more to be with the new
born Otter cub that was now sleeping on the belly of its floating/cuddling
mother.
Mothers and Fathers kissed their kids, girl friends kissed boyfriends, and an otter
cuddled its cub in the Outlandish Oriente. The whole part of Lisboa seemed
to cut itself away from the rest of the town with its Mac Donalds and
Vodafones. But the Oceanarium was worth seen.
Rain is still falls with small gaps. People pass by the cafe with their lit
cigarettes. I am also going out, may be for a walk around Rossio.
The Portuguese I met...
Sintra, after a not so eventful train journey (except for some agricultural
fields, goats and Sheep), seemed a little showcased. The banners of
UNESCO(for Sintra is one of the Patrimony Mundial-World Heritage?), some of
the revivalist architecture by Manini(Italian architect) and shops that
cater exclusively for tourists overshadowed the Sintra palace downhill and
the once amazing Miradouroes enjoyed by rulers and poetised by Lord Byron
(Childe Harold).
We decided to trek rather than take the tourist bus number 435 hoping to
reach the 8th century Moorish Fortress or Casa de Pana(a castle on top of
the mountain built on the foundation of what once used to be a Hieronymus
Monastery) before five in the evening. And we made it there passing the
tropical woodlands(speciality of Sintra), familiar bird calls and exposed
secret doors(that might have led into the fortress). Casa the Pana is a
nineteenth century castle that offers a panorama of Sintra, Estoril and
parts of Lisbon. It also houses a 'museum' that looks rather odd after a
long walk. Though we passed the remains of the Moorish fortress (recaptured
in 1147 by Alphonso Henrique) we didn't have time to reach the top. Casa de
Pena was quite a pilgrimage after the plastic life I saw downhill.
The journey back was devoted to a long sleep. Three stations before Entre
Campos(where we were supposed to get out) we met Nina a girl from
Bremen(Germany) who was going back after work. I wondered what job a girl of
twenty can get in Lisbon. She has been working here since she was nineteen
and spoke fluent Portuguese(or that is what we thought!). If there are some
non specialised job available, I would have preferred to spend the rest of
the months in Lisbon!
The pudding and snack we had was never going to help my appetite. Yifan went
back to the hostel, while I entered into a long chat with Oscar a waiter who
has by now become quite a good friend. We (or rather he) spoke about
Portuguese football(all here love to do this): sporting and Porto over some
beef kebab and passion fruit pudding(everyone in the world must eat this).
By midnight I said adios and started another long walk. This went on till
3:30 in the morning of 23rd.
Sophie, Pedro, Anna(another girl who works in Princessa), and Oscar; all
were good company. I haven't gone as deep into Lisbon as I did in Athens. I
feel like I have not spent as much time with the language or the people as I
might have liked to. But when in Sintra, I wanted desperately to be back in
Lisbon. Sintra might have been beautiful, but serenity was not my priority.
fields, goats and Sheep), seemed a little showcased. The banners of
UNESCO(for Sintra is one of the Patrimony Mundial-World Heritage?), some of
the revivalist architecture by Manini(Italian architect) and shops that
cater exclusively for tourists overshadowed the Sintra palace downhill and
the once amazing Miradouroes enjoyed by rulers and poetised by Lord Byron
(Childe Harold).
We decided to trek rather than take the tourist bus number 435 hoping to
reach the 8th century Moorish Fortress or Casa de Pana(a castle on top of
the mountain built on the foundation of what once used to be a Hieronymus
Monastery) before five in the evening. And we made it there passing the
tropical woodlands(speciality of Sintra), familiar bird calls and exposed
secret doors(that might have led into the fortress). Casa the Pana is a
nineteenth century castle that offers a panorama of Sintra, Estoril and
parts of Lisbon. It also houses a 'museum' that looks rather odd after a
long walk. Though we passed the remains of the Moorish fortress (recaptured
in 1147 by Alphonso Henrique) we didn't have time to reach the top. Casa de
Pena was quite a pilgrimage after the plastic life I saw downhill.
The journey back was devoted to a long sleep. Three stations before Entre
Campos(where we were supposed to get out) we met Nina a girl from
Bremen(Germany) who was going back after work. I wondered what job a girl of
twenty can get in Lisbon. She has been working here since she was nineteen
and spoke fluent Portuguese(or that is what we thought!). If there are some
non specialised job available, I would have preferred to spend the rest of
the months in Lisbon!
The pudding and snack we had was never going to help my appetite. Yifan went
back to the hostel, while I entered into a long chat with Oscar a waiter who
has by now become quite a good friend. We (or rather he) spoke about
Portuguese football(all here love to do this): sporting and Porto over some
beef kebab and passion fruit pudding(everyone in the world must eat this).
By midnight I said adios and started another long walk. This went on till
3:30 in the morning of 23rd.
Sophie, Pedro, Anna(another girl who works in Princessa), and Oscar; all
were good company. I haven't gone as deep into Lisbon as I did in Athens. I
feel like I have not spent as much time with the language or the people as I
might have liked to. But when in Sintra, I wanted desperately to be back in
Lisbon. Sintra might have been beautiful, but serenity was not my priority.
Leaving Lisboa...
The last day in Lisboa was spent going around the more familiar places and
bidding farewell to all the acquaintances. I just came after having another
delicious passion fruit pudding where Oscar works. Quite a lot of loving bon
voyages and obrigadoes added warmth to those brief acquaintances.
At the restaurant a young girl with her mother came in while we were
talking. The girl hugged Oscar round his legs and began making fuss. I
couldnt make out what about. Her mother sat at a table while Oscar went
out. He came back with something the girl was asking for. They seemed to be
good friends. Such things are not uncommon in this town. If one knows
Portuguese there are a lot to talk with, if not there are lots of talks to be
heard.
SIC, the major news channel flashed news of a shootout. It happened at Casa
de Mourra, a neighbouring town. Two young cops were killed. The man was
captured. Lisbon has been a peaceful town. It should remain so. I hope
people who live here become good lisboetas.
bidding farewell to all the acquaintances. I just came after having another
delicious passion fruit pudding where Oscar works. Quite a lot of loving bon
voyages and obrigadoes added warmth to those brief acquaintances.
At the restaurant a young girl with her mother came in while we were
talking. The girl hugged Oscar round his legs and began making fuss. I
couldnt make out what about. Her mother sat at a table while Oscar went
out. He came back with something the girl was asking for. They seemed to be
good friends. Such things are not uncommon in this town. If one knows
Portuguese there are a lot to talk with, if not there are lots of talks to be
heard.
SIC, the major news channel flashed news of a shootout. It happened at Casa
de Mourra, a neighbouring town. Two young cops were killed. The man was
captured. Lisbon has been a peaceful town. It should remain so. I hope
people who live here become good lisboetas.
(THESE WERE LETTERS I WROTE EVERYDAY FROM LISBON TO THE PEOPLE I LOVE. I AM POSTING THEM AFTER A GAP, AS THEY ARE)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Roma
I was in Italy for a few days. I thought I will tell you how it went.
Its Cloudy, Still I am in Rome!
All roads lead to Rome; Rome was not built in a day, Be a Roman when in Rome...and here I am in the land of Caesars, Pope, Mafia and Berlusconi, among more than fifty million voracious Pasta eaters who are called Italians.
The flight till over Italy was hopeful. A Norwegian lady who was taking a break to Italy talked for a while with me. She took a different flight from Amsterdam.
But right there over the peninsula clouds loomed over and down in Roma (as Italians call it) I didn’t feel that its noon. It was a grey light all over and it was quite warm. I couldn’t get much of a help from the Italians I saw, full of gestures, but one of help. Finally somehow, after a train journey that lasted more than thirty minutes and reminiscent of then ones back home (both the sluggish train and rail side scenes) I reached Stazione Termini, the largest one of its kind here.
But it was not Italy that I found here. It was China. On the streets, in the shops, and finally even in the Aladino Hostel it was the same scene. I felt confused. The dingy hostel or substandard dormitory didn’t reassure either.
I will have to seek some help and start it all today. The time is short; I am in Italy, now I have to find Italians!
From the Colosseum to a Street Demonstration
Finally I roamed around the Forum, the several Arches (many made their marks through these arches...when you pass by you pass through me!) and of course the Colosseum; never really caring what all was about. I was a bit tired and Rome was too much. The place was not built in a day and I was quite sure that the little time I am here I cannot even wonder at one of those magnificent structures. At least I wanted to take a good look at the once bloody Colosseum.
There was some restoration work going on inside. Besides this is the tourist season. One half of the upper tier (it is a three tiered structure) has fallen off, probably after an earthquake (it never really bothered to fall down with the Gladiatorial quakes).
I walked past the fancy Gladiators who roamed around to be photographed with to the via Sacra (the sacred road). On both sides could be seen the Fora Romana or the Roman Forum. The ancient Roman Forum used to be the commercial, political and religious centre. But from the 4th century AD, with the declining Roma Empire, the forum also declined to acquire the status of Campo Veccino (cow field!).
The absence of guidelines (yes there were Latin inscriptions, which was Greek to me!) or informed company made all those structures; the basilicas, the columns, the temples that spread over the seven hills of Rome (these are the, Palatine, Capitoline, Aventine, Ceulian, Esquiline, Viminial and Quirinal; that hosts the structures ranging from the Colosseum at an end to the new Administrative building on the other) seemed nothing but breathtaking.
I walked past the Black Marble slab that is supposed to have covered Romulus (One of those Wolf reared brothers who eventually founded Rome. If Remus had done that Rome would be called Reme!) tomb near the Curia (meeting place of senate). Distinguished folks, from Julius Caesar and Augustus to Domitian has contributed to this Curia.
Thin long bricks which were cemented together made most of the structures and perhaps distinguished Roman architecture from the Greek predecessors (I am sure there must be a thousand other factors). The mythical Greek architecture seemed to be replaced by the secular here. The resurgence of classicism during the baroque as seen in some of the structures like the Trevi fountain (with huge number of people throwing coins over their shoulders to get Italian lovers) or Mussolini’s revivalist additions seemed to characterise more propaganda than art. Sheer power seemed to exude from every structure be that the colosseum, the forum, the Byzantine structures erected by Constantine or the later additions by Benito Mussolini (shouting loud his legacy). By the way power is inevitable for one of the earliest, if not the earliest empires of the world.
But despite the magnificence of Ancient Rome what impressed me more was the accidental encounter with a street demonstration. I always wanted to witness one of those huge demonstrations that we have all witnessed in TV. Here in the front of the monument for the Unknown Soldier thousands and thousands sandwiched between police battalions protested the privatisation policies of the Educational minister. Italians with all their passion sang and shouted past me with their banners waving and in the heavy gust of wind that blew up the sand everywhere.
On my way back to China with Gelato (Italian ice-cream...delicious) and headache I attended a small church service at Santa Maria Maggiore. This is one of the four patriarchal basilicas (on the Esquiline hill) built in 5th century AD. The ornate interior was fabulous. Cardinals in their pink robes sermonised out in the church yard. People who came to pray, to talk and to smoke mixed together. As Julia says (the Italian girl I talked to at Fantoft) Catholicism is now more like a frame with less content. Cardinals in their pink robes too seemed more like exhibits in a museum after some time.
At Aladino Alberto cooked the dinner (noodles and some meat stuffings) and I talked to some Swiss high school students and my Polish roommates (they work in a company that manufactures hiking equipments). Then I slept.
I hope Michelangelo would do some magic on top of the magnificence I felt about the Colosseum.
San Pietro and then the shouting Italians
Breakfast at Aladino was nothing much to talk about. But there is for sure a home like environ when many from may places congregate there and eat in the Kitchen. The rabbit that hops all around and a brown hen that shits all around makes the scene better.
Today I took the metro. Metro stations in Rome seem to be in the centre of the earth after standing in those escalators that go a lot down the ground. And I read somewhere that they couldn’t put as much metros as they wanted as every time they dig they come across some archaeological find. The empire still keeps its impact!
Vatican is the smallest independent state on earth with its own postal system, policing (though Italian army will come of much use in a real need!), and governance. So I entered a nation in a nation when I got into Piazza San Pietro (or the St. Peters Square). Though the Basilica, with the largest dome on earth imposingly stood there, I was more taken in by the huge number of people amassed at the piazza. I thought something special was on (but later Andreas told me this is a regular Sunday crowd!). I should add that though there were so many at least half of them were evidently tourists. The pope gained sovereignty over this city thanks to Mussolini (1929). Now Ratzinger enjoys that and I saw him blessing from that famous window.
The piazza (square) with two semicircular colonnades surrounding it with their Doric pillars was designed by Bernini (here he scored a lot over his contemporary Borromini). With an obelisk(brought to Rome by none other than Caligula-when he got some free time- from Heliopolis in Ancient Egypt) in the middle this is the place where we all recently watched the spectacle in televisions.
Pappachan was not a name that I, even in my remotest imaginations, would have imagined to confront in Vatican. But I did. Pappachan from Angamaly and Jose from Maala were searching for a place where they can get a phone card. I managed to help them out a bit. They were here with a group. I did feel a bit nostalgic in Vatican!
Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish steps are one of the most popular gathering places in Rome. The Spanish steps are so called because of the Spanish embassy to the holy see. It was the French who commissioned it! Here too what astonished me was the sheer number of people. On the right side of these steps could be seen the house where Keats died. This is now a Keats Shelly house.
I couldn’t stop myself buying more and more ice-cream. If Lisbon was its pudding, Rome is its Gelato. The pizza tastes different here or it tastes like Pizza here!
Back in Aladino some of the people I met had already vacated. I watched the Italian sports channel (one of the RAI TV wings run by none other than Berlusconi) and talked to an American soldier who was taking an off from their base in Sicily (another one of those places).
Andreas was complaining about the Italians who shouted for no reason across the windows above (on the floors above they fought for trivial things). I enjoyed it. May be that is because I was never here before.
Maria…
I woke up just by the end of breakfast time after a long night walk through via di Tritone and via di Corso when. But I didn’t feel a sense of triumph as the breakfast was some good old rusks and coffee!
I don’t know whether it was Rome or Maria that stole the day. I got down at Octaviano once more hoping getting in the Sistine Chapel. I happened to meet five more people hoping the same. Among them was Maria from Mexico. I haven’t seen this much energy in my life. She loves everything in the world, and she knows too many things. We were all turned down by the anaconda like queue to the Museums and Sistine. Two of them immediately left Vatican. The other two went to see if they could get a pass for Pope’s Wednesday blessings. Maria and I took long walks in and around Vatican. This girl knew more than I could imagine. She told me about the countryside of France, the agricultural villages of Verona, philosophy and people...and all through hands on experience. And all this in nineteen years of life.
All through our walk she kept on asking people whether she can help them take their snaps. Some were evidently happy, some thought she would run away with the camera! It was so easy walking with her as she spoke good Italian (one among the languages she learned through living with them) and we went to the Spanish steps once again and then to Piazza Navona passing by the Trevi fountain.
Some Italians were fighting in the narrow alleys that led to Navona. They shouted and even spit on each others face, ending the fight the Italian style. Dogs and Cats (Rome has more cats than anywhere else in the world) played around a group that plays Cellos and Violins. Piazza Navona was laid on the ruins of Domitians stadium and in the middle of this piazza could be seen another one of Bernini’s masterpieces. It is called Fontana dei Quatro Fiumi (fountain of four rivers-Nile Danube Plata and interestingly Ganges! - Nile and Ganges tells a lot about the range of interactions in those times.)
By noon we had at least three Gelatos. I am quite sure that it would be one of the noblest acts if I can manage to bring this Italian Ice-cream back to all of you. But alas its ice cream. We took a few snaps around, browsed through one of the book exhibitions and went to the Pantheon. The pantheon is the best preserved ancient building in Roma. Built by Marcus Agrippa, the son in law of Augustus in 27 BC this huge temple was rebuilt by Hadrian (one of his several construction works in the Greco Roman world). Later Raphael got a chance to be buried there.
By late evening Maria suggested that we walk towards Fiume Tevere, the river that divided Vatican city and Centre of Rome. We gazed at Castello di Angelo from the bridge and walked back to San Pietro. We met the two other travellers that were met with in the morning. Both of them were in a hurry to get back to the room. Maria was talking enthusiastically about a new book by Dan Brown and dancing (I cannot call it walking) all the way to the Metro.
We bid adieu but we might meet at the Pantheon before I leave.
I walked around Piazza Boromini till around one and wondered whether it was Rome, Maria or Maria in Rome that had the magic. Anyway it wasn’t Michelangelo.
I checked out of Aladino today morning after talking to my roommates (A Costa Rican\German-couple and a Mechanic in the US Army).
Threw the Coin!
And met we did at the Pantheon. It was showering all morning. We got inside this ancient temple and wondered at the largest masonry of its kind, the dome with a huge hole in the middle. The rain falls into the temple but is instantly drained off by the twenty five holes on the middle of the floor. Maria so much wanted to see the tomb of Rafael. But alas just this one was closed for renovation. We went to an ancient looking pizza house and had what appeared to be some antique pizza, though very delicious.
She said she is accompanying me to the Stazione termini. So we started a long walk to Piazza Barberini in the course of which Maria reserved a ticket for a Puccini opera and we stopped at Trevi for the coin has to be thrown to be back here one day. Maria kept on talking to many Italians on the way, sometimes about nothing.
From Barberini we took a metro to Termini. Sadly a Train to Fumicini was right there about to leave. In that moment I thought I had to take this to avoid some risk. I took the train to Fumicini, the same way I came, but after we kissed goodbye...Rome, Maria and me. I was too early at Fumicini. I felt that there is too much time. I could have taken the next train.
I was not in a mood to go out into Amsterdam. But them I met two Dutch students who were on their way back home. We talked about many things. They told me to accompany them and that they have a special pass. They said I should at least take a walk and go back. Jasper and Margo were friendly and after getting out they gave me a picture of the place. So I started the good old walk in and around the dam square, past many canals and the well known red light zone (women with bored faces stood by the window. Here they even have a union and pay taxes!). Canals in Amsterdam makes some call this place the Venice of North. But there cannot be a Venice in North. I took an early morning train back to Schipol where I dozed, walked, window shopped and waited. I was tired and blank.
Before boarding the flight I happened to talk to a man and wife from Georgia. I was surprised at the alphabets in the book he was reading. That is how we started the talk. It turned out that Georgia has an alphabet of its own (doesn’t look either like Latin or Cyrillic, but more like Amharic! as the Ethiopian who was sitting nearby testified) and the Man was the Educational Minister of Georgia.
After an hour and a half flight I landed in Bergen. There was a slight shower and everything looked the same.
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26 DEGREES, GAUDI, CATALANS16TH OF MAY
Tracing a very familiar track via Schiphol, Amsterdam....with all the Schiphol background of - watch your steps... you are delaying flight..we will proceed to off load your luggage, Amsterdam I am now here in Barcelona, the capital city of Catalonia. Rod was my fellow traveller up to El Prat de Llobregat from Schiphol. He is from South Africa and was on his way to Valencia, another Catalan place, to strike a Tile/business deal. He is from Cape Town and has been here before. Three days of business and four days of entertainment seemed a nice bet.
From El Prat there was this Catalonian biotechnologist who gave me a brief introduction to many things and stood as an optimistic symbol of Catalonian character, which I hope will carry through!
26 degrees was never in my wildest dreams. But Barcelona did it for me. Spain on a first sight looked a dry terrain -Norway appeared a rocky one much earlier- but that changed once the train reached the city centre. Passeig de Gracia is lined with Modernist architecture of Gaudi, who designed most of the Catalan version of Art Nouvoue. 33rd building on this street is my Hostel. I checked into this 6 bed dorm. It seems properly kept, I am yet to meet a room mate.
Some say the name Barcelona comes from Hannibal Barca, the tormentor of Rome, the symbol of Carthaginian might, who took pains to cross the Alps with his Elephant mounted troop. Well, he had his time here and added some more leafs to Barcelonan history, which as in many other parts of Europe has been through Romans, Barbarians (Visigoths, Franks), Moors, and as a distinction (that many Catalonians recent) the Spanish (Castilian Majority).
I have to see whether it was worth for Hannibal to come all the way...Its evening now
WALK THROUGH LA RAMBLAMAY 17
La Rambla in Catalan means river and there are two of it here between which lies the present city. I walked towards the North Eastern border of thecity, past the smaller divisions of the long avenue of La Rambla with tworoads and a paved walk way in between that stretches from Placa (Plaza) deCatalunya to Placa del Portal De La Pau.
The walk to and fro takes you back and forth through the history ofCatalunya and here it is very much connected to the larger Castillian past.The monument (Centenario Descuremento) at Portal de la Pau celebrates the start of American treasure hunt that fattened the Spanish Empire. But toreach here I went past the Roman, Gothic, Medieval and Modern parts of the street. Short detours to Placa de Pie or Placa de Rieal (Royal) provides a peep into the medieval or more modern neo classical architecture. The latter placa is completely off the roads and streets and provides a cocoon-temperament.
Towards the end of Rambla and from the de la Pau (On the western side ofwhich is a small hill overlooking the sea Montjujic?) to Barceloneta couldbe seen the modern high rise buildings that tout the new real estate aspirations and concomitant ugliness. There are two huge structures built during Barcelona Olympics which are miserable enough. The beaches atBarcelonetta, which used to be fishermens quarters, have been made usable inthe last decade.
By late evening I started to walk back, rewinding history on the way. Thistime I took detours to the other side Rambla. Reval is considered to be themore dangerous part of the town. Its mainly so with pick pocketers and tricksters. But all along the way there are scores of street performers,giants, midgets, acrobats...
I had dinner (Stake and Bulls Eye...Earlier I had the famous Xocolata(Chocolate) puffs) at a joint run by Pakistani immigrants. This guy was verynice to me and told not to go too much into narrow alleys in Reval. I didnttoo much.
Back at Centric I met Eric (Brazilian studying in Minnesota), a group from California (who got away from Swarzeneggar), and later today morning Sun,from Thailand.We might go to beach and a special Museum after a while. I called Yifan,though he was out.
BEACH AT BARCELONETA AND THE UNBELIEVABLE MAY 18TH
Sun is a Thai girl I met here. On her suggestion we strolled towards the small beach at Barcelonetta, through the Ramblas. The beach was very full, with happy souls ready to receive sun, lying on the towels as they were born.
Sun works in for the Scandinavian air and was here on a cheap ticket. She has already been to many places this way. We spent quite a long time here before Museu d'Historia de Catalunya. The Museum used to be a warehouse, and the proximally to Port Vella, the oldest one here, explains that. It does not house as many originals when compared to Athens or Rome. But certainly it is one of the best kept museums and as one ascends one traverse through the stages of Catalunyan past, starting from the stone age to relief from Franco. Their history is replete with revolutions and anarchy.
By afternoon both of us were tired enough for a special variety of Pita. A guy in the small joint offered us a highly alcoholic drink. We got into a spontaneous conversation, which comes easy here.
Street performers were everywhere. People with flags were all around. Groups of people in red and blue stripes were singing songs. Today Barcelona was playing Arsenal in the finals
If there used to be any unbelievable incidents in my life I am ready to replace it all. Today I confronted what football can be. What unravelled on the streets and all over the town here was something extraordinary. If the build up on the streets on our way back was amazing I don't have the right word for the culmination!
La Rambla was electric and I dared to be there for a while. I saw before my eyes more than two million coming to this main street after their clubs victory. I saw people yelling from every single building. Slogans, songs, flags, and crackers picked up. Fireworks were replaced by fire. Traffic stopped. Cars danced at the traffic lights. People hung out of the doors and stood atop the cars. Police and ambulance vans parked by. People did the strangest of acts.
When I walked back to room more out of safety reasons, I felt like the only one walking against a huge tide. A cracker burst nearby. A girl flicked from behind my knee while I was taking some finishing snaps. People were running amok everywhere and dancing on the busiest streets and in the fountains.
Later when I was resting in the lobby with some others a mob pushed us inside. We did not know what was happening. I saw some policemen jump out of vans. I heard gunshots, bursting of glass...
We were all told to go to the common rooms, bar or rooms. This was riot. I felt lucky to be back and I came back to save my CAMERA!!!
From the dormitory bed I could still hear the songs, slogans, sirens and the honking of horns (they did it like Barca ...Barca...). I slept, adding a thousand more leaves to the phenomenon called Football. In Catalunya, there was more to it as some of the Catalunyan slogans indicated.
I met Vicky and Jade from Manchester and Yorkshire tonight
TO OLYMPIC WITH ENGLISH, TO PARALLEL WITH AMERICANS19TH OF MAY
All of yesterday was a long walk. The first one was a walk to the beach next to Barceloneta with Jade and Vicky. Despite their heavy accent we managed to kick off a smooth conversation. Both of them are going to do their masters and they have been living in the same hostel for three years in Manchester. Our walk varied a lot in pace because both of them had blisters on their feet. Olympic, though right next to yesterdays Platja (Beach) looked way different. It was smaller and the crown very local. The only overlap was the East Asian Massagers who never seemed to get any good business and Pakistani drink sellers (who didnt seem to be doing any better).
On our way back we had a glimpse of a Flamenco (or Bolero) performance at Placa del Cathedral, before the largely grey cloud compromised for a short while. This is a very small cathedral with cobble stones and a Cathedral (being renovated). There are a huge number of Antique stalls here, though the antiquity of the multicoloured ring Jade got or some of the utensils kept are debatable. The sellers were mostly old citizens (probably trying to clean their houses of the mess as well!).
We took new Carrers (smaller alleys) and had melted chocolate with cream from one of the Xocoladoes.
At Placa Catalunya, we saw another crowd. And it was growing. It even grew near to yesterdays proportions. But this time it was a more jovial lot. They sang songs, they had flags, and they climbed on every lamppost and statues to receive their heroes into their town. Out came a truck from a major street corner. There was a high stage and on it were Ronaldihno, Messey, Eto...and others. Barca (This is how the club is known) was back in town. High decibel music filled the air. Ronaldihno led the swing with the beat. They sprayed champagne at the millions gathered down there. Helicopters and police vans kept escort. I felt a victorious Roman army was entering their town.
Late evening, it was a largely unplanned stroll to Avenguda Parallel, that runs almost parallel to La Rambla, into the largely poorer parts of the town and then back, with Chelsie and Bonney (Both from Minnesota). We had food from the Pakistani run joint I went to earlier and pushed ourselves back to Centric Point.
I am yet to get Yifan or Fransesc online I have to visit Pedreda and Sagrada Familia morrow. And sad, the batteries of the Camera have worn down!
SAGRADA FAMILIA AND A WONDERFUL PERSON20TH OF MAY
Catalan version of modernism is linked to Parisian Avant Garde. It rides very much on the new found trade opening after the lift of ban on American trade (end of 1800s). Industries, especially the ones based on raw materials, flourished. The city expanded. Lixample (The enlargement) is the grid like expansion. Gaudi must have been a phenomenon of Renaixenca (Catalan renaissance) and sagrada Familia is his masterpiece. Sagrada Familia or Sacred Family was started on the popes call to create some sort of ethics into a society which was growing wealthy.
The result was an extremely ornate stone structure with spires standing for the apostles. But some of the apostles had to wait for Gaudi died in one of the earliest recorded Tram accidents! The rest of the apostles are in the making and this depends a lot on the generous donations. Gaudi was preoccupied with Colours (not in this Cathedral, but in the Park Guell he designed and in some other works), Contours (The rippling contours of La Pedrara or the Quarry in the street I live), and with the Reptilian Family for some reason.
So it is sensible that words like "Sanctus" or "Apostolos" is carved all over the Cathedral for otherwise all those Reptiles (Dragons and some other Lizards) that crawl all over the church would give other impressions.
Like many other Sacred structures, the iconoclastic Anarchists of Catalonia took time to destroy as much as they could of this structure as well. They did a good job converting many of the Extravagant buildings to schools and hospitals and unions took control. The Anarchists of Catalonia resisted Franco (lined up with Mussolini and Hitler) for a longer time the Castillian compatriots.
Though I did go around the cathedral I didnt go to many of the other modernist architectures here. But I went back to La Rambla. Here a demonstration was brewing up against police action near Mexico city that left one killed and many injured. The Zapatista movement had given the call for demonstration and a group here walked from the Placa Catalonia (Start of Rambla) to the Columbus structure at the other end.
Here I got a pat on the shoulder and a "Hey Hello". This was Yifan! He was with his mother. Later we walked around many other parts like the predominantly South American immigrant part, to the beach and then back. Yifan leaves for Berlin tomorrow. It was a happy meeting in Catalonia.
But it was a different scene today morning. I just happened to be at reception to know why my sheets were removed and they told me that I have a room change as a group was coming. I know this is a peculiar tradition in this hostel. But the fact that they hadnt informed me prior made me rush with the shift. By the time I was back in my room many of my things (gladly only slippers and towels) were being transferred to the bin by a lady who can only speak Spanish!
I was lucky to have my main bag with money and passport with me. Later I changed room. I made it clear at reception that this was a bad way to do thing. They admitted (what else to do) and apologised.
I didnt have any plan for the day except for being here and possibly meeting more travellers (Yesterday I met Amir and Shaloo from Canada. The latter is Canadian India and a Jain).
So I came to the cafe/bar and I met again (I had met her yesterday) the Irish woman who works at the bar. Her name is Roisin (Roshin). This was the best meeting of the trip. She has been working here for some time to make some money and is a very sensible person. She wants to go back to Ireland next year and study music (more Ethnomusic). We talked so much about so many things, including the difference in feeling when they drink milk fresh from the cow! She is very close with the family and is extremely critical of the Catholic social domination. But there was more to it than just talk. We communicated a lot over coffee and she might visit us in Kerala when she has more money.
I have this strange feeling of sadness when I see travellers come and go. I know this is how it works in such trips. Its full of arrivals and departures. Roisin helped me a lot through that. All of you would like to meet her.
FINAL HOURS IN CATALUNYA20TH TO 21ST OF MAY
Every day at around seven in the evening Joan Pereira comes to Passeig de Gracias and sits by the part leading to Place Catalunya. He plays flute melodiously and breaks into silence and watches the thousands who pass by everyday. Once I got into a conversation with him. He was very happy and was philosophical about life in this city. He gave me a book with old Catalan poetry and said its the Catalunyan melodies he tries to play. He sums up the booklet with his ideas about the beauty of social over the personal.
Barcelona may have looked like a huge party at times. But here I have met wonderful/helpful Catalunyans on the streets, some characters to take back with, felt what football is and was with the huge variety of people in the placas, carreros and platjas (beaches).
I hope the real estate business that brought up lifeless skyscrapers around the beach never have its way, I hope the food chains will never take away the cross talks, tapas, croquettas, and cava of local restaurants, I hope Roisin goes back to Ireland and makes more music (I already listened to the few she made) and I hope Joan Pereira comes to Passeig de Gracias everyday. Bye Barcelona...
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[I lost the negatives and most of the prints of snaps from Greece, Italy, and Portugal to moisture- I was yet to go digital!]Its Cloudy, Still I am in Rome!
All roads lead to Rome; Rome was not built in a day, Be a Roman when in Rome...and here I am in the land of Caesars, Pope, Mafia and Berlusconi, among more than fifty million voracious Pasta eaters who are called Italians.
The flight till over Italy was hopeful. A Norwegian lady who was taking a break to Italy talked for a while with me. She took a different flight from Amsterdam.
But right there over the peninsula clouds loomed over and down in Roma (as Italians call it) I didn’t feel that its noon. It was a grey light all over and it was quite warm. I couldn’t get much of a help from the Italians I saw, full of gestures, but one of help. Finally somehow, after a train journey that lasted more than thirty minutes and reminiscent of then ones back home (both the sluggish train and rail side scenes) I reached Stazione Termini, the largest one of its kind here.
But it was not Italy that I found here. It was China. On the streets, in the shops, and finally even in the Aladino Hostel it was the same scene. I felt confused. The dingy hostel or substandard dormitory didn’t reassure either.
I will have to seek some help and start it all today. The time is short; I am in Italy, now I have to find Italians!
From the Colosseum to a Street Demonstration
Finally I roamed around the Forum, the several Arches (many made their marks through these arches...when you pass by you pass through me!) and of course the Colosseum; never really caring what all was about. I was a bit tired and Rome was too much. The place was not built in a day and I was quite sure that the little time I am here I cannot even wonder at one of those magnificent structures. At least I wanted to take a good look at the once bloody Colosseum.
There was some restoration work going on inside. Besides this is the tourist season. One half of the upper tier (it is a three tiered structure) has fallen off, probably after an earthquake (it never really bothered to fall down with the Gladiatorial quakes).
I walked past the fancy Gladiators who roamed around to be photographed with to the via Sacra (the sacred road). On both sides could be seen the Fora Romana or the Roman Forum. The ancient Roman Forum used to be the commercial, political and religious centre. But from the 4th century AD, with the declining Roma Empire, the forum also declined to acquire the status of Campo Veccino (cow field!).
The absence of guidelines (yes there were Latin inscriptions, which was Greek to me!) or informed company made all those structures; the basilicas, the columns, the temples that spread over the seven hills of Rome (these are the, Palatine, Capitoline, Aventine, Ceulian, Esquiline, Viminial and Quirinal; that hosts the structures ranging from the Colosseum at an end to the new Administrative building on the other) seemed nothing but breathtaking.
I walked past the Black Marble slab that is supposed to have covered Romulus (One of those Wolf reared brothers who eventually founded Rome. If Remus had done that Rome would be called Reme!) tomb near the Curia (meeting place of senate). Distinguished folks, from Julius Caesar and Augustus to Domitian has contributed to this Curia.
Thin long bricks which were cemented together made most of the structures and perhaps distinguished Roman architecture from the Greek predecessors (I am sure there must be a thousand other factors). The mythical Greek architecture seemed to be replaced by the secular here. The resurgence of classicism during the baroque as seen in some of the structures like the Trevi fountain (with huge number of people throwing coins over their shoulders to get Italian lovers) or Mussolini’s revivalist additions seemed to characterise more propaganda than art. Sheer power seemed to exude from every structure be that the colosseum, the forum, the Byzantine structures erected by Constantine or the later additions by Benito Mussolini (shouting loud his legacy). By the way power is inevitable for one of the earliest, if not the earliest empires of the world.
But despite the magnificence of Ancient Rome what impressed me more was the accidental encounter with a street demonstration. I always wanted to witness one of those huge demonstrations that we have all witnessed in TV. Here in the front of the monument for the Unknown Soldier thousands and thousands sandwiched between police battalions protested the privatisation policies of the Educational minister. Italians with all their passion sang and shouted past me with their banners waving and in the heavy gust of wind that blew up the sand everywhere.
On my way back to China with Gelato (Italian ice-cream...delicious) and headache I attended a small church service at Santa Maria Maggiore. This is one of the four patriarchal basilicas (on the Esquiline hill) built in 5th century AD. The ornate interior was fabulous. Cardinals in their pink robes sermonised out in the church yard. People who came to pray, to talk and to smoke mixed together. As Julia says (the Italian girl I talked to at Fantoft) Catholicism is now more like a frame with less content. Cardinals in their pink robes too seemed more like exhibits in a museum after some time.
At Aladino Alberto cooked the dinner (noodles and some meat stuffings) and I talked to some Swiss high school students and my Polish roommates (they work in a company that manufactures hiking equipments). Then I slept.
I hope Michelangelo would do some magic on top of the magnificence I felt about the Colosseum.
San Pietro and then the shouting Italians
Breakfast at Aladino was nothing much to talk about. But there is for sure a home like environ when many from may places congregate there and eat in the Kitchen. The rabbit that hops all around and a brown hen that shits all around makes the scene better.
Today I took the metro. Metro stations in Rome seem to be in the centre of the earth after standing in those escalators that go a lot down the ground. And I read somewhere that they couldn’t put as much metros as they wanted as every time they dig they come across some archaeological find. The empire still keeps its impact!
Vatican is the smallest independent state on earth with its own postal system, policing (though Italian army will come of much use in a real need!), and governance. So I entered a nation in a nation when I got into Piazza San Pietro (or the St. Peters Square). Though the Basilica, with the largest dome on earth imposingly stood there, I was more taken in by the huge number of people amassed at the piazza. I thought something special was on (but later Andreas told me this is a regular Sunday crowd!). I should add that though there were so many at least half of them were evidently tourists. The pope gained sovereignty over this city thanks to Mussolini (1929). Now Ratzinger enjoys that and I saw him blessing from that famous window.
The piazza (square) with two semicircular colonnades surrounding it with their Doric pillars was designed by Bernini (here he scored a lot over his contemporary Borromini). With an obelisk(brought to Rome by none other than Caligula-when he got some free time- from Heliopolis in Ancient Egypt) in the middle this is the place where we all recently watched the spectacle in televisions.
Pappachan was not a name that I, even in my remotest imaginations, would have imagined to confront in Vatican. But I did. Pappachan from Angamaly and Jose from Maala were searching for a place where they can get a phone card. I managed to help them out a bit. They were here with a group. I did feel a bit nostalgic in Vatican!
Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish steps are one of the most popular gathering places in Rome. The Spanish steps are so called because of the Spanish embassy to the holy see. It was the French who commissioned it! Here too what astonished me was the sheer number of people. On the right side of these steps could be seen the house where Keats died. This is now a Keats Shelly house.
I couldn’t stop myself buying more and more ice-cream. If Lisbon was its pudding, Rome is its Gelato. The pizza tastes different here or it tastes like Pizza here!
Back in Aladino some of the people I met had already vacated. I watched the Italian sports channel (one of the RAI TV wings run by none other than Berlusconi) and talked to an American soldier who was taking an off from their base in Sicily (another one of those places).
Andreas was complaining about the Italians who shouted for no reason across the windows above (on the floors above they fought for trivial things). I enjoyed it. May be that is because I was never here before.
Maria…
I woke up just by the end of breakfast time after a long night walk through via di Tritone and via di Corso when. But I didn’t feel a sense of triumph as the breakfast was some good old rusks and coffee!
I don’t know whether it was Rome or Maria that stole the day. I got down at Octaviano once more hoping getting in the Sistine Chapel. I happened to meet five more people hoping the same. Among them was Maria from Mexico. I haven’t seen this much energy in my life. She loves everything in the world, and she knows too many things. We were all turned down by the anaconda like queue to the Museums and Sistine. Two of them immediately left Vatican. The other two went to see if they could get a pass for Pope’s Wednesday blessings. Maria and I took long walks in and around Vatican. This girl knew more than I could imagine. She told me about the countryside of France, the agricultural villages of Verona, philosophy and people...and all through hands on experience. And all this in nineteen years of life.
All through our walk she kept on asking people whether she can help them take their snaps. Some were evidently happy, some thought she would run away with the camera! It was so easy walking with her as she spoke good Italian (one among the languages she learned through living with them) and we went to the Spanish steps once again and then to Piazza Navona passing by the Trevi fountain.
Some Italians were fighting in the narrow alleys that led to Navona. They shouted and even spit on each others face, ending the fight the Italian style. Dogs and Cats (Rome has more cats than anywhere else in the world) played around a group that plays Cellos and Violins. Piazza Navona was laid on the ruins of Domitians stadium and in the middle of this piazza could be seen another one of Bernini’s masterpieces. It is called Fontana dei Quatro Fiumi (fountain of four rivers-Nile Danube Plata and interestingly Ganges! - Nile and Ganges tells a lot about the range of interactions in those times.)
By noon we had at least three Gelatos. I am quite sure that it would be one of the noblest acts if I can manage to bring this Italian Ice-cream back to all of you. But alas its ice cream. We took a few snaps around, browsed through one of the book exhibitions and went to the Pantheon. The pantheon is the best preserved ancient building in Roma. Built by Marcus Agrippa, the son in law of Augustus in 27 BC this huge temple was rebuilt by Hadrian (one of his several construction works in the Greco Roman world). Later Raphael got a chance to be buried there.
By late evening Maria suggested that we walk towards Fiume Tevere, the river that divided Vatican city and Centre of Rome. We gazed at Castello di Angelo from the bridge and walked back to San Pietro. We met the two other travellers that were met with in the morning. Both of them were in a hurry to get back to the room. Maria was talking enthusiastically about a new book by Dan Brown and dancing (I cannot call it walking) all the way to the Metro.
We bid adieu but we might meet at the Pantheon before I leave.
I walked around Piazza Boromini till around one and wondered whether it was Rome, Maria or Maria in Rome that had the magic. Anyway it wasn’t Michelangelo.
I checked out of Aladino today morning after talking to my roommates (A Costa Rican\German-couple and a Mechanic in the US Army).
Threw the Coin!
And met we did at the Pantheon. It was showering all morning. We got inside this ancient temple and wondered at the largest masonry of its kind, the dome with a huge hole in the middle. The rain falls into the temple but is instantly drained off by the twenty five holes on the middle of the floor. Maria so much wanted to see the tomb of Rafael. But alas just this one was closed for renovation. We went to an ancient looking pizza house and had what appeared to be some antique pizza, though very delicious.
She said she is accompanying me to the Stazione termini. So we started a long walk to Piazza Barberini in the course of which Maria reserved a ticket for a Puccini opera and we stopped at Trevi for the coin has to be thrown to be back here one day. Maria kept on talking to many Italians on the way, sometimes about nothing.
From Barberini we took a metro to Termini. Sadly a Train to Fumicini was right there about to leave. In that moment I thought I had to take this to avoid some risk. I took the train to Fumicini, the same way I came, but after we kissed goodbye...Rome, Maria and me. I was too early at Fumicini. I felt that there is too much time. I could have taken the next train.
I was not in a mood to go out into Amsterdam. But them I met two Dutch students who were on their way back home. We talked about many things. They told me to accompany them and that they have a special pass. They said I should at least take a walk and go back. Jasper and Margo were friendly and after getting out they gave me a picture of the place. So I started the good old walk in and around the dam square, past many canals and the well known red light zone (women with bored faces stood by the window. Here they even have a union and pay taxes!). Canals in Amsterdam makes some call this place the Venice of North. But there cannot be a Venice in North. I took an early morning train back to Schipol where I dozed, walked, window shopped and waited. I was tired and blank.
Before boarding the flight I happened to talk to a man and wife from Georgia. I was surprised at the alphabets in the book he was reading. That is how we started the talk. It turned out that Georgia has an alphabet of its own (doesn’t look either like Latin or Cyrillic, but more like Amharic! as the Ethiopian who was sitting nearby testified) and the Man was the Educational Minister of Georgia.
After an hour and a half flight I landed in Bergen. There was a slight shower and everything looked the same.
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Barcelona: Diary from the Catalan City
26 DEGREES, GAUDI, CATALANS16TH OF MAY
Tracing a very familiar track via Schiphol, Amsterdam....with all the Schiphol background of - watch your steps... you are delaying flight..we will proceed to off load your luggage, Amsterdam I am now here in Barcelona, the capital city of Catalonia. Rod was my fellow traveller up to El Prat de Llobregat from Schiphol. He is from South Africa and was on his way to Valencia, another Catalan place, to strike a Tile/business deal. He is from Cape Town and has been here before. Three days of business and four days of entertainment seemed a nice bet.
From El Prat there was this Catalonian biotechnologist who gave me a brief introduction to many things and stood as an optimistic symbol of Catalonian character, which I hope will carry through!
26 degrees was never in my wildest dreams. But Barcelona did it for me. Spain on a first sight looked a dry terrain -Norway appeared a rocky one much earlier- but that changed once the train reached the city centre. Passeig de Gracia is lined with Modernist architecture of Gaudi, who designed most of the Catalan version of Art Nouvoue. 33rd building on this street is my Hostel. I checked into this 6 bed dorm. It seems properly kept, I am yet to meet a room mate.
Some say the name Barcelona comes from Hannibal Barca, the tormentor of Rome, the symbol of Carthaginian might, who took pains to cross the Alps with his Elephant mounted troop. Well, he had his time here and added some more leafs to Barcelonan history, which as in many other parts of Europe has been through Romans, Barbarians (Visigoths, Franks), Moors, and as a distinction (that many Catalonians recent) the Spanish (Castilian Majority).
I have to see whether it was worth for Hannibal to come all the way...Its evening now
WALK THROUGH LA RAMBLAMAY 17
La Rambla in Catalan means river and there are two of it here between which lies the present city. I walked towards the North Eastern border of thecity, past the smaller divisions of the long avenue of La Rambla with tworoads and a paved walk way in between that stretches from Placa (Plaza) deCatalunya to Placa del Portal De La Pau.
The walk to and fro takes you back and forth through the history ofCatalunya and here it is very much connected to the larger Castillian past.The monument (Centenario Descuremento) at Portal de la Pau celebrates the start of American treasure hunt that fattened the Spanish Empire. But toreach here I went past the Roman, Gothic, Medieval and Modern parts of the street. Short detours to Placa de Pie or Placa de Rieal (Royal) provides a peep into the medieval or more modern neo classical architecture. The latter placa is completely off the roads and streets and provides a cocoon-temperament.
Towards the end of Rambla and from the de la Pau (On the western side ofwhich is a small hill overlooking the sea Montjujic?) to Barceloneta couldbe seen the modern high rise buildings that tout the new real estate aspirations and concomitant ugliness. There are two huge structures built during Barcelona Olympics which are miserable enough. The beaches atBarcelonetta, which used to be fishermens quarters, have been made usable inthe last decade.
By late evening I started to walk back, rewinding history on the way. Thistime I took detours to the other side Rambla. Reval is considered to be themore dangerous part of the town. Its mainly so with pick pocketers and tricksters. But all along the way there are scores of street performers,giants, midgets, acrobats...
I had dinner (Stake and Bulls Eye...Earlier I had the famous Xocolata(Chocolate) puffs) at a joint run by Pakistani immigrants. This guy was verynice to me and told not to go too much into narrow alleys in Reval. I didnttoo much.
Back at Centric I met Eric (Brazilian studying in Minnesota), a group from California (who got away from Swarzeneggar), and later today morning Sun,from Thailand.We might go to beach and a special Museum after a while. I called Yifan,though he was out.
BEACH AT BARCELONETA AND THE UNBELIEVABLE MAY 18TH
Sun is a Thai girl I met here. On her suggestion we strolled towards the small beach at Barcelonetta, through the Ramblas. The beach was very full, with happy souls ready to receive sun, lying on the towels as they were born.
Sun works in for the Scandinavian air and was here on a cheap ticket. She has already been to many places this way. We spent quite a long time here before Museu d'Historia de Catalunya. The Museum used to be a warehouse, and the proximally to Port Vella, the oldest one here, explains that. It does not house as many originals when compared to Athens or Rome. But certainly it is one of the best kept museums and as one ascends one traverse through the stages of Catalunyan past, starting from the stone age to relief from Franco. Their history is replete with revolutions and anarchy.
By afternoon both of us were tired enough for a special variety of Pita. A guy in the small joint offered us a highly alcoholic drink. We got into a spontaneous conversation, which comes easy here.
Street performers were everywhere. People with flags were all around. Groups of people in red and blue stripes were singing songs. Today Barcelona was playing Arsenal in the finals
If there used to be any unbelievable incidents in my life I am ready to replace it all. Today I confronted what football can be. What unravelled on the streets and all over the town here was something extraordinary. If the build up on the streets on our way back was amazing I don't have the right word for the culmination!
La Rambla was electric and I dared to be there for a while. I saw before my eyes more than two million coming to this main street after their clubs victory. I saw people yelling from every single building. Slogans, songs, flags, and crackers picked up. Fireworks were replaced by fire. Traffic stopped. Cars danced at the traffic lights. People hung out of the doors and stood atop the cars. Police and ambulance vans parked by. People did the strangest of acts.
When I walked back to room more out of safety reasons, I felt like the only one walking against a huge tide. A cracker burst nearby. A girl flicked from behind my knee while I was taking some finishing snaps. People were running amok everywhere and dancing on the busiest streets and in the fountains.
Later when I was resting in the lobby with some others a mob pushed us inside. We did not know what was happening. I saw some policemen jump out of vans. I heard gunshots, bursting of glass...
We were all told to go to the common rooms, bar or rooms. This was riot. I felt lucky to be back and I came back to save my CAMERA!!!
From the dormitory bed I could still hear the songs, slogans, sirens and the honking of horns (they did it like Barca ...Barca...). I slept, adding a thousand more leaves to the phenomenon called Football. In Catalunya, there was more to it as some of the Catalunyan slogans indicated.
I met Vicky and Jade from Manchester and Yorkshire tonight
TO OLYMPIC WITH ENGLISH, TO PARALLEL WITH AMERICANS19TH OF MAY
All of yesterday was a long walk. The first one was a walk to the beach next to Barceloneta with Jade and Vicky. Despite their heavy accent we managed to kick off a smooth conversation. Both of them are going to do their masters and they have been living in the same hostel for three years in Manchester. Our walk varied a lot in pace because both of them had blisters on their feet. Olympic, though right next to yesterdays Platja (Beach) looked way different. It was smaller and the crown very local. The only overlap was the East Asian Massagers who never seemed to get any good business and Pakistani drink sellers (who didnt seem to be doing any better).
On our way back we had a glimpse of a Flamenco (or Bolero) performance at Placa del Cathedral, before the largely grey cloud compromised for a short while. This is a very small cathedral with cobble stones and a Cathedral (being renovated). There are a huge number of Antique stalls here, though the antiquity of the multicoloured ring Jade got or some of the utensils kept are debatable. The sellers were mostly old citizens (probably trying to clean their houses of the mess as well!).
We took new Carrers (smaller alleys) and had melted chocolate with cream from one of the Xocoladoes.
At Placa Catalunya, we saw another crowd. And it was growing. It even grew near to yesterdays proportions. But this time it was a more jovial lot. They sang songs, they had flags, and they climbed on every lamppost and statues to receive their heroes into their town. Out came a truck from a major street corner. There was a high stage and on it were Ronaldihno, Messey, Eto...and others. Barca (This is how the club is known) was back in town. High decibel music filled the air. Ronaldihno led the swing with the beat. They sprayed champagne at the millions gathered down there. Helicopters and police vans kept escort. I felt a victorious Roman army was entering their town.
Late evening, it was a largely unplanned stroll to Avenguda Parallel, that runs almost parallel to La Rambla, into the largely poorer parts of the town and then back, with Chelsie and Bonney (Both from Minnesota). We had food from the Pakistani run joint I went to earlier and pushed ourselves back to Centric Point.
I am yet to get Yifan or Fransesc online I have to visit Pedreda and Sagrada Familia morrow. And sad, the batteries of the Camera have worn down!
SAGRADA FAMILIA AND A WONDERFUL PERSON20TH OF MAY
Catalan version of modernism is linked to Parisian Avant Garde. It rides very much on the new found trade opening after the lift of ban on American trade (end of 1800s). Industries, especially the ones based on raw materials, flourished. The city expanded. Lixample (The enlargement) is the grid like expansion. Gaudi must have been a phenomenon of Renaixenca (Catalan renaissance) and sagrada Familia is his masterpiece. Sagrada Familia or Sacred Family was started on the popes call to create some sort of ethics into a society which was growing wealthy.
The result was an extremely ornate stone structure with spires standing for the apostles. But some of the apostles had to wait for Gaudi died in one of the earliest recorded Tram accidents! The rest of the apostles are in the making and this depends a lot on the generous donations. Gaudi was preoccupied with Colours (not in this Cathedral, but in the Park Guell he designed and in some other works), Contours (The rippling contours of La Pedrara or the Quarry in the street I live), and with the Reptilian Family for some reason.
So it is sensible that words like "Sanctus" or "Apostolos" is carved all over the Cathedral for otherwise all those Reptiles (Dragons and some other Lizards) that crawl all over the church would give other impressions.
Like many other Sacred structures, the iconoclastic Anarchists of Catalonia took time to destroy as much as they could of this structure as well. They did a good job converting many of the Extravagant buildings to schools and hospitals and unions took control. The Anarchists of Catalonia resisted Franco (lined up with Mussolini and Hitler) for a longer time the Castillian compatriots.
Though I did go around the cathedral I didnt go to many of the other modernist architectures here. But I went back to La Rambla. Here a demonstration was brewing up against police action near Mexico city that left one killed and many injured. The Zapatista movement had given the call for demonstration and a group here walked from the Placa Catalonia (Start of Rambla) to the Columbus structure at the other end.
Here I got a pat on the shoulder and a "Hey Hello". This was Yifan! He was with his mother. Later we walked around many other parts like the predominantly South American immigrant part, to the beach and then back. Yifan leaves for Berlin tomorrow. It was a happy meeting in Catalonia.
But it was a different scene today morning. I just happened to be at reception to know why my sheets were removed and they told me that I have a room change as a group was coming. I know this is a peculiar tradition in this hostel. But the fact that they hadnt informed me prior made me rush with the shift. By the time I was back in my room many of my things (gladly only slippers and towels) were being transferred to the bin by a lady who can only speak Spanish!
I was lucky to have my main bag with money and passport with me. Later I changed room. I made it clear at reception that this was a bad way to do thing. They admitted (what else to do) and apologised.
I didnt have any plan for the day except for being here and possibly meeting more travellers (Yesterday I met Amir and Shaloo from Canada. The latter is Canadian India and a Jain).
So I came to the cafe/bar and I met again (I had met her yesterday) the Irish woman who works at the bar. Her name is Roisin (Roshin). This was the best meeting of the trip. She has been working here for some time to make some money and is a very sensible person. She wants to go back to Ireland next year and study music (more Ethnomusic). We talked so much about so many things, including the difference in feeling when they drink milk fresh from the cow! She is very close with the family and is extremely critical of the Catholic social domination. But there was more to it than just talk. We communicated a lot over coffee and she might visit us in Kerala when she has more money.
I have this strange feeling of sadness when I see travellers come and go. I know this is how it works in such trips. Its full of arrivals and departures. Roisin helped me a lot through that. All of you would like to meet her.
FINAL HOURS IN CATALUNYA20TH TO 21ST OF MAY
Every day at around seven in the evening Joan Pereira comes to Passeig de Gracias and sits by the part leading to Place Catalunya. He plays flute melodiously and breaks into silence and watches the thousands who pass by everyday. Once I got into a conversation with him. He was very happy and was philosophical about life in this city. He gave me a book with old Catalan poetry and said its the Catalunyan melodies he tries to play. He sums up the booklet with his ideas about the beauty of social over the personal.
Barcelona may have looked like a huge party at times. But here I have met wonderful/helpful Catalunyans on the streets, some characters to take back with, felt what football is and was with the huge variety of people in the placas, carreros and platjas (beaches).
I hope the real estate business that brought up lifeless skyscrapers around the beach never have its way, I hope the food chains will never take away the cross talks, tapas, croquettas, and cava of local restaurants, I hope Roisin goes back to Ireland and makes more music (I already listened to the few she made) and I hope Joan Pereira comes to Passeig de Gracias everyday. Bye Barcelona...
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Mails from Paris:
Day One: “The
Unlucky National Day”
I live in the worst part of an otherwise
overcrowded city. Paris
is the second densest city in the western hemisphere after Manhattan. This French keyboard I use is the
most puzzling one...
The whole day was spent walking to make
some sense towards the town centre and I didn’t get much out of it. Apart from
stopping a bit at a group of the urban antiglobalisation demonstrators who
chose the national day [July 14] to sing dance and protest, there was
nothing happening. The Louvre closed earlier after remaining open for free!
till evening. I missed this national day offer. I walked back past the Grand
Opera in Paris.
Shaun from Oklahoma and I decided to see the
celebrations around Eiffel tower in the night. The fireworks and the
illuminated iron structure didn’t interest me. The millions who camped outside
were interesting though. By the time Shaun finished his quota of daily wine we
were a bit late to be in the front of a terrible crowd for the last metro.
Though we managed half way to Charles de Gaulle Etoile, we suffered afterwards.
It was difficult to find night buses. I decided to go back to the Arch of
Triumph [so many arches in Europe] and wait
till morning. I don’t know how I spent four hours sitting idle with no
restaurant open apart from elite ones on Champs Elysees].
The bums on the roads playing with crackers all around added irritation.
Finally after 5:30 I got
the metro to the miserable Barbes into Friends! hostel.
My only hope for the day was the famous Champs Elysees along which I walked that afternoon. Half
the way was filled with French National day celebration barricades and half the
way the avenue was boarded by expensive shopping malls. When compared with Barcelona’s Rambla this
one was dead!
I hope to get in Louvre tomorrow. By the
way I got the room for Saturday as well in the same place.
AFTER THIS MAIL I COULDN’T SEND MAILS FROM PARIS. SO I WROTE THE
FOLLOWING ON MY WAY BACK…
I ended up in a quite special place on the
North East of the inner ring of Paris,
a city organised spirally into 20 arrondissements municipaux. It can be called
‘little Algeria’
with a touch of Arabic everywhere; Arabic music and Men at junction talking in
Arabic and selling ‘Marlboro’ (as if everyone in the world is desperate for a
puff). There were ‘toppings’ of Tamil and off course French! as well. Unlike
the off centre places I’ve stayed in before, there was something that turned me
down immediately. But this didn’t stop me taking my usual walks along the
streets in order to get the orientation of the city (I use Metros to the places
I already walked to). But this time I ended up walking roughly 35 kilometres
the first day, around 25 the next, and a little lesser on the day before I
left.
Friday night under Arc de Triomphe had
exhausted me. The next day I found a note from Shawn on my bed with his Oklahoma address. He had
left for some other destination. I was waiting for Louvre and I made it there
today (Saturday), changing the metro line once at Charles de Gaulle Etoile. The
Louvre began as a fortified palace with Philip Augustus in 1190 and pendulated
from a house of art and to palace before getting opened as a museum for public
after the French revolution.
It now houses Italian and Spanish paintings,
19th century French paintings, Appolo gallery, crown jewels, Italian
Spanish and Northern European sculptures, Greek Etruscan and Roman antiquities,
Roman Coptic Egyptian Islamic arts, and arts from Africa, Asia, and the
Americas. After taking the escalator down from the 20th century
glass pyramid that dons the central yard (and considered odd by many) I get to
the ticket counter.
I take the stairs to Denon, one of the
three main wings (the others being Sully and Richelieu) that I managed to skim
in full. The sculpture of the Winged Victory of Samothrace ascended over me as
I climbed the stairs. I could easily imagine the eeriness Dan Brown talks about
of seeing this statue in the dark. Not having read the novel, I couldn’t
obviously keep watch on the references to this place.
I started with the nineteenth century
French paintings and went to the older Italian ones: Napoleon sur de Champ de
Bataille D’ Eglau, La Liberte Guidant de Peuple and La Mort de Sardanopole by
Eugene Delacroix; St. Jerome Penitent, La Femme au Meroir and Allegorie
Conjugale by Tiziana Vecellio who is known as Titian; L’Entre de Animaux dans
l’Monde (Noah story) by Bassano; Venus by Lambert Frederich Shuster; Les Noces
de Cana (The Wedding Feast at Cana) by Paul Caliari otherwise known as
Veronese- this painting is often compared with The Last Supper; La Vierge
a’l’Enfant avec St. Baptiste by Giovanni Boltraffio; La Vierge et l’Enfant en
Majeste by Lenni di Pepe; Le Christ jardinière apparait a’ St. Madeline or Noli
me Tangere (Christ reveals his resurrection to Mary Magdeline- a painting whose
choreography suggests more than that!) by Bronzino and off course Mona Lisa
(Portrait of Lisa Gerardini, wife of Francesco del Giocondo), La Vierge aux
Roches (The Virgin of the Rocks), and St. Jean Baptiste-Bacchus by Leonardo
DaVinci. St. Baptiste appeared to be one of the preoccupations of many painters
here. More impressive at times was the
museum itself. The ceilings, the salons and the hallways were extraordinary.
Dan Brown (form the beginning parts I
managed to read) has altered the real topography of Louvre probably for the
purpose of narrative. But the novel would have given me a narrative to go
through especially given the short time I had for this formidable museum.
I went quickly around some of the
sculptures in Sully though not too quick around Aphrodite, Venus de Milo as she
is popularly known! Discovered on the Island of Melos
in the Cyclades, this marble statue is dated
130 to 100 B.C. The use of iron dowels to join the pieces was a technique
characteristic of the workshops on Rhodes and Cyclades in the B.C. s. But the iron dowels doesn’t
matter much for this and other ones like the Psyche and Cupid!
FROM SATURDAY EVENING: Mieke and Tielke from Holland ended up in the same hostel after a
free ride from Holland.
Their plan was to hitchhike from Paris
to Avignon
(which they later realised was a bit too south). Most others in the hostel were
from the U.S.
or Australia
who persistently proved certain stereotypes! Shawn though was an exception. He
left a note for me that morning as I was sleeping after I came back from the
centre only that morning. He had travelled all the way from Pamplona (known for the famous bull race in Spain) in
Train. There were some peaceful Cantonese speaking Chinese as well.
Mieke Tielke and I ended up going to places
together thereafter. We started with the cathedral of Sacre Coeur on Montmarte.
This place, the only place worth visiting near to where we stayed, was live
with people sitting all over the steps that run down along the sides of the
hill where the cathedral is. From here we could see the crowded Paris. This is a city
second in density only to Manhattan
(in all of Europe and North
America). The earlier political talks in the cafes of Montmarte
and art works on the walls of café shops have given way to funiculars and
tourists. The famous Moulin Rouge that used to be full of people, Bohemian
life, and Grande Fete is nearby.
Later that night (or by 1 a.m.) I took a walk from Boulevard de la
Chappelle to Boulevard de la Clichy, past the infamous Pigalle. The walk was
quite dull.
On Sunday we decided to go to the Notre
Dame. This one is a typical Roman Cathedral shaped as a cross with long nave
and two arms joining at the head. What seemed different are the ‘divine’ music
inside (proving that divine is human!) and the location by the Seine River.
Mieke and Tielke suggested a walk to Pere Lachaise, a cemetery with many
special tombs. We walked past the Bastille monument and into Rue de Roquette
that led to the gate. The walk was punctuated with brief halts for Glaces (ice
creams) and the small shops by the way that sold glimpses from Old Paris. The
shopkeepers here were full of life. We also took some time at a nearby park to
dip our legs in a fountain and talk for a while. Here the people were friendly.
My friends wanted to smoke cigars at Jim
Morrison’s grave and so we got there past hundreds of different structures over
the dead. I was reminded of the last shot from ‘The Good The Bad and The Ugly’.
Three days in Paris had drained me off completely. I’ve had
enough of Paris
except those friends and the Louvre. The hotel run by a set of thieves from Algeria and the
gruelling airport routines at De Gaulle (with security check every 10 steps) confirmed
my thought for moments.
I ended up sleeping the 40 minutes to Amsterdam (in the three
days I only slept around 6 hours all together) and missed a much needed orange
juice! It could also be the absence of regular mails home after the day’s sojourns
or smooth telephone talks that compounded my miseries on occasions in the 18th
arrondissement, on the outer spiral of Paris.
A good part of the time was spent deciphering the French system and schedules
of transport. The French people at the airport weren’t much of help as I had to
prompt them that my flight is supposed to leave soon before they summoned all
the Amsterdam
bound folks to the desk! On the other hand I do feel very good and happy about
the Louvre, the friends I got in Paris
and the Parisian moments thence.
Schipol with the familiar environ: people
smoking away at bars and restaurants, dozing off, doing Soduku, gulping beer;
suddenly appeared homely after the alienating Charles de Gaulle port.
I sipped a cappuccino (and later some more)
and thought munched the last three days in Paris…may be the trip was too out of
the blue or may be Paris was too far from the endearing Mediterranean.
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