Broken Beauty

Prague was no disappointment when I visited two years ago at the end of summer, but Prague before Christmas is a place of enchantment at its best. I wish I could have gathered all my family and friends in Old Town Square last Saturday, where huge evergreens twinkle with thousands of lights, aromas of fresh bread and sausage waft on the crisp (understatement) air, Christmas stalls overflow with glass ornaments and gingerbread men, horse-drawn carriages wait in a line, and a choir sings Advent carols from a nearby stage. Tyn Church looms over the square with its dark towers, glowing with yellow light from inside. We went to a 9 pm mass there last Sunday; cold enough to see our breath but mesmerizing with the candles burning in the dark against the black and gold altar. It's been the perfect place for us to end our trip; not a ton to see in the way of museums and churches, too cold to be out for very long,but no end of cafes and restaurants with hot goulash and dumplings where we can observe the outside in comfort.

I keep staring at the people here, trying to see if they all look like they could be my relatives. Some do, but I think the Krestyn family must take more after the Moravian strain of Czech - more gypsy, maybe? It's a strange thing to be in this country where I have many relatives whose names I don't even know. But we're going to try to see some of them before we leave, if possible.

And now for some last words to finish off my part of this three-month blog. It's always a shot in the dark to throw out my thoughts and impressions when I have no idea if they will sound like English to anyone else, but hopefully I still remember enough English to make a little sense.

Here's what come to mind.

Early on in our trip, back in the Franciscan friary in Chester, England, where we went to mass one Sunday, I read something out of a booklet of Benedict XVI's writing that's stuck with me throughout this trip. Writing about beauty, he said that it is the essential form of the world, though now clouded and distorted by sin. Each person, he said, has a part to play to restore to the world its original beauty. These remarks were well-timed for me, as I've had ample time to think about them as I roam the vast and varied scenes of these countries.

I know that beauty can be found everywhere, but sometimes one needs to be awakened to it by the freshness of new landscapes - particularly ones which proclaim the history of humanity in a dramatic way, in the way that the places of Europe do - often merely by being the cites of critical events, but also through art, buildings, and churches. It's a slow sinking-in for me, a gradually deepening awareness of just how all this must be relevant for me and the people around me now. Because if it's not relevant, then it's all fun and games and I can come home and forget about it, or just make art, history, or travel a hobby. But if I can come home with a new interest in continuing to understand how all this matters, this trip will have been well worth the while (and all the cold showers and flights of stairs).

My wiser acquaintances will be happy to know that I'm thoroughly convinced that problems abound everywhere, even nine thousand miles from home. There are most definitely "tears in things"- but they cry out for the restoration of that essential form, beauty. We see enough of this beauty breaking forth from mangled forms to yearn for more, and hopefully this yearning spurs us to action. Maybe it's this motivation to "play our part" that Dostoevsky was talking about when he said that "beauty will save the world."

Out of all the impressions and thoughts crammed into the past months, these are some that rise to the forefront as I think of how to wrap up my share of the blog. To all who have followed us up stairs, through freezing wind and rain, and on and off jammed metro cars, my warmest thanks. I wish for each of you to see these sights for yourselves, instead of relying on insufficient descriptions, but it's been a great favor for us to have an audience and a connection to home through our loyal readers. Notwithstanding the weather and transportation adventures, I hope you've all been encouraged to start planning your own three-month trips to Europe. Here's to the travels yet to be undertaken by each of you!

A Chapter Closes

Since extreme weariness and writing don't mix terribly well, this will be my last post of substance (I'll post a quick note when I've finally uploaded my pictures from the trip, probably in the next week or two). Fatigue causes subject matter selection to become rather more challenging than one might think; suddenly, freak rain storms take on incredible significance and rank more highly than things like, say, a visit with the pope. But the city of Rome deserves a bit more attention, as it is a fascinating place. As far as I can tell, no other modern city is built up to the same extent around such glorious ancient ruins. My growing desire to study history more deeply has been sealed by our time in Rome. One of the most moving experiences was the day we visited the Colosseum where countless numbers of Christians died for sport and then traveled less than two miles out of the city to see the catacombs along the Appian Way where these same Christians were buried. Christians were apparently required to be buried outside the city walls by Roman decree, so it seems like poetic justice that the Appian Way is now more beautiful than most of Rome. Overall, this city is a place that everyone should see at least once.

But as fascinating as Rome is, I'm not sure I could actually live there; I'm afraid I'd spend half my life stranded on street corners. More than any other city we've visited in Europe, Rome's driving situation is absolute chaos (even the people who live here think so). In London, you can safely follow the locals when crossing the street, while in Paris, you learn to do the exact opposite of the Parisians. But in Rome, you do well to dispense with crossing streets altogether. Here, there are no such things as lanes for cars to travel in. If the width of the street reasonably allows three cars to fit side by side, you can be sure that in Rome, seven cars will be packed in (and several of them will have drivers leaning out of the windows, shaking their fists and screaming at each other). Scooters and Vespas aren't required by law to stop at red lights, and major intersections in the most crowded parts of the city have no traffic signals to halt oncoming traffic. Pedestrians must rely on the strength of painted crosswalks on the street and the finely-tuned reflexes of alert Italian drivers coming back from heavy meals of pasta and wine to ensure their safety in getting from one side of the street to the other (and these aren't typical crosswalks; they span the length of several normal crosswalks). One night, after seeing two local women nearly killed by such trust, I refused to cross the street and we got lost in our attempt to find a crosswalk with a signal many blocks away. As you can imagine, it was terribly disconcerting to be taken back to the exact same intersection several nights later by an American girl who has lived in Rome for several years now. Only the fear of losing sight of my companions induced me to step into the swirling mess of Rome traffic, and I learned immediately that it is astoundingly difficult to proceed along a crosswalk when oncoming traffic is rushing at you at extremely high speeds and then screeching to a halt just inches from your person. I wasn't sure if I'd be around to actually write up the experience. . .

Fortunately, we've moved on to a calmer, more pedestrian-friendly place: the city of Prague. Prague is worlds away from the hustle and bustle of Rome. In fact, it is a city that is worlds away from anything I've ever seen. We have somehow managed to save the best for last on this trip. I've been looking forward to seeing Prague for quite a few years now, and it is a city that absolutely does not disappoint. It is a magical, breathtaking city, made up of the stuff of fairy tales and far-off lands. It is freezing here, but the light dusting of snow and the brisk weather fit in perfectly with a city that seems to function best at Christmas time. Though the pictures I've seen of the lovely greenness of Prague in the summer look wonderfully appealing, I've been told that Prague is a place that knows how to do Christmas, and the truth of these words is evident everywhere you look. They've been setting up Christmas decorations since we arrived, and this gorgeously charming city with beautiful old buildings is made all the more lovely by the strings of Christmas lights and huge Christmas trees decorating every possible open space. We are being put up in what is effectively our own little apartment (complete with a full kitchen) by some very kind and gracious friends of Anna's family (anyone noticing a pattern here?). We are taking advantage of the situation by relaxing and drinking as much tea as possible so that we can brave the cold each day for the few minutes it takes to reach whatever coffee shop or restaurant we've decided to visit for that day (our schedule is quite full here, as you can imagine). Prague is the perfect end to a long and wonderful trip.

We've had a marvelous time these past few months and it's been all the more enjoyable to write things up for this blog. Thank you all for following along and keeping up with us all this time. We've had fun trying to pick out some of the most interesting (and absurd) things to share with you; we hope it's been at least somewhat entertaining. I imagine there will be all sorts of things I can say later about what I've gained from this trip, but right now, I'm too tired to sort it all out. At the very least, I can say I've truly enjoyed this grand adventure, and I look forward to seeing what comes next (after a long, much-needed stint at home, of course!).

We will be flying out of Prague next Monday, and then out of London next Thursday. If you could please remember us in your prayers those days, we'd be most grateful. Can't wait to see (or hear from) you all soon!

For two people as tired and zoned out as Mary Jane and I are getting as we reach the end of three months' travels, it becomes increasingly challenging to get excited about new places and sights. We keep thinking about hot showers, kitchens that we can use as we please, days when we can get up and turn on the tv and do nothing.
Only a place like Rome, then, has the power to shake us from our weariness into wonder. I don't have the words right now to describe it well, so I'll just say one thing that has struck me before I speak more factually.
It's a place with the same mix of architectural beauty and modern sludge that other famous cities in Europe have, but there's more behind it than in other places. More behind the merely perceived beauty and ugliness - something which reveals itself only when sought. I haven't figured it all out yet, and to escape from the risk of rambling on without making much sense, I'll stop here, but I think what I mean has something to do with "let those who have eyes to see see, and those who have ears to hear hear..."
And on a more practical note: We were very lucky to have a tour by private car on our first day in the city, provided by some kind friends. We got an eight-hour, intense whirl through all the major sights - Trevi Fountain, Piazza Navona, Borghese Villa, Pantheon, Colosseum, and St. Peter's. At some point I pulled out my pocket notebook and started jotting down bits of info from our guide, Alfredo, who never stopped talking. He was fun; he kept complaining about how crazy the scooters are here: "You just have to not have normal brain to ride scooter in this city..." and taking us down Via del Corso, the fashion strip: "My wife is strictly forbidden to bring my credit card here..." It was great to be seated and taken around all day, and made us happy to be on our own the next day to explore what we'd seen. We tried to get to the Colosseum three times last week before we made it during the open hours; it's getting harder to do things before nightfall now that the days are short. We've also haunted the Spanish steps and the three-story McDonalds next to it several times.
Another great thing has been meeting up with people here after not knowing anyone in Italy. It's been our longest stretch of not hanging out with any friends or relatives; now that we're here, I seem to be related to everyone somehow. Have met a number of the Angelicum and Santa Croce people; we find after a few minutes that we have some mutual acquaintance and then go down a list: " Well, if you know so-and-so, then you must also know so-and-so-and-so..." We watched an old movie during a rainy afternoon at one of the girls' apartments yesterday - I had forgotten what that's like.
Highlight: we went to the papal audience on Wednesday and got a blessing for all our family and friends at home, so everyone should be feeling particularly holy for at least a few days.
Tonight is a big mass at the Lateran Basilica in honor of the consistory of cardinals, with a reception at the Irish College afterwards (we met some entertaining Irish seminarians yesterday), so that should be fun. Tomorrow we're going to the Vatican musuems and are sitting in on some classes at the Angelicum.
Two more days in Rome, then to Prague.

Time Well-Spent in Rome

One would hope that after all this time, I'd be learning some things as we go along. Something I mentioned at the very beginning of this blog was, "If something seems too good to be true, it probably is." Well, in case the lesson wasn't completely cemented, our time in Rome has certainly helped in that area. After coming from freezing cold weather in Assisi, we've been enjoying some fine warm weather in Rome. All week long, the temperature has stayed reasonably constant and our coats and scarves haven't been as firmly affixed to us as in other places. We started out on Tuesday with a wonderful all-day tour of Rome led by Alfredo, an extremely knowledgeable Italian man. The weather was beautiful, brilliant sunshine the entire day. The tour provided the best overview of a city I've ever had; all we had to do for the rest of the week was to go see things for ourselves up close (rather than from a car). We scheduled some good sight-seeing days and visited museums, the Colosseum, the Forums, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps (we've been here several times, as this is a fantastic people-watching spot from any of its 136 steps), St. Peter's and Vatican City, etc. We've also had the chance to meet up with some friends of friends, giving us a good introduction to life in Rome.

As we're nearing the end of our trip however, we're finding that we need more time to just sit and relax. So on Saturday, after several days of fairly constant sight-seeing and visiting with people, we decided to head over to the Borghese Villa area. This is one of the major park areas of Rome, and its acres and acres of lush green grass and trees are often compared to Central Park in New York. We'd glimpsed the area from the car on Tuesday, bathed in the lovely November sunshine, and couldn't wait to go back and spend time there later in the week. Despite warnings from our guidebooks that November in Rome was often rainy, we headed out on Saturday into the first overcast day we'd had in Rome yet. Blissfully ignorant of what was to come, we emerged from the subway stop into the grassy parkland and strolled deep into the foresty area, looking for the perfect spot to sit and read for awhile. We settled onto a park bench overlooking a huge green field and had only been sitting for perhaps 15 minutes when Anna chanced to remark that she loved sitting outside on days like this. I looked up at the dark, ominous clouds in the sky (actually seeing them for the first time that day) and said that I wasn't so fond of such days, since all I could think of was the possibility of rain. It wasn't cold though, and somehow expecting that fact to protect us from any foul weather, we kept talking and relaxing on the bench. We did start noticing great streaks of lightning all across the sky, followed some seconds later by loud claps of thunder, but for some reason, we still made no attempt to move. We were undoubtedly quite secure in the notion that it was impossible for us to have chosen the only rainy day in Rome as the day we wanted to sit outdoors for several hours. It wasn't until sudden drops of rain became more insistent that we actually got up to look for shelter. Thinking it would pass quickly, we strolled somewhat casually through the park, looking for an awning to stand under momentarily. But it turned out that we didn't just choose the only day of rain we'd seen all week, released in the form of light sprinkling; no, we chose the day with an unbridled torrential rain storm, complete with gailing winds that blew the rain in all directions. The umbrella pine trees we were standing under (so called because of their shape) suddenly developed holes and we were drenched in a matter of minutes. We did our best to keep cameras and backpacks dry under our coats, all the while desperately looking around for better shelter, but since we were rather deep in the park, cafès and restaurants were a bit harder to find than they are in the heart of the city. We finally made a run for it, seeing that the rain wasn't about to let up anytime soon, and we found a small amusement park ride to crowd under, along with a number of other people caught in the same predicament. Amazed that the rain was continuing unabated, we decided to buy an umbrella from the quick-thinking entrepreneur who appeared out of nowhere, laden with an endless supply of brightly-colored umbrellas. Now equipped with a bright yellow umbrella of our own (we weren't given a choice), we headed down the path to a cafè across the way. Of course (as you can all surely guess), as soon as we settled down inside with our overpriced thimbles of cappuccino to wait out the rain, it stopped completely. Classic.

The whole situation ended up being so absurd, it was just funny. One of those things where you almost can't be upset by it. Almost. But I guess the unmistakable lesson to take away here is that if you are in a car touring a large city, and the weather is absolutely gorgeous, don't count on it to be the same a few days later. Instead, leap out of the car as soon as possible and seize the day on foot. You may never get the chance again. . .

The Travels Continue. . .

One of the things we will surely miss most when we come home are all of the flights of stairs we're encountering here. I've mentioned flights of stairs before with regard to some of the sight-seeing we've been doing, particularly in Paris. But Italy takes the prize for endless amounts of stairs in all the best places. Every hotel we've been to in Italy has had its entire operation located on at least the second floor, if not higher. (And in case you're not aware of the distinction, Europe doesn't number floors the way we do. Here, the second floor really means the third floor.) We're truly enjoying the free exercise we're getting - it's particularly good since we're dead tired after coming off of navigating train stations and the streets it takes to find these hotels, all the while dragging our luggage behind us. Initially, we thought that perhaps Milan was something of a fluke. Surely every hotel isn't located on the second (third) floor of a building. But Anna, intuitive thinker that she is, knew something was up in Venice. After climbing up and down countless small stairways with all of our luggage, and then needlessly climbing the Rialto Bridge twice (at least 20 small stairways combined), all she could say when we finally found our hotel and looked up at its entrance on the second floor was "I knew it. I just knew it." The devastatingly sad tone of her voice and the look of utter exhaustion was almost more than I could handle, and it was only the sight of our hostess at the top of the stairs that kept me from near hysterics.

Fortunately though, our endless stair-climbing isn't always in vain. In the Cinque Terre, after climbing a rather steep hill to check into our room, we were led back down the exact same hill to an apartment building that housed the room we'd be staying in. Squeezing through the extremely narrow door, we looked up at the steepest stairs we've ever seen. Your stepping leg has to be at nearly a 90°-angle in order to master the step properly. There were exactly forty-four such steps (Anna counted on the way back down), zig-zagging all the way up to the top of the building. Sadly, there were eight more steps we didn't take (I was ready to see if we could switch rooms), but all of that stair-climbing led to the best deal we've had yet. We ended up getting an apartment all to ourselves: a room for each of us, a living room with a kitchen table and a sofa, and a full bathroom. Not so bad climbing all of those stairs in slow season, I guess. . . Most of the time, no one bats an eye at all of the stairs (I'm assuming all of the other similar-looking buildings have the exact same set-up we've been seeing). But in the Cinque Terre (once again), your efforts are recognized and appreciated. On the hike between the second and third town (Manarola and Corniglia, for those who are interested), there is a set of stairs that takes you up a steep hill, switch-back style. You don't necessarily realize when you start that you'll be heading uphill for quite some time, so it doesn't occur to you to count the stairs until you're breathing hard, wondering how much longer you've got to go. But a pleasant surprise awaits you at the top. A large sign reads, "Congratulations, you've just climbed 382 steps. You're now in Corniglia, right in the middle of the Cinque Terre." (Yes, I took a picture of the sign; it was too good to pass up.) I wish I could say I was immediately refreshed by such recognition of my achievement, but I think the long rest at the bench placed strategically next to the sign did me more good.

Aside from all of our unexpected exercise, we're still enjoying our tour of Italy. We've now come to the first spontaneous part of our trip, though, and have tentativly decided that perhaps it's good that we planned the rest of our trip in such great detail after all. . . After arriving in Assisi on Thursday, we decided we liked it so much that we wanted to spend an extra couple of days there. We changed our Rome accomodations without difficulty and were promptly rewarded for our decision the next day with 25°F weather and strong, freezing winds that continued for an entire day and night. We also discovered (too late) that grocery stores in small towns don't exist to actually feed people; they often just take up space between religious gift shops and patisseries (pastry shops). The only open ones we made it to (posted times don't correspond to reality) had very little to offer if you need more than canned food or hunks of uncooked meat. Consequently, the only meal we could count on each day was breakfast at our hotel. Despite pangs of hunger, we did enjoy our time in Assisi. The basilica was gorgeous, and being underground in St. Francis' tomb was a moving experience. Needless to say, we're glad to be in Rome now, with all its big-city convenience. The train station in Rome apparently has a huge underground mall, full of all the shops you could need, so since we're staying in a place right next to it, I don't think we'll be having the same sorts of difficulties as in Assisi. And now, as if we haven't gotten enough of stairs, we're going to head over to the Spanish Steps. . .We'll make sure to count them all for you and report back in the next post.

When in Rome...

Our path has finally brought us to Rome. We were actually planning to arrive this past weekend, but we changed our plans and spent two extra days in Assisi after seeing what a great hotel room we had (Assisi was beautiful, too, but more on that in a minute). It was so great that it made up for having severely limited food options for four days. We had lukewarm pizza from the little stand-n'-eat shops and that was about it; it was fun to listen to each other's stomachs growling all night. There's just not much in the town. Of course, we did miss a few decent places by making refuge from the elements our greatest goal. The wind was raging for the whole first day - so much so that on the second day, my ears were hurting and I had to suffer Mary Jane's laughter at me in wrapping my scarf up to my eyes. Luckily, there was a warm cafe right around the corner from our hotel; they got to know us pretty well over our stay.
All that said, Assisi is as everyone says: peaceful, gentle, and spiritually uplifting. Faded frescoes from the life of St. Francis adorn even the outer stone walls; Franciscan monks and little nuns pepper street corners and churches. One of the mornings, we got up for the early prayers of the monks at the basilica of St. Francis; considered one of the finest churches in Europe, it houses the tomb and major relics - such as a hair shirt - of the saint. (I realize that the last sentence sounds like it's straight out of a travel guide book. Don't ask me where that came from.) I wanted to take the 90 minute hike to his hermitage on top of the mountain outside the town, but considering the blustery weather, it's probably best that I didn't. Unless I wanted to just become a hermit somewhere along the way myself. Anyway, the monks and nuns truly do exude a joy that none can fail to be drawn by. You get the feeling that St. Francis is watching over his little brood with the same exuberant fondness he must have had on earth.
We took the train to Rome this afternoon, so here we are, with about ten days ahead of us to run around and soak it all in. We've only seen the train station and the few streets to our hotel, which is really an apartment masquerading as a hotel room, but we had no need to look farther than the full-scale grocery store in the station before realizing that Rome can only be wonderful. We love the breaks in the quiet towns, but it's always exhilarating to get back into a big city where the days are chock-full of sights and your stomach can look forward to something more than pizza.

Tastes of Tuscany

I'm writing late at night after a surreal day of trudging through Siena in the rain and sailing through Tuscan vineyards in our little tour minivan. Getting soaked to the bone in the first half of the day turned out to be a surprisingly good prep for the rest of it. We appreciated the sights from a warm van all the more (the first car we've been in for over two months), and the chilling autumn wind on our damp clothes when we got out at our stops put us in a giggly overexerted slightly hysterical mood that fit nicely with the winetasting. I have a treat of a shot for you all of Mary Jane-after-seven-glasses-of-Tuscan-wine - a sight none of you has ever seen. The two Brazilian couples in our group were getting a kick out of her.
Our first tour stop was at the only (surprise) winery in the world that serenades its grapes with classical music. Carlos, the vineyard owner, believes that his grapes favor Mozart, Bach, Vivaldi, and Scarlatti - "a favorite of the foliage season of the vine," to quote him verbatim. He has Bose stereos scattered all over his vineyards; we got to listen ourselves. I haven't tasted any pre-Mozart Brunello to compare with what we tasted, but Mozart isn't hurting the grapes. If it works for mice and babies, surely also for grapes?
The second winery we visited belongs to a 77-year-old out-of-a-movie Tuscan named Mario; his winery doubles as a museum of Tuscan winemaking history, complete with old winepresses and photos of the landowners from over 100 years ago. He seemed to relish educating our little group in Italian, which our gracious guide Paula translated for us, and he even took pictures of all of us to keep for himself. He and his wife served us a light meal at a long wooden table in the dining hall: cheese, prosciutto, the first extra virgin olive oil of the season, and several of their wines, including grappa.
I felt that we got a real slice of the Tuscan paradise that people fall in love with; here was a true taste of what I imagine was Italy in better days. Crucifixes and paintings of the Madonna hung above fireplaces and in hallways; warmth and a sense of family pervaded the scene. It's surprising how little it seems to take to change the mood of a place, but some things absolutely do. At any rate, the group was in high spirits by the time we headed out.
Cinque Terra was, to use an overused word, beautiful, too. Adding to the drama of the landscape was my near encounter with the death of my camera. At one point I went to explore a footpath off the main one, and while leaning across a barbed wire fence to get a shot of the coast, dropped it into the brambles of a mini-vineyard below. I slid under the barbed wire so that I was sitting on the dirt ledge, and reached as delicately as possible for the precariously balanced subject; when I finally reached it, though, it was only to send it plummeting to the ground. The only way to it was through a little wired-up fence, barring off someone's personal three-yard vineyard, so I unwired it as quickly as possible and retrieved the camera, half-expecting a ferocious watchdog to come bounding in to attack. After that, I decided to stick to the main path.
It's still hard to for me to say just how I feel about Italy. Much of it I like, but I can't get the right feel for the people yet. I'm having a hard time identifying the same characteristics in the present Italian population that have defined all the great figures of the past centuries; it probably seems a silly comparison to begin with, but it seems the same traits must still be there in some ways. I'll have to reserve judgment until our time in Italy is complete.

Traveling Through the Italian Countryside

Since we've always heard how warm and friendly Italians are (especially considering those we know at home), we've been wondering what we'd done wrong here. Our time in Italy started off somewhat shakily, particularly concerning the people we've met. We've (I've) been the butt of a joke or two, as well as the cause of a fair amount of grumbling (give anything but exact change and you automatically warrant such treatment). But touring the countryside and hitting some smaller towns (and their wineries) has proven tremendously rewarding and shown us more of the Italy we'd anticipated. After Milan last week, we headed over to Venice. Everything good you've ever heard about Venice is absolutely true: The waterways are appealing and romantic, and the old buildings have been well-preserved, giving the effect of an unchanged city from hundreds of years ago. Standing on the Rialto Bridge (very famous, you've seen it in just about every shot and painting done of Venice), I felt like I was in The Italian Job. From Venice we visited Florence, where you are essentially required to visit the Uffizi Gallery (can't miss Michelangelos's David, which in itself is worth the price of admission and then some). We also found the church that Dante attended, which apparently is also where he met Beatrice. Our most surprising visit so far was our next stop: the Cinque Terre. According to Rick Steves, this is Italy's rugged answer to the French Riviera, and the description is apt. We hiked for a large part of the day we spent there (Anna actually visited all five towns; I stopped at #4), and the weather was perfect. The towns are carved into the hillsides, and there are spectacular views everywhere you look. Anyone traveling through Italy would be missing something wonderful by not stopping here. Wondering if we'd hit the high point of our Italian countryside tour, we headed into the Tuscany area last night, into Siena. The train ride in was gorgeous; rolling hills, lovely trees with changing leaves, smoking hillside fires giving off the scent of autumn. We were ready to enjoy the loveliness this morning, but a sudden burst of rain changed our plans somewhat. We got pretty soaked searching for the relics of St. Catherine of Siena, but we finally found them (San Domenico's has her head and her thumb). Aside from that great find, Siena might have been somewhat disappointing, but fortunately, the winery tour we'd scheduled for the afternoon proceeded as planned. The rain let up, and we were able to see a fair amount of the Tuscan countryside. I don't think it's possible to visit this region without a wine tour; you can't get a real feel for it otherwise. We visited two different wineries and met some Italian families that did their best to make us feel welcome. A truly memorable experience. Maybe Italy's not so bad after all. . .

Italian Initiation

Here we are in Milan. I don't feel like we've gotten a great feel for Italy yet, but our train from France to Italy was a good start. At our connecting train in Chambery, there were suddenly Italians everywhere, including a loud lady who tried to squeeze past me in a crowded aisle between seats, with a luggage that could go nowhere. I just stood there smiling, because I could go nowhere either. Definitely an immediate switch from the very accomodating French.
The highlights of our time in Milan have been sleeping in because there's not that much to see here-besides the larger-than-life cathedral-and ferreting out cheap tickets to see Cosi Fan Tutte at La Scala. Yes, dear various family members, it was an experience to warrant deep envy. I felt like I was in a movie the whole time, looking from my seat behind the balcony seats to the people in the cubicles across the way. I wished there was some bitter enemy I could spy on from across, that could make me feel even more like I was in a movie, but the best I could find was the two American girls we had met in line beforehand. They weren't very menacing. The opera house is red velvet and gold everywhere; a great chandelier sparkles from the ceiling. The performing was, of cource, spectacular. I've heard many great singers (shout out again to you family), but never all in one grand, seemingly flawless performance. I most liked the soprano who played Despina; she was an Oriental girl named Joo Doo or something like that.
What else about Milan? As many do, I've always equated Milan with fashion, but I've been on the outskirts of that experience here, sadly. I sort of expected to see model shoots and fashion shows going on everywhere, just as nonCalifornians expect to see movie stars the instant they set foot there, but I'm not running into that. We did walk down Via Montenapoleone, where all the shops are, and get some good photos.
One fun thing here is the bar right below our hotel room. We leave the window open at night, so that we can be lulled to sleep by the dulcet tones of a crowd of drunken Italian men. I think that's about as close as we'll try to get.

Italy So Far. . .

I'm sure you are all thankful that we've finally moved on from France, so that French transportation will no longer be an obsession for me. However, given our more recent dealings with train transportation in France, I guess it wasn't possible to leave the country without a definitive farewell, so one last missive is in order. So there we were, scheduled to leave Lyon for Milan early last Wednesday morning, and just arrived at the train station with plenty of time to spare. We decided to head to the grocery store across the street to stock up for the day, in case Italian grocery stores were hard to find (you just never know). It was probably a bad idea, since the store didn't open until 8:30 and our train left at 9:15. We chanced it anyway, and despite a few minutes of real panic for me, we made it back to our platform even before the train arrived. Thinking we were safe and good to go, we boarded our train along with everyone else, and headed up to the second level (yes, some French trains are that cool). In a rare moment of confusion, Anna decided to locate the nearly invisible storage rack above the seats with her face. A stunned collapse into the nearest seat took up several minutes, causing us to lose sight of what was happening around us. (But not to worry, folks. The effective use of packaged coldcuts and hot dogs kept the swelling down, and Anna is still as beautiful as ever.). In spite of her injury, Anna quickly assessed the situation (in a deja vu-like way) and realized that we were once again the only people on the train. My first reaction to this kind of thing is, "Great, more room for us." But Anna, the unselfish quick-thinker that she is, hustled us off the train and we learned from the train guards standing on the platform that our train had suddenly changed its mind about its destination. At first, the guard simply told us the new platform, but after seeing our horror-stricken and probably uncomprehending faces, he took us there himself. (Turned out to be a good thing, since it sounded like he said "G" for the platform, but apparently that's how the French say "J.") Since he wasn't running to the platform (although still moving very quickly, as the new platform was of course located on the far side of the station), we figured the train was being held, but the fear and panic had already set in. I had visions of never quite making it to Italy, always being on the wrong train track and not knowing exactly how to get out of France. . .I am still mystified by how often things change so dramatically and at the last minute with the trains here, but somehow, we do manage to eventually get on the right train, so I guess I should be thankful about that. Our connection in Chambery (one of the last towns in France before crossing the border into Italy) proved to be one of the most crowded trains we've been on yet. Even the platform train guards were rolling their eyes at how long it took all of us to get on the train, but by this time, Anna and I were too exhausted to care. Arriving at the Milan train station and trying to locate the correct Metro line to get to our hotel also proved quite a challenge after the excitement of the morning, so a day of almost complete rest was in order for the following day (only got up to go to Mass, since it was All Saint's Day).

We've been taking it rather easy here in Milan this past week, trying to catch up on some much-needed sleep and generally gathering our energy for the last third of our trip. Since we haven't ventured much afield from Milan yet (except to Varenna yesterday, a lovely little lake village just this side of the Swiss Alps), the only things of note I can say about Italy so far are: 1) No one here seems to be able to walk in a straight line, at least not in Milan. I've never had to do so much dodging before, not even in New York City. It's really bizarre, makes me feel like maybe my equilibrium is somehow off. . . 2) Since there are no Starbucks to be found anywhere (I know, we're barely surviving), another behemoth is stepping in to fill the void between overpriced thimbles of càfe and decently priced hot beverages: McCafe. Yes, you're reading this correctly; McDonald's has branded part of their line-up as McCafe. I can't remember if I've ever seen these before in the U.S., but let me tell you, when you're craving something hot and don't really want to spend €3 - €4 for a swallowful, McCafe's are heaven-sent. For €1.40, you can satisfy your thirst with 20 times the amount of your average thimble. Bigger isn't always better, of course, but when it comes to càfe. . .3) Cultural events here, as in the other big cities we've visited, are absolutely amazing (and extremely affordable). For about $20 total, we've now seen some sort of fine art event in each of the big cities we've visited, often in world-class settings. A Shakespeare play at the Old Globe in London (£5 = $10); a wonderful classical music concert in Paris (think we forgot to mention this, but it was completely free. In the U.S., the seats we had would have been at least $30 - $40, and the musicians were superb); and now in Milan, we stood in line for quite some time to score tickets to see an opera at La Scala Opera House. The tickets cost €7.50 ($10 - $12), and the opera that happens to be playing right now is Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutti. Can it get any better than this? It was awesome, of course, and we still can't believe we were able to get in (thank you, Rick Steves!). A fine way to remember Milan, now I'm looking forward to what we might be able to do in Rome and Prague. We'll try not to break this trend. . .

Last Day in France

Writing from Lyon, which, according to Rick Steves, is France's best-kept secret. I think I agree. Not only is it the food capitol of the country which is the food capitol of the world-and we've been learning that first-hand- but it's also the real city of lights. Sometime in the past century, to celebrate Dec. 8, the whole city lit candles, and that turned into a yearly tradition which has contributed to making Lyon the authority on floodlighting technique. They actually have seminars here on floodlighting. Anyway, it serves the city to wondrous effect. The basilica of Notre Dame, which sits on a hill above the city, dazzles against the dark sky with its lit hues of blue, gold, and white, looking like the stuff of fairytales.
This is our last day in France, and as usual I'm in a hurry to say something interesting before my time on the computer runs out. I left off after Lourdes; that was the start of a rough patch in our hitherto smooth travels. Nothing too bad; we were pretty tired for a few days afterwards and Provence proved to be not as cool as I was hoping. May have had something to do with getting dropped by the bus in a huge Texan strip mall with no idea where our hotel was. It turned out to be the ugliest pink building we could spot from the parking lot. Avignon and Aix-en-Provence, where we stayed, seemed like big cities with their fair share of graffiti-ed post WWII buildings. But then again we were tired and so it was best that we didn't have a ton to run around and see.
The rough patch ended with The French Riviera. By contrast with our previous stops, perhaps, but certainly also in its own right, it was a feast for the eyes, with its rocky shoreline and pink and orange-roofed houses, flooded in golden light. Our hotel was in Nice; we dumped our stuff and wandered along the English Promenade, snapping shots like crazy. Monaco also gorgeous. We went into the Casino and played a few hands; won enough for a five hundred euro dinner on the top floor. Well, that happened in my mind. Could say more about this area, but in the interest of time, I'll close with an urgent appeal to all of you to drop what you're doing and go to it for some of the most beautiful sights you'll ever see.
Yesterday we went to Annecy from Lyon; it's a town close to the Swiss border and also the bishopric (right word?) of Francis De Sales. Took a boat tour along Luc d'Annecy, a lake sheltered by massive mountains and flanked by 11th century chateaux and montasteries converted into five star restaurants.
Tomorrow we begin our Italian adventure, starting in Milan. I'm far sorrier to leave France than I was to leave England, but stoked to see Italy. If they have any of the three-course melt-in- your-mouth meals that we've been savoring over here - and I believe they do - we can't go very wrong. Pretty sure the red wine in Lyon is worth making a special trip to France for.

A Fine Time in France

One of the interesting things I've noticed over here in Europe, particularly in France, is the amount of politeness built into society. Everywhere you go, people are friendly and mannerly, and you are always greeted with a "Bon jour" in any store or restaurant. I suppose that in the service industry, a greeting is to be expected. But one place you wouldn't necessarily expect such politeness is on the buses. We've been greeted promptly by every bus driver, and when we exit the bus, a farewell is always called out. The most interesting thing is that the people getting on and off the bus respond in like manner. Even the surliest of people are transformed by simple politeness, and everyone calls out "Cheers" or "Thank you" (in England), or "Au revoir" or "Merci" (in France). You get into the habit immediately when you're here. I tripped my way out of crowded bus the other day and was unable to call out my farewell to the bus driver; I felt terrible about it for days afterwards. . . Another custom of politeness I've seen everywhere is the kissing of both cheeks when meeting a friend. You always see this in the movies, and until now, I'd thought it was more of an exaggeration than anything. But having been in France for 3 1/2 weeks, I can safely vouch for its authenticity. Everyone does it; I've even seen groups of teenagers perform this ritual with each other. If you can get teenage boys to engage in a particular custom, you know it's one that has taken firm hold in a society.

Some of you may have noticed that there is a sad lack of pictures gracing this blog; we fully expected to find download access in Europe by now. In fact, we did have one opportunity while in Colmar, France, and we were very close to bombarding you with thousands and thousands of pictures. There was a USB port, the connection was good, and best of all, internet access was free. The problem came when it was time to actually download the pictures; all of the instructions were in French. The connection was good, but not fast enough to have a translation website running simultaneously. I'm sure the computer savvy among you would have risen to the challenge of downloading pictures in French, but the only thing I took from the situation was to remove myself immediately, with all of my pictures still intact on my memory card. I wasn't crazy about the idea of accidentally leaving all of my pictures on a small, crashed computer in France. We'll keep looking, but it might be the case that the pictures get posted at the end of our trip (I know, I emailed a lot of you and said that wouldn't be the case, sorry about that. . .). In the meantime, we'll see if we can find internet pictures of the places we've been, and put them in our posts from time to time. You can use your imagination and think about how much better these pictures will look when we're in them. . .

My last post was a hodge-podge of information, written while completely exhausted. I've since re-read it, and the only thing I can say about such bad writing is that it should serve to confirm the truth of what I said about our night train experience. You will all be happy to know that we are now in much nicer surroundings, completely refreshed from sleep on mostly comfortable beds. Things have improved over the course of this past week. We weren't sure at first, because after leaving the interesting but freezing Carcassonne, we somehow took a wrong turn despite our careful itinerary planning and ended up in Texas. Now, there's nothing wrong with Texas, of course, but when you're expecting to be in France, it's really bizarre to encounter a Buffalo Grill restaurant with signs all in English, complete with buffalo steer horns on the roof. Our hotel in Avignon ended up being out in the middle of nowhere, far from the center of town, and we were dropped off by bus in the middle of the largest parking lot I've seen in a long time with no idea where to go. The only good thing is that our hotel was next to a huge supermarket, kind of like Costco, except you didn't have to buy 20 yogurts at a time, thankfully. We spent a lot of time in it, buying food to eat in our small hotel room, because buses to and from the town center stopped running after 7:30pm. After freezing in Avignon for a couple of days (and no scenery to speak of - this is NOT like Texas, the analogy ended with the parking lot), we headed over to Nice and the French Riviera with warm, pleasant weather that reminded us of home. The coastline is gorgeous, and we spent a day going up and down the coast, visiting Monaco and a couple of smaller villages on the sea. A fine reward for enduring a night train. . . We're now in Lyon where the food is excellent, and we feel like we're in Paris again, only on a smaller scale. Apparently Lyon is the real City of Lights; they've even pioneered floodlight technology and host conferences for it that are attended by cities from around the world. I wonder if Las Vegas has ever considered attending. . . We will be heading off to Italy tomorrow, arriving in Milan late in the day. I have enjoyed France (despite how it may sound); it's a great country to explore. The food and wine are superb, and the countryside (for the most part) has been lovely, especially at this time of year.

Quick note: I started writing this blog a few days ago, so it's sort of in two installments, indicated by date.

Oct. 20: I write from an old half-timbered building built in 14-something and long since converted into a hotel. It's location is Amboise in the Loire Valley- the valley full of chateaux and rolling gold vinyards (and therefore sparkling white wine which even a red fan like me enjoys). Amboise has its own chateau made famous by Henry VII, who smacked his head on a low-lying lintel on his way to a tennis match and died. I think the locals find that funny.

We arrived here yesterday after traveling from Colmar, which was our first stop after Paris. Colmar is a quaint Alsatian village, from which we daytripped to an even quainter village - Riquewihr. About as picturesque as a town could be, with tall half-timbered buildings in bright candy colors of pink, yellow, blue, and green. If you broke a piece off a window shutter and bit it, it would be pure sugar. The Brothers Grimm must have been inspired by villages such as these; this one is only 15 kilometers from the German border. Perfect Christmas village - all it needed was snow and the crystal clear voices of a children's choir singing carols. We found a free wine tasting cave, but I wasn't actually big on any of them. I started getting scared and thinking, Do I not like good wine? but then we got to Loire and everything is fine again. The reds and whites are to be savored here.

From Colmar, we also went to neighboring Strasbourg and met up with my cousin Pat who is spending a semester there. He showed us the stunning chateau he's staying in and brought us to dinner with his group, at a little restaurant on the expansive wooded grounds. The hot food was a nice switch from the cafe sandwiches of Paris. Pat walked us back to the train station where we caught a train back to Colmar. We said something when we got there about how great it is to get into a small town where you know your way to a place after the first time getting there. Then we got lost for half an hour in an attempt to make it back to our place. I don't believe the concept of the straight line was big with medieval road-pavers.

Our hotel owner Agnes - a tiny woman with big brown eyes and a huge smile - told us last night that Clos de Luce, the home where Leonardo Da Vinci spent the last three years of his life, was to be free admission today-the one day of the year that they waive the 12 euro fee. Worth the visit - elegant well-preserved home and grounds full of full-scale models taken from Da Vinci's drawings. The best thing about it was the roaring fire in the old kitchen.

Bought some great wine today and drank it on a bench overlooking the Loire river. I thought it was a twist off cap but it turned out to be corked, so we set it on the edge of our bench in case any nice locals passing by felt like offering us a corkscrew. Sure enough, a Frenchman in a red sweatshirt and hat stopped with his group and threw an enthusiastic bunch of French at the lovely little wine bottle. I don't know if there was something special about this particular wine or what. They didn't have a corkscrew, but a few minutes after they left, they pulled up in their car and he jumped out of it brandishing a corkscrew; he uncorked the bottle for us and took a big swig with great relish before handing it back with a grin. I guess it wouldn't have been fair not to let have some.

Amboise is a slow little town with nothing much going on but a few shop-lined streets, a cheateau once inhabited by French royalty, a beautiful church called St. Denis which was at one time a stop on the Santiago De Compastella pilgrimage, and the Loire river. It's nice, though, to get into some places where we don't have a ton to do. I feel a little silly because we didn't even get to Chenonceau, the nearby chateau, but we took a long walk along the river and saw some of the countryside. A good rest-up before the craze of night-training it to Lourdes.

Oct. 23: So, two words on night-training it: never again. Actually, before long we will be doing so to get from Rome to Prague, but hopefully our recovery will be complete by then. I'll leave the details out but suffice it to say that Mary was kind enough to make this a feel like a real pilgrimage for us, complete with train delays at 1 am, seat reservations that others took comfortably for themselves so that we had to scrunch into the seats by the doors and jump up whenever anyone wanted to get off, unexpected transfers at 4 am (when everyone got off at Bordeaux and we finally had real seats, we thought it was smooth sailing. Should have been tipped off when we were the ONLY people left on the train and everyone else was standing right outside it peering back in at us with weird looks on their faces). Then the conductors came through and told us to get off. As a consolation prize, they gave us croissants while we waited in the blistering cold for our last connection to Lourdes. (Side note: Lourdes is Loo-AAA-duh in France. If anyone already knows that, thanks for not spoiling the fun for us. Then we somehow arrived in Lourdes half an hour earlier than we were supposed to: cartoon moment where our eyes popped open and we looked at each other for a split second before flying out of our seats. The last thing we wanted to do was miss getting off. I threw my shoes back on while MJ tore out of her seat to get the luggage down from overhead. I kid you not, I've never seen such quick action in my life: I took about six seconds to jam my shoes on and when I looked up, she had both our luggages - which are quite a trick to get up and down even for two people - ready to roll. We usually hoist mine up, which is the heavier one (I've got to stop buying you all such heavy gifts) with one of us on either side, and get it high enough to slide onto the overhang, but that's where it gets tricky. I guess that's where we reach our max and we just can't actually move it any more, so we usually hover in midair and try not to giggle at our silly stance until a guy feels sorry for us and helps us out. Anyway, we made it out and so there we were in the dark (it was still dark at 7:30, isn't that weird?) and - here's where Mary really got nice - there was no baggage check at the station so we lugged everything along with us to the grotto.
Lourdes is largely ruined by garish tourism. We trudged along in the gray dawn amidst neon hotel signs and shops brimming with cheap religious trinkets. The grotto itself it still a peaceful haven from the rest of the town. We caught the end of mass, walked through the basilica, and filled our water battles at the spring's fountains. We tried to see Bernadette's birthplace, but everyone closes for lunch at noon so we missed that, as we had to get back to the station and make sure we could get a train to Carcassone, which is where we are now. So glad we went to Lourdes even if was a hassle and not that aesthetically pleasing. You have the knowledge that you're in a holy place and that it means something to go out of your way to get there.
Carcassone is the oldest medieval city there is, close to the Spanish border, and we're staying within the castle walls - cold showers but so good just to take one - but more on that later as I'm running out of time.

Differences Between England and France

After visiting two major cities in relatively quick succession, it's hard not to start making rapid comparisons between the two. I've had high hopes of writing a long, eloquent post about all of the similarities and differences between London and Paris and what they might mean. However, time (and interest) not permitting, I'll settle for leaving you with some observations about the difference in attitude between the French and the English. Interestingly, the attitudes of each people plays out both positively and negatively; just depends on what you're experiencing at the moment. Stereotypically, the English are often seen as rigid and uptight, while the French are more relaxed and easy-going. You can see this with the security at the museums. At the National Gallery in London, Anna took a sip of water a bit too near one of the paintings and an English guard was immediately at her elbow, politely informing her that she'd have to stand in the middle of the room to finish her water. This is understandable, given the nature of the valuable works of art found in the gallery. But in Paris, security at the Louvre is practically non-existent. We walked into the museum with no security check for our bags (more security at the churches in Paris than at the Louvre), and headed off with hordes of visitors searching for the Mona Lisa. People were taking flash photography everywhere, there were no guard rails or roped-off areas in front of the paintings, and the Mona Lisa was swarmed by tourists, with barely a security guard to be found. It's nice that the French are so trusting, but I was surprised at how relaxed they were with such an amazing collection of art. The Mona Lisa was apparently stolen once by an angry Italian man back in the early 1900's who wanted his country's treasure returned to its rightful place, but I guess the French feel their security is good enough if there's been only one theft in all this time. . .

The flip side of this attitude is played out in safety considerations, and is most near and dear to my heart right now, as a beginning-to-be-weary traveler. Viewed from this angle, you would easily say that the English are very considerate and concerned for the safety of others, while the French might just as well care less. For example, the frustrating situation of having to cross the street 15 times to reach the other side is evidently not just an English oddity (as discussed in a previous post); we've encountered the same thing in Paris. But in London, there are guard rails all along the way, presumably to guide you to safety; while in Paris, these guard rails don't exist anywhere. The clear message from the French is that you are free to cross wherever you like. If you decide to cross where you're not supposed to and accidentally get yourself killed while doing it, it's your own fault and they won't do anything to prevent it. Nice. Another example of this difference in attitude can be seen in the reminders given on public transportation. The English are obsessed with reminders in all public places like subways and train stations to "mind the gap." This basically means "watch your step and don't fall into the tiny space between the subway car and the walkway." I'm not sure that the danger involved in getting onto subways or trains warrants so many reminders (automated voices, painted signs on the ground, even T-shirts bearing the phrase), but it is touching that the English really want to make sure you don't get hurt while traveling in their city. The French, on the other hand, are only concerned that you know where the line ends. "Terminus" is a phrase heard over and over again on buses and subways, and it basically means "the line ends when we say it does, and you'll have to get off whether it's your stop or not." While we were on a bus in Paris, the driver stopped en route to the Eiffel Tower, with no prior warning. All we heard was "terminus," and then everyone on the bus proceeded to file off to wait for the next one. Still don't know what that's all about. . .My last example (which is driving this whole post) was illustrated most clearly just yesterday. Riding the trains in England was a much different experience than it's been in France. Whenever there was a change or a delay on the trains in England, there would be profuse apologies and clear explanations for the delays ("We are very sorry this train is being delayed. This is due to a road vehicle striking a bridge."). The French evidently don't think this kind of thing is necessary. We arrived at the train station in Tours late Sunday night, trying to take an overnight train to Lourdes. When we got there, hundreds of people were in the station (odd for 10:00pm), all peering up at the monitors listing the train schedules. We discovered that all of the trains had been delayed for hours, but no one seemed to know why. We got in line at the information booth to see if our train was affected, but five minutes later, the booth closed. Everyone was turned away without explanation, left to fend for themselves. Not a great start for a night train. Turns out that our train was delayed too (found out five minutes before it was supposed to arrive that it wasn't coming for another hour), and instead of being a direct overnight train like our ticket said, we had to switch trains in Bordeaux. Only no one told us this when we got there (figured it out the hard way), and the only consolation was free croissants and cold drinks at 3:30 in the morning. Not so consoling standing on a dark platform in sub-zero weather (okay maybe not that cold, but when you're extremely tired and irritable. . .). We did finally make it to Lourdes, but when we left later that day, we ran into similar problems. Made it onto our first train just fine, but when we tried to catch our connecting train, it turned out that we had to get on a different train altogether and go to another city to catch our supposedly direct train to Carcassonne. No one bothers to mention these things - even the computerized schedule monitors don't always reflect the changes; I guess everyone here in France just knows that you need to confirm before getting on any train.

Well, all I can say is that up to this point, we haven't had any real problems to speak of, so we can't complain too much. I've heard that transportation in Italy can often be much worse, so maybe we're being well-prepared for what's to come later. At any rate, we're seeing some beautiful countryside and numerous picturesque little villages that rival what we saw in the Cotswolds and the Lake District. Colmar and Riquewihr are my favorite little picturesque towns in France so far. I love picturesque places (I know, hard to tell from this blog) and the kind you see in Europe seems so different from anything you see in the U.S. Places like Solvang come close, but there is still something so different in Europe. Amboise is a small town in the heart of French wine country, and I had the best wine I've ever tasted there. We took some walks there in really cold, brisk weather (think we're in for extremely cold weather the rest of our trip) and visited the house that Leonardo Da Vinci lived in for the last three years of his life. If I were the creative genius type, I could see living my last days on this lovely little estate situated in a beautiful valley, painting and inventing to my heart's content. All Leonardo had to do for payment was talk to his friend, King Francois I, every day for a little while. Hmmm. . .We're in Carcossonne right now, an interesting old medieval city located within the walls of an old castle fortress. Things are going well, despite how it sounds from my rant on French transportation. The people here are actually very lovely, and the food is tremendously good. Can't beat that combination. . .

Paris on Steroids

We've packed a lot into our days here. Blitzed through the Louvre on Wednesday, which really took a toll on the eyes. I get museum eyes after about two hours, and we were there for many. At one point, while trying to see the French paintings, I got stuck in the Sully wing, which winds through an endless maze of mummies and hieroglyphics. Tried to be interested in that for a while (come on, Anna, when can you see this pharoah again) but it didn't take. I am, however, developing a new appreciation for sculpture. Cupid and Psyche is magnificent. It looks beautiful before you can even make out the forms. If I could steal it I would; I can see why people become obsessive art collectors. I wound up in the Italian paintings (the Mona Lisa gets no time to herself with the swarms of people and cameras in her room) and tried to comtemplate a Leonardo Da Vinci Madonna and Child. I'm finding that trying to describe things in writing while I sit in front of them is my best bet against coming away from these art-stuffed places with a confused jumble of impressions.
Thursday we went to Versailles. Gold and more gold. How did they etch in gold like this? Paintings cover entire ceilings, arched French windows, enormous fireplaces. I now what a frieze is. They're really cool at Versailles - cherubs, full-formed, bursting from swirling gold backgrounds. We had lunch on the lush grounds (they stretch for miles around waterways) and there a terrible thing happened to me. Without warning, a vast quantity of olive oil sprang out of the hummus container in my hand and poured down my pantlegs. Looked perfectly horrible - far beyond recovery. I'll probably be leaving them behind as a gift for our wonderful hostel.
Friday we went to Notre Dame to see the inside and climb the towers, and happened upon a noon mass. Also happened upon a friend that I knew was going to be in Paris around this time - a fortuitous meeting and great to see a friendly face in a city where we know no one. We actually only know each other through our younger siblings, who are great friends, so neither of us quite recognized the other. She was thinking "That must be a Krestyn" and I was thinking "That must be a Dillon" until we approached each other gingerly after mass. She - Mary Katherine - arrived in Paris three weeks ago and is going through some hassle trying to get set up to attend the Sorbonne for her master's degree, so we were each a face from home for the other. She showed us her university area (where Thomas Aquinas taught) and graciously invited us for dinner on Sunday. I love what a small world it is.
Friday night we walked up the Champs-Elysees and climbed four hundred stairs to the Arc de Triomphe (well, it felt like four hundred) for one dope view of the city. A misty moisty evening but still a dope view. On our way back down the boulevard, we popped into Haagen-Daaz for the best ice cream of our lives after such a hot hike up the Arc, and people-watched.
Saturday we went to the Rodin Musuem. I didn't really know who he was before, but he has a cool style. Raw in a good sense. He was called "the dreamer whose dreams flowed through his hands." Humanness seeps through the pores of his figures.
And while I'm talking about pores... I could say something about the smells on the subway but actually, I want to say something on a general note about Paris' pores: they seep with beauty. Most sights are as I imagined they'd be - the glittering Champs-Elysees, loaded with perfect people and shops, the white dome of Sacre Coeur resting on Paris' only hill, Notre Dame's peaceful majesty (which has become my favorite hang-out, night or day. I sit in the square and stare at the towers, while the pidgeons swarm about, feasting on tourist crumbs at my feet, people throng around the cathedral and along the river, the famous bells sound every quarter of the hour, and I wish that I had a little memory box to assign these ones to, to pull out, dust off, and see as clearly as now). What's pleasantly surprised me has been the pervading lightheartedness of the Paris people. For a big, bustling city, it's bustle is about as leisurely as it could be. The night culture has a feel unlike any I've seen in a big city - not synonymous with craziness, but merely enjoying the evening, be it in a bar or cafe, at a concert, or just strolling down the streets (I know it has its red-light district, but it's really not that bad. just kidding, mom). In London people start clearing the streets at 1o pm, while here they're just beginning the evening. We went to a cafe at 8:30, and there were more people there at 11 (having dinner) than when we arrived. I don't think I could get sick of cafes. They're so muti-purpose - You can eat dinner or only a crossiant, read, write, converse, or just sip a drink and watch the world go by. For a people-watcher like me, it's great. I kept reading before I got here that Parisians love to see and be seen, and I kept thinking, how can they tell so much? Here's how: they actually place their cafes strategically along the streets, with prime fishbowl windows for easy gawking. And while I'm talking about cafes, I have a tidbit for Phantom of the Opera-Lovers: there's a cool Starbucks in the Opera quarter, full of chandeliers and wood floors, that will make you feel like you're on the set. The opera house itself is built over a lake, which supposedly inspired the musical.
One more tidbit for all of you, that I can't seem to gracefully work in here, but I can't leave it out, so I'll just drop it on you: Mary Jane got chased off the subway by a tall dark handsome French man in a suit. Awed by her beauty and grace, he couldn't resist.
Back to Paris' beauty-seeping pores. It's beauty that strikes you before you know you've been hit. Sights that are beautiful before you know what they signify. They got art right here. Maybe because they do prize leisure. But it seems it must also be because they're passionate, and have felt pain. From all the sin and horror that men have pulled down on their heads, such works of grace? I'm reminded of God's words: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness." Isn't that what real art speaks? That pain has been felt, and that from it, a glimpse into the beauty of God is grasped.
So these days have been great indeed. Although our time in Paris is drawing to a close, I think I'lll see it's lights again.

Sight-Seeing in Paris

As a native Southern Californian, I can definitely appreciate the wonders of public transportation found throughout most of Europe. Anna and I have become experts at navigating lengthy subway passages, confusing bus schedules, and rows of railway platforms. Although the subway systems in cities like London and Paris do add more time to your travels than you might imagine, overall, they are quite efficient and save you miles of walking. Southern California would benefit greatly by having such a system in place. Tonight, however, we experienced first-hand the not-so-wondrous aspects of mass transit. On our way to a lovely dinner at the apartment of some friends of Anna's, we took a subway line out to an area of Paris we hadn't yet visited. We boarded the subway that would take us to our destination, and when we first got on, it was a little crowded, but we found a place to stand near the front. At the next stop, 10 more people got into our car. Another stop, 10 - 15 more people squeezed in. By now, we were shoved to the back of this little area of our car, and I was convinced (understandably) that no more bodies could possibly be packed into this space. At best, about 20 people can fit rather uncomfortably into the car; presently, there were about 40. The subway train stopped again, and to my horror, 10 more people got on. I have no idea where and how they all fit in; all I know is that my face became very familiar with the feel of the glass window at the back of that car. The best part, of course, was the barrage of smells that accompanied this pleasant experience. I won't go into detail; suffice it to say that if taking regular showers is a sign of the snobbery of the American people, I will gladly remain a snob for the rest of my days. I was never so glad to get out into the fresh, cool air of night as I was this evening (and getting out of that subway car was an experience in itself). It was pointed out to me that the locals do realize there is a limit to just how many bodies can be packed into a single space, evidenced by the fact that no one else attempted to squeeze into our car at subsequent subway stops. But when arms and legs are dangling out of windows and preventing the subway train door from fully closing, I imagine that those things alone would cause anyone to think twice about plunging in . . .

Fortunately, we are not spending all of our time in Paris riding around on the subways; we do occasionally come up for air and culture. Paris has plenty of both, and we've been enjoying ourselves tremendously. For the last few days, however, we've worked hard for our enjoyment. We've been doing some hard-core sightseeing here in Paris; we bought a museum pass for 45 euros that covers the majority of the important museums and sights. It's a good deal, but the catch is that you have only four consecutive days to see them all. So you have to be prepared to really focus for those four days (not much time for lingering in little French cafés. . .). We spent our first day at the Louvre (a must if you're in Paris); day two was spent at Versailles (also a must; the grounds at Versailles are absolutely gorgeous.) Day three, however, was really the killer. We decided to see the major churches and Cathedrals of the old city area; these include Notre Dame and Saint Chappelle. Notre Dame is breathtakingly beautiful; I am a huge fan of the Gothic style of architecture. Saint Chappelle is also lovely - it was built for Saint Louis (King Louis IX - the only king to ever become a saint), and has walls made completely of stained glass. So far, so good. But a little later in the day, we decided to go up to the tower of Notre Dame, seeing as this was covered by our pass. To get there, you walk up an amazing number of stairs (not surprisingly). Fine, there is a great view of the city and you can see the belltower made famous by Victor Hugo, so it's worth the physical exertion, despite already being tired from intense museum-going the previous two days. Afterwards, we headed over to Champs-Elyseés, a rich, ritzy boulevard that ends with the Arc d' Triomphe. We decided to see the Arc first, then stroll leisurely down the boulevard. We walked quickly to the other end of the boulevard to get to the Arc, took several minutes figuring out how exactly to get to it (even though we could see it directly in front of us, things are not clearly marked here, so discovering that we had to go underground to reach the Arc instead of crossing the street in front of us took some real effort), and finally reached the entrance to . . . an amazing number of stairs that would take us to the top! We were completely exhausted at this point, and the sight of a perfectly functional elevator right next to the stairs with only a thin strip of red tape signifying its unavailability was almost more than we could take. But, we were determined to get full use out of our museum pass, so we put our heads down and charged up those stairs. It was a circular staircase that seemed to go on forever - Anna kept looking up and laughing, then kindly telling me not to look up so as not to be discouraged (and of course I wasn't at all discouraged by her disheartened laughter. . .). Somehow, some way, we did make it to the top, with me laughing rather hysterically by then from the lack of oxygen to my brain. There was again another incredible view of the city, and I guess that walking up an inordinate amount of stairs all in one day will actually save us from having to spend money to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, since we've essentially seen that same view twice now. Afterwards, we found a Haagen Daaz somewhere along the Champs Elyseés, and sat eating the best ice cream I've ever tasted and contentedly watching the world go by. We spent our final museum pass day at a less frenzied pace, visiting the Rodin museum, Napoleon's tomb and Army museum (yes, I took lots of pictures here for all you history buffs, as well as pictures of the World War II exhibit - several floors of this), and the Orsay museum (a little overrated, unless you really love Impressionism and everything that comes after that period in art history). We collapsed in a Starbucks at the end of the day (hard to justify spending at least 4 euros for a thimble-sized cup of coffee in French cafés, so we have to switch it up and get more bang for our euro at Starbucks once in awhile), and vowed not to walk up any more stairs. At least not until we got back to our room at the hostel, located on the (wait for it) fourth floor, which is really the fifth floor. All I can say is we better have really strong legs by the end of this trip. . .

First Thoughts on France

After an uneventful Chunnel Crossing on the sleek Eurostar train, we arrived in Paris on Sunday night (Oct. 7). The train ride is close to 3 hours, though crossing under the English Channel takes only 20 minutes of that time. I was expecting a big announcement of some kind to commemorate the crossing (something like "Say your final prayers now, just in case the pressure of the tunnel finally gives" might have sufficed), but there was nothing of the sort. I didn't even realize we'd crossed until we made a stop in Lille, the first city on France's side.

Relieved that my first fear had come to nothing, I gathered my belongings and prepared to face my second fear: French train thieves that hang out in train stations and terrorize unsuspecting tourists. Determined not to be one of the nàive ones, I clutched my suitcase with all my might and looked around at . . . lots of other tourists like me. Surprisingly (or not), the station wasn't what I expected: scary and unpredictable. At least, not scary. Unpredictable, yes, but in an interesting way: as soon as we stepped off the train and walked towards the station, we could sense an immediate difference in the energy level of the people around us. You could hear the excitement in people's voices, and there was a feeling of gaiety all around. Just inside the station, a group of young children were performing a choreographed dance to beautiful music. Onlookers gathered together to watch, delighted at the scene. We knew immediately that we were not in England anymore. (This incident, in fact, has been similarly replicated multiple times in the few days that we've been here. Whether we're walking along the Seine river, past a cafè, or through the subway tunnels, we've been serenaded with music. We've heard accordions, fluteophones, opera singers - even a French horn! I constantly feel as if I'm in a movie, surrounded by all this music.)

I don't know what I expected to encounter here in Paris; in fact, it's the city I read the least about before arriving. Anna was definitely the more excited of the two of us to come to Paris. But I've discovered, much to my delight, that Paris is a city that truly deserves the lovely compliments it's paid (things like "City of Lights" and "Most Romantic City"). I've been enchanted the entire time we've been here. There are grand, stately buildings everywhere, and the elegance of this city meets you in the most unexpected ways: the gracefulness of the people, the way the buildings are lit at night, and the peaceful refuges you can find even in the midst of this sprawling city. Oddly, for as large as this city is, you don't get a crazy, frantic feeling at all, the way you do in a place like New York. Tonight, Anna and I sat outside of Notre Dame, soaking up the calmness and beauty of the area. As we sat there, we could see several disparate things happening at once: a group of young people performing and dancing to rap music (but turned down so low we couldn't actually hear it), couples strolling arm in arm, and groups of others milling nearby. Somehow, despite the presence of so many different people around us, we could still sit peacefully at the foot of the Cathedral with the feeling that the night could not be more perfect.

It is wonderful to be here in Paris, in a way I wouldn't have imagined. I will have plenty more to say about this later, when I've had some to time to really take it all in. In the meantime, I'll be sipping coffee and eating things like mousse and cremè brulee late at night in charming little cafès. Life's tough these days . . .

Paris, je t'aime

Ok, I skipped out a bit on the last of England, as anyone who cares can see. Suffice it to say that were I to come back in another life as an animal, i would have no option but to be a sheep in the Lake District.
We've been in Paris for two days now and I can't say i've been disappointed yet. This is the city I have most wanted to see for ages. It started a bit rockily, getting sorted out in our youth hostel. Dive is all I can say. Tons of Asian kids running around but at least we have our own room - an austere little cell with steel bunk beds, flourescent lights, and cold faux tile floors. The one redeeming thing about it is the big window that peaks onto the backside of an apt building (like in Rear Window, i stuck my head out on the first night and got a look into the cubicled lives of the Parisians of Rue Trousseau). I dragged MJ to Notre Dame after we arrived so we could say a rosary at the church on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, but the grounds were closed all around. sure hope its the thought that counts. magnificent floodlit towers of the cathedral on the island in the Seine - we have still to go back and get inside.
Yesterday we ran around and got our travel pass for the city - cart ohRANGHZE it's called - and got our bearings without trying to see too much. Found an awesome cafe last night, where a terrible thing happened to me.I left behind my supertrusty pocket map of Paris. This was a gem of a thing, with metro stops and major attractions marked everywhere, and a metro map on the back. The real beauty was in its size. it folded neatly into a square that i could pull in and out of my windbreaker vest with the greatest of ease. so you see my pain. we've been somehow surviving without it.
so far the French are freaking great. Instant change of atmosphere from England - French boys singing in the rail station, folk groups dancing in the square. I fit in with the French women who don't seem to mind bedhead crumply hair that looks like it went through the dryer. The cafe culture is sweet sweet sweet, here all the world's a stage. running out of time - forgive this terrible blog, im soaking wet from a rainstorm that i walked in to get here and will try to mqke up for it next time...

Leaving Jolly Old England

Reading back over my previous entries, I see that I've used words like "beautiful" and "quaint" and "charming" in abundance. While I expect that trend to continue (there are only so many variations on those words after all, and what we've been seeing truly does merit these descriptions), I do have some new words to use on today's post. After we left the Cotswolds late last week, we headed over to the city of Chester, located on the west side of the country and just this side of the border with Wales. While it certainly had the fact of being an extremely old city going for it (about 2000 years old, I believe), Chester is clearly not in the running for most pleasant and picturesque city to visit. Rick Steves doesn't even mention it; what other evidence do you need? It was decent; we only stayed there so we could take a bus tour of Wales. But given everything else we'd seen in England, I was almost convinced that ugliness and dirt had been abolished in this country (almost). Chester quickly dispelled that foolish notion. So did some of the cities we saw on the train ride to and from Chester, and on to the Lake District: Birmingham, Worcester, Manchester. My apologies to anyone from these cities; I'm sure they have lovely qualities, but appealing externals are not among them. From the train, Manchester seemed to contain only great quantities of steel, dirt, and World War II-era buildings that don't appear to have had any upkeep or maintenance performed on them whatsoever. Still, our time in Chester wasn't a complete wash. We discovered that if we are lacking for Christmas plans this year, we can certainly make reservations (yes, right now!) at any of the pubs and restaurants in Chester for Christmas dinner. Prominently displayed in the fronts of most pubs, either in the windows or on large cardboard stands, colorful signs advertise a welcoming atmosphere for you and your loved ones to spend Christmas evening. I am relieved to know I have this option; not sure if I can think of a better place to spend Christmas than a pub. . .For your viewing pleasure, I have taken several pictures of these displays and they will be available to see at some future date.

After Chester, we moved on to the Lake District. Surprisingly, no one gave us much hint as to what to expect here; maybe many Englanders haven't actually been up to the Lake District. If not, they are missing one of the most beautiful places in their country. This area has truly spectacular scenery and it is one place where the pictures taken don't do it justice. I think one of the most amazing things about this countryside is the sheer extent of it; you look for miles and miles at this lush, mountainous, tree-filled land of lakes and villages and farms and deep valleys, and you expect it to disappear or change at some point; but it doesn't. As far as the eye can see, loveliness reigns. Does it get any better than this? If there is one place I've been where I thought I could live and die in complete peace, this is it. I've never seen an area like this, and I was quite taken with it. As you can imagine, York paled a bit in comparison (our next stop), but fortunately, the history of that city made up for its lack of rolling hills and lush prairie land. We took an interesting tour of York, led by a volunteer guide from the city. We did hear some blatant inaccuracies with regard to the Catholic Church and what she teaches, but in a land overwhelmed by the influence of King Henry VIII and his decision to break from the Catholic Church, I shouldn't really be surprised. It's terribly sad to see the destruction caused by Henry VIII's commands; more than 800 Catholic monasteries were destroyed in England and you can see many of their ruins. The York Minister is the largest cathedral in England and the only reason it wasn't destroyed is because it didn't have an attached seminary. When you see its grandeur, you can only imagine what other works of great beauty were destroyed at Henry's whim.

After nearly 3 1/2 weeks, our time in England has come to an end. We've made a good sweep of the country and we've really enjoyed our time here. We're getting ready to head off to France tomorrow; we'll be on the 3:00pm Eurostar train to cross the English Channel. It'll be interesting to see how we do with the language; I think we'll finally start to feel like foreigners. . .

By the way, the day after I posted about the lack of trash bins in London, we were told (without any prompting) that the reason for such a decision had to do with World War II. Apparently, trash bins were a popular place to hide bombs and a great deal of damage was done. So the decision was made to remove trash bins from all public places in London, particularly train stations and major sights. So much for my theory. . .

Oh Brittania, 2/3 of the way through

After a weekend touring Bath and hanging out in London (walked through Harrod's 5 gleaming stories of stuff, stuff, stuff), we took an early train to Penzance on Monday. Unholy crush of people all over the rail and subway stations. London at 8:30 am is a bit scary. I barely made it through the turnstile, drowning in my luggage, alive.

Penzance is a salty, touristy little coast town nearly at the farthest tip of England, which only whetted my appetite for more of Cornwall. At last I have set foot on the ground of one of my favorite storytellers, Daphne Du Maurier. I attempted to explore the land by taking a brambly foot path inland, but it dead-ended about thirty feet in, so I had to be satisfied with walking the Promenade at night (they make a big deal of it here, although it' s just a wide side-walk, i guess rare in these tiny coast towns of narrow winding streets). I can see how D.D. drew rich material for her stories from Cornwall. It's a place that beckons the imagination. Gorgeous at night - globes of light from the town twinkling on the hillside, huddling together against sea and sky. The lights taper into a stretch of land that slips into endless sea. I realized how much I miss the beach when we got to Penzance, but it's a very different feel from California beaches. Rough and remote - you really feel like you're at the edge of the world.
Left Penzance yesterday morning after chatting with one of our hostesses, Helen (Glencree House is run by two tall Welsh ladies who traveled the world in younger days and played on rugby teams along the way to make ends meet), and took all day travelling to the Cotswolds. Blooody cold here but we're staying in Moreton-in-Marsh, near Shakespeare's home. Staying in a cozy place called Warwick House, run by an eccentric old English man named Charlie Grant who's little boy Tim was excited to be able to unlock our room for us and jump on the beds while his father showed us around. We went to a town pub called The Black Bear last night - wood floors and stone walls just like I would have imagined. Very Tolkienesque - they say he drew alot of inspiration from the Cotwolds. Charlie told us this morning that we should go down to the annual Women's Institution bake-off (or something like that). Because of strict food regulations, Moreton is one of the only places that still does "WI" food festivals (I can't remember what he called them). "You've got all these dears who churn up loads and loads of stuff for it," he said, "and people storm off the trains to queue up for it. You can't miss it." We did miss it, so that we could come down to this little library and get in some precious internet time. But it's getting to be time for some tea; my fingers are freezing even as I frantically type away here. Tea and crumpets, tea and crumpets. I'm getting to really be attached to teatime here. We're going to explore some of the little villages around here. When they have names like Chipping Camden and Stow-on-the-Wold, how can you pass them by?

On the Move

One of my favorite things so far about England is the fact that there are flowers everywhere here. I'm not a huge flower person (I don't grow them or anything), but the truth is, they make all the difference to the aesthetics of things here. Everywhere you go, there are lovely hanging flower baskets in front of restaurants and shops, lining the streets, and so on. In Bath, for example, the buildings are all made of limestone and this is interesting, since no other town in England (or maybe anywhere) can boast such a thing. But many of the buildings would be bland despite their limestone exterior if it weren't for the lovely flower baskets garnishing them. Flowers do lend a certain charm to a place, and they might be the sole reason why every village and town in England can be called quaint and charming without these words losing their meaning.

On another note, I think we've figured out why the cost of London is sky-high. I found out from my dad the other day that London is currently (and often is) at the top of the list for the most expensive cities in the world. We noticed right away (after our first cup of Starbucks tea) that there are practically no trash bins anywhere in this enormous city. A city filled with 9 million people and no need for trash bins? But the thing is, the city is amazingly clean. You see very little trash on the streets here. Oxford, a much smaller city, has trash bins on every street corner, yet you see trash all over the place. Why the difference? Well, in London, there are people whose sole job is to walk around the streets, the train stations, or whatever area they are assigned to, holding large trashbags and picking up garbage wherever they see it. You are actually advised by official-looking people to leave your trash in the corners of buildings or stations, and these streetcleaners will come by in just a few minutes time to promptly remove your garbage. (It's very hard to leave your garbage somewhere besides a trash can if you come from a place where you will be fined for doing exactly that.) I suspect that London prices are outrageous because the streetcleaners here are overpaid (either that, or there are so many of them needed to clean up after 9 million people that the costs to employ them are simply astronomical). If the people of London could somehow be taught to throw away their own trash, perhaps the cost of living could decrease to a reasonable living standard, say that of New York City or even San Diego. Maybe there would no longer even be a need to charge tourists for sitting in those chairs in the parks. . .

On Monday, Anna and I finally took our leave of London (after 11 wonderful days). Although we are ready to move on, it was hard to leave London. It's great to stay in one place long enough to find some familiarity with it. We found certain comfortable areas that we would come back to when we needed a break. I think our delight with London has also been fostered by Anna's cousins, Liz and Michael, who have been such gracious hosts to us. They've included us in their activities with family and friends on more than one occasion, and this has given us a glimpse of what it might be like to live here in London (a fun thought!). We did finally leave though, and headed down to the far reaches of England to the town of Penzance. After hearing our plans, a British guy we met last week recommended that we go to Scotland instead of Penzance, but after arriving, we feel sure he was mistaken. The town is small and somewhat touristy, but the coastline is rugged and breathtaking. Lovely countryside all along the train ride there, too. Penzance is definitely worth a visit; much different than everything else we've seen here. Yesterday we headed up to the Cotswolds, and there is a dramatically different feel here, too. I've heard that this is a favorite area for many people, and from the little I've seen so far, it might be the same for me. The Cotswolds are considered the heart of England, and you can feel it immediately when you arrive. It's as if you've stepped back in time; you can imagine old England thriving in exactly the same way. The loveliness of this land is peaceful and inviting, and what I most want to do here is to sit in a cozy room with a roaring fire, drinking a hot cup of tea. Maybe we'll do this tonight. . .