Shadow of history

(google)

 

For my final entry I think it best to explain my favorite place, and mine is probably Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It is a small church nestled in the heart of Paris's left bank. While it may not seem more than just another church, there are a few things you should know. First off it is the oldest church in Paris, dating back to about the 1300's, it can be seen in the "Book of Hours". It has seen many years and many wars, yet has survived them all. There are many reasons why it is special to me, for one example above its history, walking inside you are stepping through time, people form the medieval ages walked these aisle ways. It was where one of my childhood heroes was knighted. Joan of Arc herself walked into that church and was knighted there; she led all of France to freedom from Britain, at the age of 16. Saint Germain is also surrounded by famous restaurants Les Deux Magots and Café de Flore, which were the center hub for the existentialist movement and where many of the famous writers dinned.

 

(google)

But why is it important to me? I have been visiting France ever since I was little and we always stayed near it, and I grew up playing in the park just outside the church chasing pigeons, eating under the flower balcony of Les Deux Magots, but I have a story to share, one that while fairy tale it is, to little me I still hold it dear.

One day while I was playing in the park and mom was reading her book, I remember this girl sitting on a bench watching me. She had short hair that came to about the base of her neck, kind of wavy, wore a white summer dress, and looked to be about in her teen years. She didn't have much if anything with her. But she just sat there enjoying the day, but as I said before I noticed she kept an eye on me. Once I paused and looked back at her and she smiled and I shyly smiled back and waved politely. I then proceeded to run around the back of a tree in the park and pick up some rocks to finish my little stone castle I was making, and when I came back around the tree, the girl was gone. I paused and looked around to see if she left, but saw no sign of her leaving, or in the crowds on the street passing by. Before I could investigate further my mom called me back and when went on our way. Later on when we got home form our trip mom told me the story of Joan of Arc, after I had seen it on an old show called "Wish Bone" and in an instant it clicked in my young head. Sure I was young, and true I was tiny and a scatterbrain, but to this day I will tell you, I saw a guardian angel of France. Joan. And ever since when I go to Paris I visit Saint Germain and light a candle if I can in her honor. 

True it seems like a stupid child's story, but experiences like that are what give places life and breath and what make them special, their history and all their stories, true or imagined, or unbelievable. Now I say my time is up, and it is your turn to go out there and find and make some stories of your own and add to the history. Happy trails, and good travels. Bon chance.

(Google)

 

Hangzhou view



(google)



I spoke with my mother about my next blog entry and asked her where her favorite place was in China that she had been to. She quickly and simply answered, “Hangzhou”. I asked her if she could sum it up in a few words and she said, “Great seafood, clean air, landscape and pent houses.”

Hangzhou sits right along side China’s West Lake, it is estimated to be over seven thousand years old created back in the Neolithic era. The city itself was created in the Qin Dynasty, in 589 AD, and was originally named Qiantang County then later changed to Hangzhou, which means, “River-ferrying Prefecture”.



(google)



“Every year they have this Dragon festival, and people decorate their boats to resemble dragons.” My mother said. The festival is held in Xixi where there is a famous boat race, held every year around, the end of May. Boating skill and technique are valued far over speed; the boaters must perform stylized maneuvers and ancient technique. The dragon boat custom can be traced back to the Tang Dynasty (618-907), the area if Xixi has numerous wetlands that would flood during the summer. In order to keep these natural disasters at bay, people began to pray to the Dragon King, a god believed to control rivers and water ways, to keep them safe and bring good blessings. Not a bad tradition if you ask me!

She spoke of their wonderful sea food, “Best in all the world.” She said. “The scenery and gardens are captivating and amazing.” Hangzhou has been inspiration for painters and poets for many, many, many years. And after seeing the pictures I believe it. This ancient city has been around since ancient times, back in the days when dragons I bet did exist. It has one leg in the modern world and another in the realm mystical and fantasy. If you want to come to a place to see a modern city which has been around since the time of legends then come see what Hangzhou has to offer.

Just a Foot away

(image by google)

This week’s entry takes us more to a Zen mode, as we make our way to Japan. Here in the United States we have a “personal space” of about 3 feet, which we politely try to maintain to the best of our abilities. However in Japan, the space shrinks to about 3 inches due to the size of the country and the amount of people. I interviewed Mr. Aaron Try, a friend of mine who lived in Japan for six years. To “escape” the hustle and bustle and find some peace, he would go fishing out on a lake known as Ashi no ko, or translated as “Foot Lake” because it looked like a foot. There are 5 outlying lakes around Mount Fuji, he told me, that were caused by volcano activity many decades ago. “I would grab a case of beer and rent a motor boat and go fishing all day. It was an escape for me to be out there all-alone. Sure you’d see other people fishing out there with you, but this was a decent sized lake, not a pond, and though there were other people out there you were still alone.” He said. “It was interesting the perspective, of having to be so close, then going out there and being near nothing.” He said.

            He fished most of the morning when the lake would be covered in fog and one could see only 100 feet away. As it got later the fog would lift and he would come in for lunch then go back out and it would take all day. Eventually by mid to late afternoon you could see Mount Fuji rising up beyond. “If you were close enough you’d have to look straight up to see it.” Aaron said.

("Black Bass" image by Google)

            He fished for black bass, which were introduced by the Emperor Hirohito, and in the back of his mind he would think that these are not indigenous fish. In the middle of the lake, there was a small island which he and his friend dubbed “Rabbit Island” because some one let loose some domesticated rabbits there, and the bred “like rabbits” so there was this small population of domesticated colorful rabbits running around this little island.

(image by Google)

            Lastly he spoke of the temples, which were scattered about the banks of these lakes, and he would read the plaques on their histories, and say to himself, “Man, these temples are older than my country.” Remember, 800 900-year-old temples are considered young in Japan. “The whole country interested and fascinated me.” He sighed, “I can’t honestly think of any one thing that stood out more than the rest.”

           

 Japan can only be described as Unique. There is no where else like it in the world, its culture, its land, people, and cities all carry a dignity and nostalgia about them. As if one were constantly looking into a dream, or painting; at first you don’t believe a place like this could exist, yet it does, every nook and cranny of Japan is covered in history and stories. Will you make one?

(image by Google)

Shifting Tides

This week I interviewed my close friend, Maggie Sheffield, on her visit to a small French village know as Luc Sur Mer. It is a small coastal town, which borders the English Channel, in North France; about 35 minutes form the larger city of Caen.

(image by Google)

Ms. Maggie went there for a foreign exchange program for school before she entered college. “It was a neat little town,” she said, “It had lots of good sea food! Their scallops were very good, and had this pinkish colored meat inside of them. There was plenty of good music and small markets.”

(Image by Google)

            “The tides there were amazing, they would receded to the length of a football field or pier length!” she described, giving me a vision of one minute there was an ocean at your beach, and then the next nothing but beach. It is because of these tides that a small town attraction and legend of sorts was created. The La maison de la baleine, or “the house of the whale”, is a brick building that holds a sort of tribute and museum of the town and has nice old story. Back in the year of the early 1900’s the great receding tides the town possesses shifted back as usual only this time to reveal a huge dead whale hidden beneath the water. Well, the town’s folk stripped the carcass and used it as best they could and hauled the skeleton up the beach and built a brick house around it to keep it. Today the whale sits just outside its little home and the house and he still stand and serve as a museum of sorts.

(image by Google)

            My friend went on to tell me about the really old cathedral that was there, the Basilica Beatae Mariae de la Delivrande. “It’s not the biggest or grandest as far as cathedrals go, but I thought it was beautiful. There used to be another much larger cathedral in Caen, but it was obliterated during WW2 by the bombs. However in Luc Sur Mer, not but 35 minutes from that location, that church was not touched. Not a single scratch. It did not have to have any renovations or rebuilding to it after the war, so it’s the original church as it was when it was built way back in the day.

(image by Google)

            Maggie then told me about her experience being a foreign exchange student. “It is a small town where everyone knows everyone else, like Ashland (VA) here.” She said. “It was so neat being the ONLY American in that whole town. That’s what I remember the most. They would want to try and talk to me in American, as apposed to just regular English. I had no idea there was a difference.” She said. “They would ask me to say things, say something American and I would ask, ‘like what?’” to which I smartly replied to her, “Howdy Y’all!” she chuckled and continued. “They would say, “describe what you see around you,” and I would, and they would all be fascinated, and all I was doing was describing the sand and little fish,” she smiled, “It made me feel special.” She said. “They all assumed that because I was American that I would have a bad taste in food, that I would not like French cuisine, but in truth I already had loved it, and had had things similar back home. So this at first was a little insulting, but I soon changed their view. I ate everything I was given and loved it all. “This may not be what you are used to” they would say.” Funny how stereotypes can catch up to us all isn’t it? Even to the most well rounded, humbled and educated ones as well like my friend. But the family she stayed with was very good to her and she made friends and forever remembers her stay in this small town.

            So if you are looking for an authentic experience where you will get the greatest stories of all, throw yourself out there, where you can teach and be taught. Be uncomfortable, lost and insulted, because you will soon make the greatest of friends, memories and feel the best about yourself

After I thanked her for her interview she added one last thing, “Oh, and they had big snails…And white cows!” she chuckled. I smiled, “Aww white cows!” we both like cows.

           

(image by Google)

The Dying Town

(image form Google)

 "I have been to Civita twice in 2008 and 2010.  The views from the outside walls of Civita of Umbria stretch for hundreds of miles.  They are nothing short of spectacular.  My brother-in-law said of the view, “if ever I had a glimpse of heaven, this is it!”" (Mrs. Corley)

This week I decided to interview, Mrs. Corley, who is an Italy con-assure and my teacher, what her favorite place to visit in Italy was to visit. I traveled with her to Italy once and knew she would be able to tell me. Without missing a beat she told me of a place known as Civita di Bagnoregio. 

" Civita di Bagnoregio is a charming medieval village, founded by the Etruscans over 2,500 years ago.  Over time, however, as the walls of the tiny city have eroded, so has the population, which is now somewhere between 10 – 15 year-round residents." she explained. This number can expand all the way up to 100 in the summer months due to tourism. Civita means "old town"and was once the main hub of the area, but declined during the 16th century, and is now the main pinnacle of its former suburb Bagnoregio. 

(picture by Mrs. Corley)

"After earthquakes, serious erosion, and the impacts of two World Wars, Civita has turned into an “island” of sorts, connected to Bagnoregio solely by a long, steep, pedestrian footbridge.  There are no cars, no vespas, no motor vehicles whatsoever in Civita." she explained. Much akin to Venice I supposed reminising on my own Italy journey.  She then eloquently described what the town looked like, 

" Over the last few centuries, layers of Civita have fallen into the great canyon surrounding it, like tiers of an onion, peeling away.   Bagnoregio continues as a small but prosperous town, while Civita became known as il paese che muore (in Italian: "the dying town").  In recent years, thanks to a few popular travel books, Civita has become a tourist day trip."

"Pictures of Civita are certainly spectacular.  This delicate and preciously fragile, tiny hill top town sits high atop a small plateau of volcanic tuff, surrounded by gorgeous, deep canyons and overlooking the Tiber River Valley.  Over the past few centuries, its “city limits” have shrunk as the walls of its outmost buildings have literally fallen into the valleys."  

"It is said that Civita owes much of its unaltered condition to its relative isolation, about a twenty minute drive from Orvieto and about 60 miles from Rome, but hardly near any other well-known Italian city or site. "

"But, for those of us who have visited and wish to continue visiting Civita, that is a good thing.  It’s a treasure and should be treated that way!" she proclaimed.

(Picture by Mrs. Corley)

I asked what was one of her fond memories she answered, " During (a visit), six of us ate lunch (“pranzo”) at one of the only two “ristoranti” in Civita.  There were likely not more than four tables and the dishes came out one at a time, as they were lovingly prepared and served when ready.  That incredible lunch took us about three hours – what a great memory!"

She then told me that Civata was put on the World Monuments Fund's 2006 Watch List of Most Endangered Sites, "due to the threats it faces from erosion and unregulated tourism."

 

 "If you do go to Civita, please treat it with respect, great care, and sensitivity."

This truly sounds like quite the gem of the world and needs saving. They say time travel is impossible, I never believed that...History never really dies.

(image by Google)

If you would like to know more about the World Monuments Fund or how you can help our worlds treasured places, visit this website, http://www.wmf.org/ 

 

 

Bonifacio odessey

(picture from Google)

“One of the most interesting places in the whole world has to be Bonifacio.” Bonny Calloway told me when I asked her my set of questions. Bonifacio is a unique fortress town in Corcia, built in 828 AD by Count Bonifacio of Tuscany. It’s timeless medieval setting resting on the carved out hill tops surrounding the sea, and harbor resemble the home of the Laestrygonians referred to in Homer's Odyssey of the 7th century BC, and is often thought of as such.

(picture from Google)

            “What made my experience so fascinating was the danger we faced,” Bonny went on to say. “We sailed to Bonifacio. In order to get there you must pass through these narrow cliffs. You could see these ancient statues carved into the rocks as you passed through; how they got them there I don’t know.” She laughed. “As we sailed, there were 20 foot waves rising behind us, pushing us along into the cove. Mr. Shakley [ her captain ] later told me and the rest of the crew ‘you know you almost died’. At the time we had no idea but thinking back, the waves were massive.”

            She spoke then of the town itself, of its medieval look and feel, “time stood still there, as if it were locked out from the rest of the world.” She continued. She mused about the cows, which stood along the beach and sighed dreamily in remembrance of the landscape. She struggled over the words on how to describe this place, and finally summed it up by saying, “It…Its just incredible.”

There are a few places that are worth noting:

  Porte de Genes:

It was the only entrance into the citadel in the town before the Porte de France was built in 1854. The drawbridge there was installed in 1598 and still operates today.

The Rue du Palais-de-Garde:

            It is one of the town’s most beautiful streets, it is known for its double-arched windows, and enclosed arcades. The older houses here do not have doors on the ground floor, as protection from attacks. The inhabitants used ladders instead in order to enter the houses.

Escalier du Roi d’Aragon (King Aragon Steps)

            There is a legend that these 187 steps were carved into the limestone cliff face, were built by the Aragonese in a single night, in order to try and take the town in 1420. The steps though actually existed long before this, used to carry water to the citadel.

So the next time you are floating around France’s oceans make a stop here. It will be worth you while, and add another interesting chapter to your own odyssey.

(picture from Google)

Tour of Italy

Chou! As is foreshadowed in the previous blog our journey now continues to Italia! Today we will be strangely enough talking about a common tourist attraction, however not in the context of which most travel guides take. As well as next time we will see a smaller less know place that perhaps may soon earn a dot on your maps.

First off for this entry, a place that needs no introduction the Duomo of Florence Italy! Now while I could go on all about facts, history and such that make this place the wonder that it is and tempt you to tears that way, which is easily done, that is not my purpose. I shall tell different stories of this place, to tempt your imaginations and tickle your romantic fancy. All of the stories told by close friends. For while a building, or church is built with stone and mortar, and adorned in master’s art, it is also built by people, who toiled and had things to tell. It his held up by stories and inspiration, so I find it only best to recount just a few of the stories which took place at this cathedral to give one an image of why, it is so holy.

(photo by Google images)

            Our first story comes from Ms. Megan Goodson. When asked about her experience at the Duomo she said, “I remember it was beautiful.” Ask anyone who has seen the Duomo of Florence, what they remember and this is the first thing they will say in some fashion. She told of how she and her family sat on the great marble steps and had lunch. “As an art student the architecture was well done and if I remember correctly it became a still standing joke how they used checker pattern for decoration.”

(photo by Google images)

The Duomo is covered in patterns and colors that stretch all the way to the top down to the steps themselves. On the inside the ceiling is painted with the portrait of heaven the walls leading you ever outward. During the Medieval ages, cathedrals such as Notre Dame of Paris, or even the Duomo of Milan, were designed to take your thoughts upward to heaven and God for guidance. However the Duomo of Florence was constructed in the Renaissance and was designed to make one take their thoughts outward to the world. What can you see? What can you create and accomplish? So for a cathedral of its time it was revolutionary.

  I asked her to continue and she spoke of the church itself. “I felt at peace as a Christian...just because I have this standing theory that the old churches - the original chapels - they have the holy spirit with in them ...so ...walking into the Duomo was a major MAJOR spiritual journey for me personally.” she continued. “I also remember for me it was a homing beacon,” she added with a reminiscing smile. “because Jennifer (her sister) told us, ‘if you ever get lost look and find the Duomo and head towards it’ so it was like that family member always there looking out for you.”

 The Duomo is a great landmark of Florence. “All roads lead to Rome.” they say this is true for the Duomo, if you can find it you can find your way. “Jennifer said she did and it was a view of Italy that rivaled seeing Paris from the Eiffel tower.” she explained. When I asked if she went to the top, she laughed and said that no, she was too “chicken”. My friend smiled gazing outward and continued reminiscing happily, “When you walked by the Duomo no matter what mood you were in, it calmed you down. And it took me back to the Italian Renaissance.... its almost like it washed away everything that modern ....and around its four corners you went back in time”

(Photo by me)

My second story comes from Mrs. Gwen Sheffield, who helped me recount her journey to Red Sand Beach. She told me of her experience in Florence and of her visit to the Duomo as her second most meaningful trip to a place. She told me of how she went with her husband and his colleagues to Italy. There was only a hand full of them because only workers that had been with the company so long could go, so it was a special trip.  They got a special privet tour of the cathedral, and were able to view it all to themselves. She spoke of the frescos on the walls, and how she preferred to being able to see them up close as apposed to those so far above you that you could not see as up close. Frescos are a special kind of painting method where the pigment of color actually binds in to the wall. So the only way to destroy the color and paint is to actually chip the wall down itself, making frescos one of the most if not the most long lasting type of art form in the world.

(photo by Google images)

(photo by Google images)

            She continued on, speaking of the great detail in the art, of both the wall and ceiling frescos; each one portraying a story to itself as well as adding to the over all huge spectacle of the domed ceiling. Soon we came to the pinnacle of any Duomo story, the climb to the top. She spoke of dim brick spiral up in the heat, and of the majestic view at the top. “Nothing can compare to the view of Italy from the Duomo.” She said. “You can see everything.” She described the picturesque landscape, all but painted across the world rather than grown. A place where time was ever present, yet its hand barley touched; of the sun as it glared above them casting a warm glow around the whole city.

            Mrs. Sheffield smiled and told of how she dared to venture to the edge then went back. She told of the sloping slick outer railing and how slightly ominous it was, but then finished off by saying how beautiful a culture Italy is, and that she hopped it would remain that way.  

           

(Photo by Google images)

The final story I wish to share with you is my own personal experience here. I had gone with my school’s trip back in summer of 2011, to Italy and our last stop was Florence. The hotel in which we stayed was in the shadow of the cathedral tucked neatly away in an ally not far from it. So for me it was a beacon as well. One can always find their way from the Duomo.

The day came to visit the great church itself, and we were all given the choice of whether to climb to the top or stay bellow. I have a horrible fear of heights, but I told myself I had to go, I had to see the great sight of Florence from a bird’s eye. So one by one we all filed in single file line into the building following our guide and began the arduous journey into the belly of the church up to the top. The bricks were covered in names of people past who too had made this pilgrimage, the stairs wound in a spiral up ward further and further. You felt and knew you were up high, yet you could not see outside, all save for the slivers of light, which seeped through the slits in the tower’s sides. There was no way to go but forward as your feet began to lose track of themselves stepping one after the other, your hands sliding up the rail for balance. We came out along the ledge on the inside of the church up along where the frescos on the ceiling clung.  I remember hugging the wall for all I was worth craning my neck over my shoulder to see the frescos. Me being an art student I was torn between my love of Renaissance art and my fear of heights.

Eventually we continued on, higher and higher we climbed, till we came to a small flight of thin stairs, which pointed straight to the top and final platform. We came to a ladder and a small square of sunlight and clouds drifting by overhead. Just outside and above me was the view; while down here I was still safe from my fear. I took a hesitant step back, when one of my teachers approached me. She asked me how I was and I admitted I was a little scared, however she was not going to let me chicken out, not yet….

She smiled and looked me in the eye and told me a story:

 “You know,” she said, “When my son was dying in the hospital, he could not see, he could not speak, all he had was a small white board that he wrote on to tell us what he was thinking. The night he died the last word he wrote “Persevere” as a message to all of us, that no matter how difficult things get, no matter how frightening it is, you must keep going and you must persevere. For that, no one can take from you.”

I stood there in tears dumbfounded and honored, that a mother, would recount to me a painful memory, and tell me such a heartfelt story just to help me over come my fear. All I could do was give a confident nod then look to the ladder and climbed boldly out up onto the circular ledge of the Duomo…

All descriptions of the sight one sees can never do it justice. I stepped into the light and stood on top of the world gazing out a spectacle that only God himself could see. The first thought I had was, “So this is what the angels see.” I looked out at all of Italy all around me, to Tuscany to Rome, as far as the eye could see, covered in green dotted with red till the glair of the sun swallowed it up.

I stayed well away from the edge mind you, but I walked all around in wonder and awe, and a feeling of newfound peace. I sat on the white, graffitied, marbled seat and looked out at the world before me smiling.

Here is where art was born, a place created by the Romans adorned in culture and majesty. A place as old as time itself, steeped in stories and history. A place that has survived countless over takings, wars and time itself; a country that always persevered through no matter the obstacle, with a smile on its face and a bounce in its step. Its culture and gentile still intact.  

No matter your religious belief or thought, when you stand up there and gaze off the top of that cathedral, you will feel something. Call it what you will, the Holy Spirit, Peace, Understanding, Nature…Whatever. Its here, for that first moment when your breath is sucked from your throat and you feel your heart open. This my friends is what its like to fly, this is what its like to feel alive if only for a second, that wave washes over you…

This is Italia. A country and a place filled with so many stories. And to this day when you go up to the top of that church, or stand in its shadow, wander the streets of Florence, Venice, or Milan. You will feel them, and see them all waiting to be told…

(picture by me)

                                           Will you add yours someday? 

The answer to Hidden Hetalia was: The Duomo!

(Hetalia Paint it White Movie)

           Stay tuned next time for another Hidden Hetalia