Allison W. Good

The only thing I planned in Rome was to go to Vatican City on my third day, and my second day was a Sunday.  Everyone had told me that most of the city shuts down on Sunday for obvious reasons, so I kind of just walked around and did whatever pleased me.  First, I headed to the Piazza del Quirinale, home to the Palazzo del Quirinale, which is the official residence of the President of the Italian Republic who is currently Berlusconi (Remember the really important head of state that got mauled and had ugly marks all over his face?).  Quirinale Hill is also the tallest of Rome’s 7 hills.  My guidebook had said that the palace was closed to the public, but that was fine because I wanted to see the statue of Castor and Pollux, mythical warrior twins whom the ancient Romans embraced as their protectors.  The statue is paired with an obelisk from the Mausoleum of Augustus:

The front of the palace:

Despite the fact that I supposedly couldn’t tour the palace, people were lining up to go inside the complex, and I was confused.  Apparently, the palace is open to the public on Sunday mornings (only designated rooms of course, it’s not like I saw Berlusconi’s bedroom or anything), so quickly hopped on that train and got myself a tour of the president’s home.  Built in 1583 by Pope Gregory XIII as a papal summer residence, and it housed the civil government offices of the Papal States until 1870 when they were overthrown during the Italian nationalist revolution.  When Rome became the capital of unified Italy in 1871, the palace became the official royal residence of the Kings of Italy.  The monarchy was abolished in 1946 and the Palace became the official residence and workplace for the Presidents of the Italian Republic.

No photos were allowed, obviously, and I didn’t want to take chances in the Italian equivalent to the White House, but the palace is a treasure trove of paintings, furniture, etc.  The room I remember best is the one where the Italian president receives foreign heads of state, because I thought to myself “Oh, Obama was here, that’s pretty cool.”

So that was definitely a pleasant surprise.  Just down the street was Bernini’s Four Fountains, which are built into an intersection:

Bernini’s Chiesa di Sant’Andrea al Quirinale wasn’t far away, either:

From there I went to the Doria Pamphilj Gallery, a large private collection housed in Palazzo Doria Pamphilj.  The Doria Pamphilj family is of princely Roman blood, and they built this palace in the 17th century.  They started collecting art in te 16th century.  It’s quite an interesting space because the paintings are supposed to be like wallpaper, and there was barely any space left on the walls.  This reflected the popular idea of the time that paintings were just decoration, a measure of wealth, and that true appreciation of a piece of art wasn’t the style:

There’s a lot of good stuff, and my favorites were Rubens’ small canvases, but Velazquez’s portrait of Pope Innocent X, formerly Cardinal Giovan Battista Pamphilj, is considered to be the collection’s masterpiece:

Some of the rooms, however, didn’t have any paintings and were just pieces of art all on their own.  The Green Room, apparently done in a Viennese style:

The really interesting story, though, was in the chapel, which contains the bodies of 2 saints, including the mummified corpse of the family saint.  The chapel, and a certificate from the Innocent X declaring the authenticity and presence of these saints in the chapel:

The synagogue wasn’t too far away, so I went there next.  It’s a very prominent building on the bank of the Tiber River:

Unfortunately, Sinagoga Ashkenazita is only open during services because it was bombed in 1982.  But  it has an excellent museum with a variety of artifacts from Italy’s Jewish communities.  Rome’s Jewish community, though, is the oldest in Europe; Israelites came in 161 BCE as ambassadors from Judah Maccabee, asking for help against invaders.  Pope Paul IV confined the Jews to the local ghetto in 1555, and even though it was dissolved in 1870 it still remains the center of the city’s Jewish population.  The museum’s current temporary exhibition is about repraesentatio legis, a custom during the Middle Ages in which the Jews would parade themselves in front of the new pope during his investiture and surrender themselves to him as “people of the Book.”  The items were the Biblical scrolls that the Jews would present him with.  The rite included an exchange between the Jews and the pontiff; the former would ask him to confirm and accept the book, and the pope responded something along the lines that the book was legitimate but the fact that it was given by the Jews made it futile.  The Jewish community spent ridiculous amounts of money on making these scrolls, and over the centuries the rite underwent several changes and eventually disappeared altogether.

One of the streets that crosses the Tiber near the synagogue really reminded me of Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem, with its numerous (overpriced) kosher restaurants and Judaica stores:

I was disappointed, though, because I ate at one of these places and they charged me for bread they just brought me without even asking.  This is common in places like Prague in Eastern Europe, but you don’t hear about it happening much in Western Europe.  I’m sure they know they can “get” the tourists, but I was personally offended as a Jew visiting a site that had religious and historic significance for me.

Bordering the ghetto, right next to the synagogue, is the Portico d’Ottavia.  The oldest four-sided porch in Rome was constructed originally in 146 BCE, but Augustus rebuilt it in the 1st century BCE and named it in honor of his sister, Ottavia.  Its last reconstruction was in 203 CE by Settimus Sverius:

After lunch I was on my way out of the Jewish Ghetto when I saw some sort of ceremony in front of the portico.  I read the flyers and was able to understand that it was some sort of Holocaust memorial that corresponded to a commemorative plaque placed on the side of a nearby building in January 2001.  It makes sense because the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz was only a few days ago.  I’m almost sure the elderly woman on the left is a survivor:

There was quite a crowd there, a lot of people on bicycles who had stopped to watch, and I was impressed.  Unfortunately, I still had a lot more I wanted to see and so couldn’t stay until the end.  A bit more wandering and I found the Pantheon, a 2,000-year-old temple to all the gods of Ancient Rome:

The Byzantine emperor gave it to Pope Boniface IV in 609 CE, who converted it to a church, thereby saving it from the abandonment and destruction that befell most of Rome’s ancient buildings during the early medieval period.  Architects still wonder how it was erected because its dome is a perfect half-sphere made of poured concrete without the support of vaults, arches, or ribs, and the dome is the largest of its kind.  Raphael’s grave is also located in the Pantheon:

From there I went to Piazza Navona.  Originally CE first-century stadium, the piazza hosted wrestling matches, track and field events, and mock naval battles in which the stadium was flooded and filled with fleets.  The last one actually sounds like it would have been fun to watch.  These days, people go for Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers, which represents one of the four continents of the globe ( as known in 1651).  It’s currently undergoing some sort of restoration, I think:

I really tried to pace myself in Rome and not go for 7 or 8 hours each day like I had in France and Florence, so I went back to my hostel to relax and take advantage of my wonderful accommodations before I had to move on to my next destination.

Alice in Wonderland had one of the highest ratings for Rome on hostelworld.com, but with a name like hostelworld.com you’d think that if the website said it was a hostel then it would be a hostel.  This was definitely not the case.  First, it was weird that the hostel was located on the 5th floor of a really nice apartment building.  After being buzzed in I walked through a courtyard to get to the old-school elevator.  When I walked in I thought I was hallucinating because it appeared to be a bed and breakfast.

And it was, except for the fact that all of the rooms were shared except for one.  There were 3 rooms that had a capacity of 11 people total.  I shared a room with 3 others: Mia, a Korean nurse in England; Sofia, a Portuguese nurse in England (they were traveling together); and another Sofia, an actress from Brazil.  The other girls were Atene, Japanese but raised in Canada and in Rome to look for an apartment before she started studying for her Masters in architecture there; Jamie, a recent Tufts graduate from Chicago en route to Indonesia to research what makes people become terrorists; Olivia, a 2nd-year university student also from Brazil who was traveling Europe alone on vacation just like me; and a Polish woman (whose name I forget) who was only there to attend a short seminar for her job, which I think involves coordinating a volunteer organization for European seniors.  Everyone was really nice and we had some great conversations.

In the evenings we would usually sit together, maybe make dinner, and talk about sightseeing in Rome or about life in general.  It was cool for me to hear international perspectives on a variety of subjects, from Italian men to press censorship.  I learned that Mia had lived in Jordan for 2 years and had been to Israel, so she told me about her trip to Wadi Rum and it just made me want to go there even more.  Olivia wants to eventually move to New York City and we talked a lot about Broadway musicals.  Sofia from Brazil told us about the time when she went to vacation in the U.S. and was taken into a room for questioning by airport officials upon arriving in the country.  Mia, me, Atene, and the Polish woman on the first night:

It was very nice that it happened to be all women (except for my first night when a couple that had the “private room” came back drunk at around 3 a.m. and woke everyone up because they couldn’t find their keys and needed someone to let them in).  There was a Filipino (I think?) woman that worked there on a daily basis, putting out breakfast, making the beds, etc., but I only saw the owner once an I don’t think he’s there much.  My bed was very comfortable and I slept well, and the bathroom was nice. Of course, we were allowed to use the fridge and cook in the relatively spacious kitchen.  The television was tuned to BBC most of the time, and the computer was available for everyone.  Bedroom, kitchen, living room:

In case you couldn’t tell already, I was quite pleased with this hostel/bed and breakfast.  So what to do with my first afternoon in Rome, when the weather was perfect?  Walk around and see the sites, of course!

The city walls were only a few blocks away:

It only took me about 20 minutes or so to reach the Ancient City.  I got my first glimpse of the Colosseum:

And then I walked along Via dei Fori Imperiali, built under Mussolini, which is really nice because you can see the ruins of the ancient imperial forums (fora?) on both sides.  The Forum of Augustus, finished in 2 BCE, which had a temple dedicated to Mars; and the Forum of Nerva from the 1st century CE, whose temple was dedicated to Minerva:

And that’s when it happened.  I saw this old guy dressed up like a Roman gladiator or warrior or something like that, just walking up and down the street.  I took a picture, and then I saw this woman go up to him and take a picture with him and he put his noose thing around her and his sword to her throat and they posed.  It was so funny and I wanted a picture with this guy, so I did the same:

Big mistake, because as it turns out I was supposed to give him money.  I didn’t have much and I needed it to get around.  I should have known this, but I walked away before he could get my attention without running after me and making a scene.  He whistled a bit, but I just kept on going.  I escaped, but I had been lured into one of Rome’s most obvious tourist traps.

Coming up on my left was the monument to Vittorio Emanuel II, the first king of unified Italy, which is situated in between Capitoline Hill and Piazza Venezia.  Made entirely of marble, locals call it “the wedding cake.”  It also has the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, flanked by guards that change on the hour:

And the amazing view:

The Fontana di Trevi was quite massive compared to how big I thought it would be.  And it was packed with tourists, obviously.  In 1730 Pope Clement XII organized a contest for designing the fountain (design competitions were all the rage back then, apparently), and Nicola Salvi won.  Salvi died in 1751, but Guiseppe Pannini finished it in 1762.  Since it was just restored in 1998, it looks good as new:

As the legend goes, tossing one coin in the fountain ensures that the visitor will return to Rome, two coins will lead to romance, and three coins will ensure either a marriage or a divorce.  I threw in a two-cent piece, so hopefully this means I get to go back, but we’ll see.

The fountain was very close to the Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish Steps, the longest and widest staircase in Europe.  Funded by the French and designed by an Italian, they were completed in 1725 and built to link the Bourbon Spanish Embassy to the Holy See, which was located in the piazza.  A Baroque fountain at the foot of the steps was supposedly done by Bernini’s father in the 17th century.  The (crowded) steps and the fountain:

Next door is the Keats-Shelley Museum, in the house where John Keats died:

Then I went to Villa Borghese, Rome’s second-largest public park.  It has a number of museums, most of which are located in the park’s several villas.  The most famous, the Galleria Borghese, is housed in the Villa Borghese itself.  Cardinal Scipione Borghese began the villa’s collection of fine paintings and sculptures in the 17th century.  He was an early patron of Bernini and an avid collector of works by Caravaggio.  Today, the galleria also has some Titian, Raphael, and Rubens.  Prince Marcantonio IV Borghese completely renovated the villa in the late 18th-century and ordered the galleria’s contents by theme, their present form.  I’ll come back to the galleria because when I went in to buy a ticket I was told I had to make a reservation and come another day, but for now here are some pictures of the park, which reminded me a lot of City Park in New Orleans:

Villa Borghese is partially bordered by the city walls, so I knew I had walked the entire length of Rome.  It took me 3 hours and most of my camera’s battery, but I would call my first afternoon in Rome a great success.

On my third day in Florence I met up with Orlie, my friend from Rothberg High (our cutesy nickname for that “prestigious” institution), who was traveling Italy as well with her friend Becky, who is on Nativ.  They spent a total of 10 days in Rome, Venice, and Florence, just like me.  I had planned on going to the synagogue anyway, but it was really nice to be with people who wanted to do that kind of thing just as much as I wanted to.  After coffee/tea, that’s exactly where we went, to the Italian-Sephardic Great Synagogue.

The Florentine Jewish community was confined to a ghetto as per the decree of Cosimo I, even though he had established the city as a haven for Jews from other papal states who left due to Pope Paul IV’s anti-Jewish measures that were not enacted in Florence.  Though the Jewish community flourished during this period, its numbers eventually began to decline.  When Napoleon conquered Florence in 1799 the Jews were emancipated and freed from ghetto life, but when the grand dukes were restored in 1814 after the Congress of Vienna the Jews were forced to return to the ghetto.  In 1848 the ghetto was abolished, and at the end of the 19th century it was demolished, meaning that the original synagogues were razed as well.  In 1872 plans for the Great Synagogue were approved, and the building was consecrated 10 years later.  During World War II the Nazis used the synagogue as a garage and damaged it by detonating several mines inside.  Photography was not allowed inside the synagogue for security reasons, which I will talk about when I post about Rome.  You can definitely tell from the outside that it’s a Sephardic design:

After taking a quick look inside the sanctuary, which is only open for short periods of time each day, we went to the museum, which told the story of Florence’s Jews and had a number of artifacts and ritual objects on display; the usual.  We couldn’t ignore the notice about Shabbat services on our way out (it was Friday), so we decided to come back that afternoon.  As for a Shabbat meal, Chabad was right across the street, so I called the number on the door and was promptly invited for the free Friday night dinner.  We also ventured inside Florence’s only kosher restaurant:

After that we walked along the Arno to the Ponte Vecchio.  It was the absolute most perfect weather:

These days, the bridge is home to several fine jewelry stores that proudly display their diamonds and pearls in the windows, eliciting a particularly profound question from young university students who have no money: Where is my rich Italian boyfriend?  Unfortunately for us, daydreaming didn’t help and we left the bridge empty-handed.

On the other side of the Arno is Oltrano, Florence’s “less desirable” district, but it has some of the coolest sites.  We headed straight for the Palazzo Pitti.  Built by banker Luca Pitti in the 15th century, the Medicis acquired it in 1550 and really expanded it.  Today it houses 6 museums.  Especially on a sunny day, though, the thing to do is walk through the Boboli Gardens in back, exploring its geometrically shaped hedges, many fountains, and marble statues.  That is exactly what we did:

From the terrace of the porcelain museum we could see the Tuscan countryside:

After that, Orlie and Becky left to trek back to their hostel way on the other side of town, but I stayed and went to the Galleria Palatina, Florence’s most important art collection after the Uffizi, and the Medici royal apartments.  The Palatina has some Caravaggio, Raphael, and Boticelli, but I was really fascinated by the royal digs.  Tip: It’s really easy to take pictures where they’re not allowed if you position yourself so the guards can’t see you, like behind a doorway or a large column.  The Dutchess’ room, all blue, was definitely my favorite:

On my way back to my hostel I decided it was time for some food photography (the last one is marzipan):

And that was my day, because I had to be back at the synagogue for 5.  The service was hard to follow because the tunes were Sephardic and therefore unfamiliar.  Also, because the synagogue is Orthodox I was in the female section off to the side, so it was hard to hear what was going on  I spent most of the time examining the interior decoration, which is spectacular, but I don’t think they publish pictures of the inside on the internet.  It was also really nice to finally go to a Shabbat service after 2 weeks of not doing anything Jewish.

The Chabad meal was just like any other Chabad meal.  There was quite a crowd (American students who had just arrived for study abroad, Nativ kids we knew from Rothberg, etc.), which surprised me.  Of course, the Rabbi wouldn’t let us eat before he spent at least a half hour indoctrinating us about how every Jew is good, but that we can always be better and follow more commandments.  He compared this process to getting rid of an addiction to nicotine, or as he put it, “breaking out.”  All this time I was thinking to myself, I am quite happy where I am, thank you very much, and if God didn’t want me to eat shellfish then I wouldn’t have been born a New Orleanian.  I think I am much closer to heaven when I have a sumptuous and fabulous meal than if I were to deprive myself.  We finally ate, but there were no l’chaims and Russian vodka afterwards, which I found very weird and disappointing, because l’chaims are the halmark of Chabad Shabbat meals.  Still, I had a very nice time and was happy to have a free meal and a place to go on Shabbat.

Just after that I had my first cliché encounter with a European male, the kind that gives them a bad reputation.  Orlie, Becky, and I were walking from Chabad to the center of town when some guy actually got out of his car to ask us if we were married.  Of course, we said we were, even though we obviously weren’t because none of us look older than we really are and we were out by ourselves on a Friday night with no husband-type figures in sight.  I think that was the first time I’ve ever been asked if I was married.

After a glass of wine in a nice bar close to my hostel we parted ways:

It was the end of my Florentine vacation, but only the beginning of a love affair.  Florence has a real culture, Tuscan cuisine, the finest art, quaint shops, and so much more.  Like New Orleans, it’s a city with a small-town feel, and I really enjoyed that atmosphere.  Those fabulous 2.2 days would be hard to beat.

The trip from Nice to Florence took 3 trains and almost an entire day, but I eventually got there.  It was almost twilight but I had to get out and walk some, so I decided to not be too ambitious and just walk to the Duomo, located in the center of the city and not too far from my hostel (which was also really nice).  “Duomo” just means “cathedral,” and this one is the Cattedrale di Santi Maria del Fiore.  In 1296 the city fathers commissioned Arnolfo di Cambio to erect a cathedral so magnificent that it would be “impossible to make it either better or more beautiful with the industry and power of man.”  He succeeded indeed; the Duomo has the third-longest nave in the world and Filippo Brunelleschi’s double-shelled, interlocking dome is quite the architectural feat:

While I hate to go out of order, I will now tell you that the next day I returned to the Duomo to climb its 463 steps to the top of the dome.  As a general rule, I will climb whatever can be climbed, unless it costs too much.  Some photos from the ascent:

View from the top:

The baptistry (Battistero di San Giovanni) right next door (seriously, you can’t miss it).  Built during the 11th and 12th centuries, it has an octagonal shape just like the one in Aix.  I had to get a bit creative with my pictures of the interior because it cost 4 Euros just to go in.  I call the last one “Leaning Over the Turnstile”:

But I haven’t even gotten to the best part.  It took Lorenzo Ghiberti 21 years to finish the doors, the Gates of Paradise, in the 15th century:

My first stop the next morning was the Uffizi Gallery, Florence’s preeminent art museum and one of the best in the world.  The building used to be a palace, built in the 16th century for Florentine ruler Cosimo I de’Medici (more about the Medicis later) as the offices for the local magistrates.  Cosimo I eventually began to put some of his art collection on display there.  Giorgio Vasari, a famous contemporary of Da Vinci and Michaelangelo who has all but disappeared from popular art history memory, designed the palace.  Photography was not allowed, but there was an amazing view of the Ponte Vecchio (a medieval bridge and Florence’s oldest):

Some of the gallery’s super-famous works include Da Vinci’s unfinished Adoration of the Magi (I swear I’ve seen this scene done by every single Italian/Flemish artist during this trip), Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, and Michaelangelo’s Doni Tondo:

It was a good thing I got there early in the morning because by the time I left there was a long line to get in and annoying crowds inside.

The Palazzo Vecchio is located in the same piazza as the Uffizi, so it was a logical next stop.  Piazza della Signoria is perhaps best known not for its palace, but for the infamous religious zealot Girolamo Savonarola, who lit the Bonfire of Vanities here in 1497, burning some of Florence’s best art.  Savonarola was in turn convicted as a heretic and burned at the stake one year later in the piazza.  The palace itself was built during the 14th century (and designed by Cambio) because the people wanted a magnificent palace that would also give greater security to the local rulers.  At this point in time Florence was ruled by priors, in most cases merchants, who reigned for 2 months each.  They were confined to the palace for their terms so that they couldn’t be influenced.  One of the city’s more famous priors was Dante.  Palazzo Vecchio was also the temporary residence of the Medicis until they moved to the Palazzo Pitti in 1540.

The House of Medici was a banking family before it became a political dynasty, but they were responsible for creating Florence as we know it.  Their bank was the largest in Europe during the 15th century, which is when they began to really gain power in Florence.  Four Popes were of Medici heritage, and in 1531 the family became the hereditary Dukes of Florence.  By 1569 the Medicis ruled over all of Tuscany, and the dynasty ended with the death of Gian Gastone de’ Medici in 1737.  Leo X and Clement VII, the 16th-century Medici Popes, were de facto rulers of both Rome and Florence, so the family essentially ruled over all of Italy.  Popular revolts interrupted their reign twice, first from 1494-1512 and then from 1527-1530.  Most people are familiar with Lorenzo de’ Medici, or Lorenzo the Magnificent, because he was a great supporter of the arts and commissioned works from Renaissance greats like Michaelangelo and Da Vinci (before the duchy), but Cosimo I de’ Medici was the greatest political ruler that the family produced.  Cosimo I was really responsible for building the dynasty, and in addition to building the Uffizi he also commissioned numerous other construction projects throughout Florence.  Sorry kids, but context is mucho importante.  And that’s probably Spanish and not Italian.

Exterior shots:

And this is the first courtyard, designed in 1453:

It’s possible to just tour the palace’s Medici apartments, but I chose instead to also do the recommended Activities Tour, which took me through secret staircases and passageways and also into some of the Medicis’ private rooms that are not part of the general tour.  I was the only one on this tour, which was given by an undergraduate student intern from the University of Oregon, so it was very nice that it was just two students talking about art and history and walking around the palace instead of it being a lecture interrupted by annoying questions.

The first “secret” room that I saw was Francesco de’ Medici’s study.  Francesco was Cosimo I’s son and heir, but he was more interested in his science experiments than in being a duke; his study was where he kept all of his materials:

One of the paintings in the room, a scene about alchemy in which Francesco is kneeling off to the side and not taking center stage, is one of the many indicators that he was content with being a scientist and had no desire to be a public figure in the limelight:

Vassari (who decorated most of the palace) and some philosophers helped Francesco come up with its clever design.  The room is divided by element (air, earth, fire, water) as represented by the four walls, and the cabinets below each wall correspond to that element.  For example, the cabinet below the painting depicting the myth about Medusa and the creation of coral is probably where he kept his supply of coral.  The cabinet that tells about the competition between Cleopatra and Mark Anthony to hold the most lavish dinner party, during which Cleopatra dipped her pearl in vinegar to show just how rich she was (pearls dissolve in vinegar) is probably supposed to indicate that it contained pearls.  However, this was not the case:

Next was Cosimo I’s study, which shows a softer side to the ruler.  The ceiling is decorated with frescoes of the arts, such as music, poetry, and philosophy, all of which the ruler enjoyed and supported.  Naturally, one of the doors opened to a secret passageway:

The real “wow factor” in the palace, though, is the Salone di Cinquecento, commissioned by Savonarola during his brief rule after the Medicis were kicked out the first time.  It comes in at 12,750 square feet.  Cosimo I had Vassari enlarge the hall for Francesco’s wedding, and he only had 2 years to do that and paint the entire thing:

Every single painting in the room has a purpose, which is to depict the rise of the Medicis, their conquests, and the founding and political emergence of Florence.  The huge tableaux on the walls are battle scenes showing Florence’s victories over rivals Pisa and Siena:

The ceiling shows the history of Florence, from its founding by the Romans all the way to the coronnation of Cosimo I, who is crowned by a woman that symbolizes the city:

There’s also an unfinished Michaelangelo, which most people today think represents the victory of Florence over Siena or Pisa (can’t remember which one):

Then my guide took me into the roof to see how Vasari enlarged the room.  Apparently, he made it so that if there was an earthquake the room would move and then settle back into place.  That was the end of the Activities Tour, and so I was free to explore the other rooms in the palace.

The Room of the Elements is filled with allegorical frescoes by Vassari:

The Audience Hall, where the priors “administered justice”:

I thought one of the coolest rooms in the palace was the Stanza del Guardaroba, or the Hall of Geographical Maps:

I now interrupt this post for the necessary ogling of these desserts:

Speaking of food, that day I made lunch a destination.  Every single day during this trip I’ve tried to figure out how to be in the right place at the right time so I can eat at Let’s Go-recommended eateries.  I was finally able to do this and ate at Trattoria Anita, a great place near the Duomo for tourists on a budget.  For 10 Euros only I got primi (pasta), secondi (main course), and antipasti.  This is the restaurant and my half-eaten pasta di mare:

My secondi was some sort of baked turkey with asparagus and for my antipasti I chose a salad.  I was glad to have a hearty meal before I climbed the Duomo.  But before the Duomo I went to the Basilica di Santa Croce.  Begun in the 13th century and christened in the 15th, it was built by the Franciscans to one-up the Dominican Basilica di Santa Maria Novella.  All of our old favorites were involved at some point: Cambio, Vasari, Brunelleschi.  The interior has 16 chapels, most of which are decorated with frescoes by Giotto.  As an order, the Franciscans are ascetics who glorify poverty, but the church doesn’t show it:

See the Star of David on the facade in the center towards the top?  It’s not a coincidence.  The basilica’s neo-Gothic marble front dates from the mid-19th century and was designed by Niccolo Matas, a Jew from Ancona.  Matas had wanted to be buried with his peers, but because he was Jewish he had to settle for being buried under the porch and not within the walls of the basilica.

Walking around inside the church, I felt like it was just one big cemetery.  Everywhere you walk you’re stepping on someone’s tomb, literally:

The really important people, on the other hand, have lavish tombs lining the nave on each side.  I couldn’t believe that I got so close to the (decomposed) bodies of Michaelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli:

After climbing the Duomo I only had enough strength for one more activity, so I went to the Accademia to see Michaelangelo’s David, his masterpiece.  The sculpture is so famous not only because it’s by Michaelangelo, but also because for the first time it depicted David contemplating his forthcoming battle with Goliath instead of the hero after his victory.  Strangely, though, Michaelangelo’s version is uncircumcised and therefore at odds with David’s Jewish heritage.  Anyways, I got this shot before the museum personnel called me out:

And those were my first 1.2 days in Florence.  The next day was more relaxing and just as wonderful.  I absolutely adored Florence.  I’m writing this in Rome, and while Rome has plenty to see, there’s no charm.  More Florence coming up!

I promised myself that I wouldn’t do this trip on a completely shoestring budget.  When you’re traveling for 6 weeks and moving from place to place every few days, you don’t want to arrive at your next destination, check into your hostel, and discover that sheets/towels cost 3 Euros, that there is no internet access (yes, God forbid), or that it’s really far away from the center of town.  There weren’t so many choices for Nice according to hostelworld.com, but Villa St. Exupéry was like an oasis in the desert of what could have been.

Just to give you an idea, there is a free shuttle that runs every 10 minutes or so from early morning until late at night that brings guests from the hostel to a supermarket and the closest tram stop.  The hostel is named after Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and therefore has a Le Petit Prince theme, and all of the rooms are named after French artists (I stayed in Paul Signac).  My kind of place.  The kitchen is huge, clean, and full of cooking utensils, so I actually made dinner for myself both nights I was there.  Breakfast is free (I counted maybe 7 different types of cereal), and there is an endless supply of complimentary hot chocolate and tea (so perfect!).  A little bonus on the side for me was that there is a resident hostel cat, which appreciated my attention until I wouldn’t share my dinner:

Also, the common room is truly state-of-the-art, with tons of computers, great wireless, and a hip atmosphere:

And the brownies!  Apparently, they’re “world-renowned.”  Of course they cost 2 Euros each, but the girl that worked the bar would always break one up and put it on a plate for people to taste:

I also met some really cool people.  There was Danny from New Zealand, who was staying at the hostel until he found an apartment in Nice.  Paul was from Birmingham (England), and he was in the same boat, but had gotten a job teaching English.  We talked some about politics because he also studied Political Science in university:

Because it was the off season my 5-bed room was empty accept for Simon, a Norwegian from Oslo working on his master’s thesis, something about languages.  I didn’t really understand why he was in Nice, but I think he’s just writing his thesis as he travels from place to place, I guess for the different atmosphere or for inspiration.  He told me he’d been spending most of his week there so far in the library or in the hostel.  After I talked a bit about myself he said he didn’t know any Jewish people, and was also very interested in Israel and it seemed like he was interested in visiting.  A genuinely nice guy.

So you want to hear about Nice, you say?  Well, I think I’m in love with the French Riviera.  Nice to me was like a Destin-New Orleans hybrid that happened to be French, and very different from its counterpart on the other side of the Mediterannean, i.e. Tel Aviv.  It has a lovely historic city center, palm tree-lined streets, a distinct cuisine (salade Niçoise, etc.), great museums, a really awesome daily outdoor market, scenic beachfront; I couldn’t want anything more.

My train arrived at around 3:30 in the afternoon.  The Matisse and Chagall museums were due to close at 6 and would not be open the next day, Tuesday, and I was leaving the day after that.  Therefore, I immediately caught a cab and went first to the Musée national Message Biblique Marc Chagall.  I had a very hard time convincing the ladies at the ticket desk to let me in with my pack, but after some pleading, begging, and a bit of crying I managed to get in.  The main room has a bunch of biblical-themed paintings by Chagall, including scenes like the sacrifice of Isaac, Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Jacob’s dream, Moses and the burning bush, etc.  All of them were pretty magnificent:

There was also an entire room devoted to his wife, Vava, for whom he made a series of 5 paintings about the Song of Songs:

The permanent collection also included some of his earlier works (the biblical paintings are from the early 1960s), which also have lots of flying people, stories in the margins, roosters, etc.

Then I took the bus to the Musee Matisse, which is actually located inside of a park and done completely in trompe l’oeil:

They were much nicer about my backpack situation.  The museum had everything from Matisse sculptures, drawings, and later collages to items from his home.  Security was really tight inside, so I didn’t get any pictures, but this one of his later works was my favorite thing in the museum:

Then it was time to go back to the hostel and rest up for my only full day in Nice.  I was determined to make the most of it, so I left early the next morning to walk around the old city center for a few hours.  Place Massena, where I got off the tram:

Walking around aimlessly really is the best way to get a feel for a place:

The first and only “site” I really saw was the Cathédrale Sainte-Reparate, a Baroque church built in the late 17th century to honor the city’s patron saint:

I also walked by this specialty coffee store where the owner was actually grinding coffee with this:

And then I walked to Nice’s famous fruit and flower market, held every Tuesday through Sunday.  I bought some dates and dried figs, but it was so hard to resist the marzipan:

From the market it was literally 30 seconds to the beachfront, which was where I headed to next.  I rented a bike for an hour and rode as far as I could, and then I walked onto the beach for a quick look.  It was the most gorgeous day I had seen in Europe so far, and every single picture I took ended up looking like a postcard:

I wanted to take an afternoon trip to the town of Vence and the village of Saint-Paul de Vence up in the countryside, so I needed to find some lunch before going to catch my bus.  I opened Let’s Go and found Lou Pilha Leva, a very casual hole-in-the-wall establishment near the beach specializing in Niçoise cuisine that’s popular with both tourists and locals:

I had a salade Niçoise, apparently the restaurant’s specialty, and it was quite good, but there were no anchovies to my pleasant surprise.

After just an hour on the bus, I was in the hills surrounding Nice.  What’s interesting is that there is a monument to the local Jewish refugees that the Gestapo deported during World War II right next to the roundabout where the all the buses stop:

Vence attracted me because its cathedral has a Chagall mosaic of Moses and the Chapelle du Rosaire has stained glass by Matisse.  Matisse and Chagall lived in Vence, as did many other famous artists and writers like D.H. Lawrence, James Baldwin, Raoul Dufy.  I didn’t go to the Chapelle du Rosaire because it only opened at 4 p.m., and I couldn’t stay that late, but I did see the cathedral.  There’s actually a lot more to it than the mosaic; the Romanesque church was built on the site of a Roman temple to Mars.  Most of its furniture is on the historical register.  but I was only interested in the mosaic:

Some general pictures of Vence:

One outdoor-cafe cup of tea later, I went back to the bus stop to go to Saint-Paul de Vence, a medieval walled village just 10 minutes from Vence.  Today, it’s filled with locals selling jewelry, crafts, furniture, etc., but it’s definitely a nice place for a walk and its medieval fortifications are intact.  On the way to the village entrance from the bus stop I passed by this lovely scene of men playing what I think was bacci:

Some shots of the village:

I also went to the cemetery to see Marc Chagall’s tomb, but I spent about a half hour looking for it and still couldn’t find it.  Though I was disappointed, the views from the cemetery were breathtaking.  I probably spent only an hour and a half in the village, but that was definitely enough time for me to see everything since I wasn’t interested in shopping.  On my way back to the bus stop I noticed this sculpture by Théo Tobiasse, an Israeli-born French artist who is also one of Kareen’s favorites.  During World War II his family survived by hiding in their apartment in Paris, a truly amazing story.  Since the 1960s (he’s a contemporary of Chagall) he has gained international renown for his drawings, paintings, and sculptures.  This one is right at the entrance to the village, and it reminds me a lot of both Picasso and Matisse:

And, last but not least, the view of Saint-Paul de Vence from the bus ride back to Nice:

That’s it for France, so stay tuned for all things Italia!

It was early in the morning, let’s say 7:45.  I was groggy but had managed to get dressed and drag my bag downstairs.  My phone was in the back pocket of my jeans.  I was doing my business in the bathroom and, yes, it finally happened to me: I heard that “plop” and I immediately knew what had happened.  Upon extracting it from the toilet, I pressed all the buttons, examined the screen, and it seemed to be working okay.  I had seemingly avoided a major crisis.  Oh, but how naïve I was.

I waited for the bus, was at La Rotonde, the center of the city, in under half an hour, and off I went.  Before going to Marseilles the afternoon before we had stopped at the Aix tourism office to pick up some maps.  The city center is small and the map is very detailed, so I was promised a care-free morning of exploring without having to worry about getting lost.  La Rotonde, the locals’ “meeting place,” and a statue of Cezanne, Aix’s most famous resident of yore:

I started with the Cours Mirabeau, the old town’s main thoroughfare.  Built in 1649, its lined with fountains, cafes, and elegant mansions (“hôtels particuliers”) from the 17th and 18th centuries.  The Fontaine du Roi René (1819) and the Hôtel Forbin (1656):

And some more hôtels around town (Hôtel d’Alhaud, Louis XV period; Hôtel d’Estienne de Saint Jean, late 17th century):

The fountains and hôtels are what really distinguish Aix, but the Cathédrale St.-Sauveur is just as fascinating and contains examples of various architecture styles from the 5th to the 17th century.  It has Roman foundations, a 12th-century cloister, a triptych of the “Burning Bush” by Nicolas Froment from 1476, and carved wooden doors from the 16th century.  The most interesting thing to me, though, was the baptistery that dates back to the Merovingian period (5th-8th centuries).  First built around 500, it was reconstructed in the 11th century.  Older baptisteries were located on the exterior of the cathedral since only those about to be baptized could enter the sacred space.  This baptistery is also the oldest in the world.  Also, the remains of an original fresco:

Aix is very much an upper-class place, so the pastries were gorgeous and I couldn’t resist:

I’ve obviously been falling down on the job until now, because I finally remembered to take a picture of croissants and pain au chocolat:

I also passed by the Halle aux Grains (mid-18th century), the former Corn Exchange which is now a post office:

Then I went to the Mazarin Quarter within the old down, a quarter with streets in a checkered pattern that was designed in the 17th century by the Archbishop Mazarin.  It eventually became the chosen home of the local aristocracy.  The fountain at Place des Quatre Dauphins:

The Hôtel de Carcès, built in 1586:

And also the Eglise St.-Jean de Malte, a fortified Gothic church from the 12th century:

The church also had a blurb about the old town’s numerous niches.  When a particularly bad outbreak of the plague hit Aix in 1629, the city’s magistrates took the most severe precautions and made the city’s inhabitants stay in their homes.  Because people could no longer walk the few blocks to the nearest church, they put a niche of Mary on each corner so that the faithful could pray:

That was all I had time for in Aix, and one morning was definitely enough.  After some lunch I was waiting for Sylvie when I whipped out my phone and all of a sudden I got a nasty shock: the “2″ button wasn’t working, it said I needed to insert a SIM card, etc.  I opened it up and, sure enough, the battery and the area around it was wet.  I just about died.  But then everything was okay the next morning, for the phone had seemingly resurrected itself.  However, I have definitely learned my lesson: no more phones in the back pants pockets.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect with Sylvie, my couchsurfing host in Aix.  She had never hosted before, and had only surfed once in Spain (where I later learned that her purse was stolen), and I had only surfed twice, so I didn’t know if I should have any expectations.  We had been in contact via the couchsurfer messaging system, and although she managed to write relatively coherently in English, she told me that her English wasn’t so good.  Fine by me for practicing French.  She also told me that she would actually plan to have a bunch of friends over for dinner the night I would be staying over for a “Café Philo.”  I thought this was a very nice gesture, and she also drove to the train station to pick me up.

(A short aside:  From Paris to Lyon, Lyon to Avignon, Avignon to Aix, and Aix to Nice, I took the TGV, a train that goes 357 mph.  It took 2 hours from Paris to Lyon, but Pedro told me that driving can take up to 7 hours; the ride from Avignon to Aix was only 20 minutes.)

Sylvie had also told me in her emails that most things in Aix were closed Sundays (the day of my arrival), but when she picked me up she offered to drive me to Marseille, and of course I said yes.  I was worried that she would be too tired because she had gone out dancing the night before and hadn’t gotten home until 7 in the morning, but she reassured me that this was her weekend lifestyle.  If you’re still following my original (and way too complicated/pretentious) itinerary, you will have noticed that I am changing things as I go.  My original plan was to leave Avignon early in the morning to spend a few hours in Marseille before heading to Aix, but with my bag that was impossible, and so I got rid of that idea.  Most things were closed in Marseille as well, but on the way there I whipped out my 1,000-page Let’s Go guide and flipped to the section on the Cote d’Azur and saw that the only recommendation besides walking the streets was the Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde.  Also in the car we made a deal that she would try to speak to me in English and that I could speak to her in French so that we could both practice.

Sylvie only knows the shopping and clubbing scenes in Marseille, but it didn’t matter because we plugged in the cathedral’s address to her GPS and got there just fine.

Built between 1853 and 1864, the basilica is also the highest natural point around at 230 meters above the city.  “Notre Dame de la Garde” means “Our Lady of the Watch,” the traditional guardian of seafarers.  A 13th-century chapel once stood on the same site.  During the World War II liberation, the Resistance fought to regain the basilica, which means battle scarred.  The church’s statue of Madonna is seen by many of the residents as the symbol of Marseille.

The basilica is on top of a very steep hill, naturally, and even after we parked it was a bit of a hike, but here it is from the outside (the second one is Sylvie and I):

During our visit Sylvie told me that she had been to the basilica just once with an ex-boyfriend but had never been inside, and that she was glad I had “brought her there.”

We walked around the balcony which had the most amazing views of the city, its port, and the Mediterranean, which was really cool because Marseille is gigantic (3rd largest city in France) and sprawling (I really need to put out a coffee table book of panoramic views):

And here are some of those battle scars:

I’m not crazy about non-gothic/romanesque churches and cathedrals, i.e. anything that’s older than the 14th century, but cathedral is absolutely stunning inside; so many colors, lots of “gold” in the mosaics, and the maritime theme was a perspective I hadn’t seen yet:

After that we parked close to the old port and walked around for a bit, but it was getting dark, Marseille is enormous, and it’s definitely not a place to get lost in; Let’s Go had told me to exercise caution in most of the neighborhoods.  Though i didn’t get a real flavor for the city, I was glad that I hadn’t gone by myself, and the basilica was one of my favorite sites so far.

The drive back to Aix didn’t take long.  I had another mini-panic attack because she told me she lived in “the countryside,” but once she showed me the bus stop down the street from her apartment/house I felt much better.  Also, I was finally glad to have some fresh air after staying in the middle of cities for a week.  Sylvie lives in a house that I think is divided into apartments, but they’re not really apartments but condos because they take up 2 floors:

Views of the countryside as I walked to the bus the next morning:

She shares her residence with her sister, some guy I only saw once, and maybe someone else, but it was quite fancy compared to my previous “couches.”  The kitchen/dining room is on the 1st floor:

The pots on that shelf in the 2nd picture are Sylvie’s paints.  She studied art and art history at university, (an undergraduate degree in France takes 3 years), but she dropped out after her 2nd year because she wanted to start her life, which meant finding something that would make her money.  She’s gone from job to job, and right now (as far as I could understand), her work involves persuading people (and companies?) to invest in organic farming (or something like that?) and there was also something about solar energy.  I guess she paints in her free time.

On the 2nd floor are the bedrooms and living room, which is where I slept on a very large couch; the room also came with a view:

I showered, used the internet (a godsend), and went downstairs to hang out with her and her friends.  Rebecca is half British, so she speaks English, as does her boyfriend, Alex, so at some points during conversation she would make sure I could understand and if I didn’t she would tell me in English, which was good.  We eventually made dinner (frozen steak, rice, and salad, in other words my first time eating red meat since I swore it off months ago, but I had to be polite), which is how I learned how to say how I like my meat in French.  Rebecca told me that “rare” is “bleu” (blue?), “medium” is “saignant” (bloody), and “well done” is “bon cuit.”  Afterwards we drank some wine, talked some about politics, media, etc., and then Sylvie’s friend Melanie came.  She also speak English, and she explained to me that she had been a wreck all week because her ex-roommate was working in Haiti when the earthquake happened, but that now she was ok because her friend had gotten out immediately after.

Oh, and another practical French thing I finally understood was the meaning of the word “truc.”  It had been bothering me ever since I arrived in Paris that I didn’t know what this word meant, and that people were using it all the time.  For a while I thought it was like the Hebrew word “davka” in that it can have a different meaning depending on the context, but I came to the conclusion that it means “thing,” and can be used quite liberally as a substitute for any noun, but I think you can also use it if you’re saying something like, “The thing is that…”  And that is the tale of the elusive “truc.”

We were all exhausted, and I was asleep by 11:30 because I wanted to wake up super early the next morning to see Aix before my early afternoon train.  I would say that Sylvie was a good host, even though she didn’t really know what she was doing, but her condo-thing and location definitely made up for whatever she lacked personally as a host.

In Avignon I met up with my host, Véro (short for Véronique).  When I was researching on the internet, I had found her profile particularly interesting because she said she had been to Iran.  She was also centrally located, and it was maybe two minutes walk from Place de Palais des Papes to her apartment.  What was impressive about Vero was that she wasn’t afraid to speak to me exclusively in French after I told her that I spoke a little bit, and I basically didn’t speak English for the 24 hours that I was in Avignon.  After a cup of tea and some introductory conversation, I went off on my own for a few hours.

My starting point was the Escaliers Ste.-Anne behind the Palais des Papes, which led to the the Rocher des Doms and had a great view of the roofs:

The Palais des Papes is Avignon’s primary attraction.  From 1309 to 1378 seven legitimate popes resided in Avignon.  The last of these, Greogory XI, died after having returned the Papal court to Rome, and the conclave elected an Italian pope, Urban VI, who alienated the French cardinals.  In turn, the French cardinals elected their own pope, Clement VII; he was considered by the Catholic Church to be an antipope as was his successor, Benedict XIII.  The period between 1378 and 1417 when there were rival claims to the papacy is known as the Western Schism.

Pope Benedict XII commissioned the Vieux Palais, or the Old Palace, during his rule from 1334 to 1342; it was heavily fortified against attackers and had several towers.  Pope Clement VI (1342-1352) expanded the palace; his projects and those of his successors are the Palais Neuf, or the New Palace.  The palace remained under papal control until the French Revolution when it was seized and sacked by revolutionary forces, and in 1791 it was the sight of a bloody massacre of counter-revolutionaries.  The exterior:

A decent audio guide led me during my visit, which began with the Cour d’Honneur:

After the Treasury Hall, the Jesus Hall (you get the idea), etc.  I got to the “Chamberlains’ old chamber.”  The chamberlain was one of the highest honors that could be given to  Catholic layman, and was often bestowed upon members of royal families; the chamberlain served the Pope for one week per year during official ceremonies:

And then to the Chapelle Saint-Jean with its magnificent frescoes by Matteo Giovannetti:

Outside to the cloister:

Into the Pope’s inner sanctum, his bedroom:

Also to the Chambre du Cerf, or the Stag Room, which has frescoes by several artists from different periods:

And the Grande Chapelle:

In one of the rooms that had exhibits, there was a replica of an original Swiss Guard uniform:

The Guard was created in Rome in 1506 and replaced the palace’s soldiers at the end of the 16th century.  Unfortunately, the corps in Avignon was suppressed in 1790 during the French Revolution.  And, last but not least, the 9 popes of Avignon:

The Palais des Papes was definitely worthwhile, but by the time I finally left I needed some fresh air.  I walked around the old city, got lost a few times, tried to find the synagogue and failed, and bought a cute and functional purse that was on major sale, a great deal at 27 Euros.  Along the way, I saw some weird/interesting food-related things, so the pastry post is temporarily being replaced by chocolate-covered olives and a real-deal, American-style hamburger joint:

If you ever took a French class at any time in your life, chances are you learned the song “Sur Le Pont d’Avignon.”  Today, the bridge is just another tourist attraction:

What I didn’t know, however, was the history behind the bridge itself.  For one, it’s also called Pont Saint-Bénézet because legend says that Bénézet, a young shepherd, “heard the voice of the Lord” instructing him to build it, and construction finished in 1185.  However, the song and its memory live on, and if you aren’t familiar with it the museum under the bridge makes sure you do by the time you leave:

The beginning of the bridge and views of Avignon:

Chapelle Saint Bénézet, where he supposedly heard the voice of God:

The cliché scenic backdrop:

And the end of the bridge:

When I was researching for this trip, I remember reading somewhere on the internet that the bridge definitely isn’t wide enough for dancing and that whoever wrote the song probably meant “Sous Le Pont d’Avignon,” which would mean that the people danced under the bridge instead of on it.  After seeing it for myself, I don’t think this is necessarily true, but now you can judge for yourselves.

After some more walking around it was getting dark and I had already gotten lost enough, so I went back to Véro’s.  She spent the late afternoon and early evening showing me her pictures from Iran and explaining her life story.  Basically, she has a degree in engineering and currently works in some sort of nuclear facility close by.  While couchsurfing in Turkey some while ago, she met her current boyfriend who happens to be from Iran.  I wasn’t clear on how long they had been dating for, but it’s definitely been a long time because she’s pretty sure they’re going to get married, and she hopes to move to Iran within the next year.  Though not Muslim, she told me she feels a much closer connection to the religion and to the Arab world than to France and being French.  I think she can write in Arabic already, but she is currently trying to read the Qur’an; her shelves are full of books about Islam.  The process of immigration for a convert is hard, Véro told me, because you really have to prove that you’re Muslim in order to become a citizen.  If she doesn’t end up in Iran, though, she could also see herself living in Turkey or Pakistan.

Her pictures were just from this past December, when she spent 3 weeks in Iran visiting her boyfriend in the northwestern corner of the country, and they also traveled to Isfahan (beautiful mosques).  She loved the people there, and when I asked her about Ahmadinedjad she said that of course she doesn’t like him, but that his strong arm influence doesn’t reach as far into the countryside where she was.   Her photographs of the mosques, countryside, and desert were absolutely gorgeous.  In most of them, of course, her head and arms are covered.  I returned the favor by showing her my pictures from Israel, which she seemed to enjoy.

I was truly fascinated by her story, especially about how much she really loves Iran and its people, and her desire to move there.  It’s definitely not every day that you meet someone who dreams of living there, especially when she comes from a Western country.  I asked her what her parents thought about everything, and she said that one knows she has a boyfriend, but nothing more than that, and the other doesn’t know anything at all.  Still, I truly wish her the best of luck.

I had a late dinner with her and her roommates, all guys.  The guy that cooked really did an impressive job: some sort of vegetable soup and a totally legit shepherd’s pie (I skipped the pie on the pretext that I was kosher and therefore only ate kosher meat).  After more talking it got to be midnight, which was when I finally went to sleep on my couch.  I’m mad at myself because I forgot to take pictures of Vero’s apartment, which is a nice space and creatively decorated.

My train didn’t leave until the afternoon, so the next day Véro and I headed out relatively early in the morning to Villeneuve lez Avignon.  Avignon proper was the city of the Peoples, but the medieval Villeneuve-lez-Avignon was home to the Cardinals and the Carthusian  monastery (in French, les Chartreuses) in the 14th century.

We started at the Val de Benediction Chartreuse, the Carthusian monastery founded in the 14th century by Pope Innocent VI who “bequeathed” his land and palace to the Carthusian Order.  As per the running theme, it was severely damaged during the French Revolution.  Véro and I at the entrance:

Some interior shots:

A few of the cloisters:

And, of course, the tomb of Pope Innocent VI:

From the monastery we walked up the hill to Fort Saint-André, commissioned in 1292 by French king Philip the Fair to symbolize royal power in the face of the popes of Avignon and the lands of the Holy Roman Empire.  It was built to protect the nearby Benedictine abbey and the citizens of the town.  The entrance and a view of Avignon:

Walking on the ramparts:

And that was it because I had to make my train to Aix-En-Provence!

WARNING: If you are a parent or grandparent, you may have a heart attack upon reading this, so please proceed with caution.

Couchsurfing.  How to describe it?  It’s not just a way to travel, but an entire concept about how to meet and interact with people from different countries and cultures.  To put it simply, there’s a website, http://www.couchsurfing.com.  You sign up, make a profile, and contact other couchsurfers that live where you are traveling to, and ask if you can sleep on their couch/mattress for however many nights.  There’s a sign-up fee of I think $20, but the rest is free.  I heard about it through a Rothberg friend in November, decided to explore the website and do a little research, and I became a member.  Of course, I had my reservations, for as my mother said it’s basically hitchhiking, but I only sent couchsurfing requests to people who had a lot of good recommendations, and only to women and couples.  I’m mostly staying in hostels during my trip, which are filled with internationals, but I also wanted to meet locals.  As it turns out, couchsurfing has also been a great way for me to practice my French.

My first couchsurfing experience was with Pedro and his girlfriend Charlotte in Lyon, France’s 2nd largest city that has about 100,000 students.  Charlotte, originally from Nantes, is working on her masters in something about cultural event planning, and Pedro is from Portugal  and is working on his PhD in archaeology, specifically Roman wine production.  They met at Erasmus a few years ago, and they are in Lyon for Charlotte’s degree and once she finishes they will move to Portugal because Pedro’s work is mostly there and in Spain.  Pedro also works on digs in the summers, which is pretty cool, and when I told him that I visited Beit Shehan with my family he immediately knew what it was.  At the end of my visit he invited me to stay with him and Charlotte in Portugal in his grandmother’s gigantic countryside house.  Very nice people.

Pedro met me at the train station, which was also very good of him, and he carried my bag once we met up.  Their apartment is centrally located in a neighborhood that’s mostly Asian and Arab.  These were my digs for the night:

I was on my own for the afternoon, but Pedro gave me all sorts of maps, made some recommendations, and really made sure that I had everything I needed to go out and about in the city.  As it turns out, Lyon is completely flat and very walkable.  It’s not even worth it to bike.  Two rivers run through the city, including the Rhone, so on my way to Vieux Lyon (the old city) I took a lot of bridge pictures:

Also on my way I took the daily pastry photo, which in honor of Lyon’s diversity is of churros:

In Vieux Lyon my first and main stop was the Cathédral St.-Jean:

The current cathedral was started in the 12th century even though the city’s residents had built several churches in the same location beginning in the 5th century.  A second name for the cathedral is “Primatiale,” because since 1079 “the Pope granted to the archbishop of Lyon the title of Primate of Gauls who exercised a legal supremacy over the principal archbishops in the kingdom.”  A lot of important things happened in the cathedral, but one of the more familiar-looking dates on the timeline was that Maria de Medici married Henry IV here in 1600.  Some of the interesting things inside were the Window of Good and Bad Angels (good angels in red, bad angels in blue), a 14th-century  astronomical clock, and the 12th-century Chapel of the Cross, which houses the tomb of Isabelle d’Harcourt (15th century):

Behind the cathedral there was a small archaeological park:

After walking the streets for a bit I took the cable car up to La Fourvière for a panoramic view of Lyon:

It was time for a break from the whole medieval French town thing, so I left Vieux Lyon and walked to the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Lyon, where I got in for free with my press card.  I got lucky because the temporary exhibit was a showcase of modern art, which traced European movements like fauvism and cubism and had a great selection of Matisse, Picasso, Braque, Vuillard, Bonnard, and Léger.  Though photography was not allowed (and you’ve seen enough of these people in earlier posts), the “expo on poche” has captions, timelines, explanations, and glossy color photos of the more important works.  It was interesting to also see that some of the works missing from the Centre Pompidou were in this exhibit.  I had never heard of the Portugese painter Maria Helena Vieira da Silva, but her Le Désastre (The Diaster) from 1942, which refers to the bombardment of a train station in Poland, really struck me for some reason:

And then it was dark, so I walked back to Pedro and Charlotte’s because Lyon is a big city and it’s probably not the best idea to get lost by yourself at night.  On my way I passed through the Place des Jacobins and back along the river:

That evening Pedro and Charlotte invited me to go with them to Charlotte’s friend’s apartment for an “apéro,” which is kind of like an appetizer potluck but not really because there doesn’t necessarily have to be a lot of food involved.  Pedro brought fried bananas, some sweet and some salty, which were really good (and now I can add bananas to the short but growing list of fruits that I like).  It was me, Pedro, and a group of Charlotte’s friends from the university.  I tried to understand the French conversation but they were speaking a bit too quickly for my level of comprehension, so Pedro and I mostly talked on the side, which was fine with me.  Still, it was cool to meet students and see how they live, and I did understand the parts of the conversation that were about the difficulty of finding jobs.  We left at around midnight and that was pretty much the extent of my visit in Lyon because my train to Avignon was at 10 a.m. that morning.

I had my heart set on seeing the cathedral in Chartres, which is exactly what I did on my last day in Paris.  Only one hour by train, and it was like stepping back into the Middle Ages.  First, I went to the tourism office and they told me that the English tour of the cathedral wasn’t until noon.  I had a couple of hours to kill, and so I did part of this walking tour around the town that the office had outlined on a map.  The first interesting stop was La Maison du Saumon, a beautiful wooden building built around 1500:

The tour also took me along the river, and to Porte Guillaume, which was constructed in the 15th century but was almost completely destroyed by the Nazis in 1944:

And through the streets, some of which are almost too narrow:

I ended up at the Musée des Beaux-Arts (fine arts museum), located in the former Bishop’s Palace:

Inside there a wide variety, from fine paintings by Henri Villain to musical instruments, clothing, and pistols, as well as an old map of Chartres from 1568:

A few cups of tea later and it was time to make the rounds of the cathedral’s exterior before I went inside for the tour.  It’s definitely one of the most exquisite pieces of architecture I’ve ever seen:

I was really excited for the tour because I had read that the man who gives the English tours is an expert on gothic architecture and on the cathedral, so I was there right at noon, ready and waiting, and I knew who he was because he was holding a book in English.  I told him I was there for the tour and he said that he would only do it if he got 8 or 9 people and did I read that fine print on the sign on the wall over there and that he definitely wouldn’t get enough people today because it’s the off season so the tour wasn’t going to happen.  I actually begged him to give me a private tour; I said I was a student who came from very far away, really interested in the subject, not sure when I’ll be able to get back, had come because I knew he was an expert, etc.  Even though I would have gotten it for free under normal circumstances because of my press card, I told him I would pay him admission for 5 or 6 people, and he refused.  I was about to give in and get a headset when he told me that an American professor was leading a group that was sitting in the pews, so I went up to him, explained that I was desperate for a tour, and he let me join his group of students from the University of Wisconsin, led by a French tour guide.  Things do work out in the end, and I was just happy to have some sort of guide because if you’re visiting a cathedral like the one in Chartres, you need some explanation.

After the original cathedral burned down in 1145, the gothic reconstruction began in 1195.  Of course, there are buttresses, tons of sculptures and reliefs, towers, and over 25,000 square feet of stained glass windows  Some general interior shots:

The windows inside over the entrance depict the life of Jesus Christ and date back to the 12th century. On the right is the Jesse Tree, and it’s supposed to show how the French king is descended from God in order to legitimize his divine right and power.  The middle one describes Jesus’ childhood, and the one on the left is the Passion:

There’s also a rose window above it, which shows the apocalypse.  Apparently, that’s always the subject of the rose window that faces to the west in gothic cathedrals.  Here’s some more stained glass : Emperor Charlemagne going off to war, the famous Blue Virgin from the 12th century, and the apostles “sitting on the shoulders of giants.”  I studied the imagery of the latter in my Jewish Studies class this semester, the idea being that the smaller apostles that sit on the prophets’ shoulders can see farther than the giant is able to, and the subtext is that a person or message based on an earlier one can be higher and more valuable than the former, an obvious commentary on the tension between Church theology and Rabbinic literature:

The blue used in the earlier stained glass windows is the renowned “Chartres blue,” which was made of cobalt, and to melt it into glass I think the guide said they used a mixture of one third sand and two thirds wood.

This stone decoration that lines the nave is from the Renaissance, and this close-up depicts Jesus’ circumcision.  I included it because there was an elderly woman on the tour (for whatever reason she was with the group) who said she thought that circumcision happened at the age of 10.  The guide said no, it was definitely a younger age, and of course I piped in and said “8 days.”

An important relic is also housed in one of the cathedral’s side chapels: a piece of the Virgin Mary’s veil.  Believed to have been worn by Mary, it came from 5th-century Constantinople:

Another important feature is the labyrinth, the last remaining one in France and one of the largest in the world:

And that was Chartres.  Kareen picked me up in her cute European Mercedes when I returned to Paris, and she took me on a lovely driving tour through some of the arrondissements.  Our stops included La Maison du Chocolat, where I tasted a delicious dark chocolate ganache, and Pierre Hermé, where I had the most delicious chocolate macaron.  Other varieties included olive oil and lavender.  We ended the afternoon with a very nice tea:

I was definitely in need of a walk before dinner, and so I strolled down to Place de Clichy and that general area, where I literally ran into Moulin Rouge:

On my way back, I explored a very interesting phenomenon: Picard, a store that sells only frozen foods:

After a wonderful last dinner in the apartment in Montmartre, I turned in for an early night because I knew the next morning would be hellish, trying to weave my way through the rush-hour masses with my 90-kilo backpack.  Paris was simply amazing/awesome/indescribable, and I was sad to leave Kareen (whom I will see again in February), but there is so much more to see in Europe.  So that’s the end of all things Paris, at least until the tail end of my trip.