June 18
I see we have ended up in the correct part of town. Fully half of the signs are in Farsi and there is a dirty DVD shop under the hotel, which might be the oldest building in the city; certainly it is the most beautiful in the newer part of town, clientele excluded. If the building is not the oldest, than the wiring is; turning on the light causes the electrical outlets to quit working, and using the outlets causes the lights to turn on. The people who are there for the hotel are actually not seedy at all, though; most of them are young people looking for a cheap and convenient place to stay, and it is certainly both. It is within easy walking distance of anything anyone would want with the center of the city. The museums are two blocks away, as is the train station, the light rail, tram as they call it here, stops right below our window, and the city center is not much farther. All in all, it is a great place to sleep at night, and its amenities and prices do not allow it to be more than that.
Munich is certainly different from the cities I have been visiting over the past month. Florence and Venice are both ancient cities with a wealth of history hidden just in the architecture alone, never mind the museums. Munich, however, must have been more devastated by the war than the other two; sure the historic city center is still there, as well as the Cathedral and palaces. Most of the city is new and very modern. The streets are wide, allowing several lanes of automobile traffic along with a special lane for bikes and wide sidewalks, like those in New York City or London. The transportation system is probably better than that in London, which until now I had thought the most advanced in the world. Many of the streets are paved with cobblestones, but the effect is not convincing. It is obvious to even the untrained eye that there are two Munichs, the old and the modern. The modern is the one we see, and the old is gone forever.
June 19
Popular German band Rammstein has a song whose chorus, and central theme is, “We’re all living in Amerika.” The English is their words, despite the fact that their usual lyrical tongue is German, is meant to illustrate the point that the English speaking culture is wiping out the other ways of life. This had always seemed to me to be a bit of a trite point; neither Italy, nor the United Kingdom, the two places outside of America I had spent the most time, seemed to be succumbing to American cultural imperialism. If Munich is an illustrative example, however, Germany may be. Never mind the rampant availability of a Big Mac and a Coca Cola; these brands sell well because people enjoy them. The proliferation of Starbucks seemed a bit out of place. Munich is not far from Vienna, the first European city to taste coffee. Until the seventeenth century, coffee and coffee houses were the secret of the Arabs; however, the Turks retreated from the second siege of Vienna in such a disorganized fashion, that they left their beverages and the machines for manufacturing it behind. It would stand to reason then, that a city so close to where the phenomenon of coffee began would have some great coffee houses, and they do. Starbucks, however, remains a strong brand, and is almost as prolific in Munich as it is in America.
Further evidence is seen in the advertising. More than once I saw advertising that was entirely in English; once on a Starbucks board and once in a Burger King commercial on television. Granted these are international corporations based in America; I did not see any specifically German companies advertising in English. However, why advertise in English at all? I also saw countless other small postings in English, as well as centers that specialized in teaching English, not merely a foreign language. Even the more diversified language teaching centers advertised their prowess at teaching English. It very much felt like medieval nobility; there was the vulgar vernacular in German, and the learned man’s language in English. If this is the case all over Germany, then the complaint about cultural imperialism may not be trite at all, but a rebellion against what could be seen as a very real problem.
The Alte Pinakothek deserves mention in any list of Europe’s great art museums. Certainly what it lacked in size, it made up for in quality. It was probably the size of the Houston Museum of Fine Art, but the works stood larger than life; one room dedicated to the Italian Renaissance including Botticelli, Fra and Fillipino Lippis, no less than three Raphael, and the crown jewel, da Vinci’s first commission. Another room was dedicated to the Venetian Renaissance with pieces by Tintoretto, Giorgione and Titian. The focus, however, was on the German and Flemish painters, who I knew less well, but acquired plenty of names to look up. The other half of the museum was dedicated to Baroque painting, with one of the larger rooms dedicated to Rubens; there was not one square inch of wall space not covered in canvass. And this was one of a few Pinakotheks!
The most noteworthy thing about the Munich museum system, however, is not how they managed to fit so many masterpieces in so small a space. The extremely reasonably priced admission included informed audio tours, and most surprising of all, photography was allowed. I was able to take a picture of a da Vinci without being yelled at or having to sneak; I understand that the flash damages the paintings, but I, unlike most, can control my flash. This is all in contrast to the Florentine museums, whose security has been noted. The overall feeling of the museums of Florence was that of nothing left to chance; the feeling one gets from a Pinakothek is that one is trusted.
June 20
The old Munich lives on in the city’s beer halls. I only had time to visit three of them, the Hofbauhaus, the Lowenbraukeller and the Augustiner-Keller, but all three had rich histories spanning hundreds of years. Like the pubs in the United Kingdom, these are the best places to experience local culture. I even saw patrons in the traditional costume, not just the waitstaff, and of course the beer and food was excellent. Unlike the pubs, each brew house only sold beer that was made in house, and the proximity to the house seemed to determine which beer is served in which bar. Certainly no bar in the city center, near the Hofbrauhaus, flew any flags other than that of the Hofbrau. It brought to mind visions of modern gangs claiming territory in the city. Or perhaps a more apt description would be that of medieval lords staking out their part of the city with their beers.
Apparently Munich has a lively immigrant population; as I mentioned earlier, my part of town is a strange juxtaposition of Farsi and shops of ill repute, but looking beyond that, there are Italians, Asians, all manner of peoples from the Middle East, and certainly plenty of immigrants from places not easily identifiable by sight. In the Karlsplatz and marching down the main road, were many Persians taking part in a protest against the reelection of Iran’s firebrand of a president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, with signs showing his picture with an X over it and chanting in German. I am certain that there would have been many more, had it not been raining, but it is still nice to see people protesting in a foreign country and not be the embodiment of what they are protesting. It did make me wonder if the Ayatollah Khamenei has read The Prince; if he had, certainly he would not allow the reelection of a man so hated by his people that his people protest against him not only in his country, but the rest of them as well. It is not conducive to the maintaining of power to have one so hated installed in the highest office, unless the Ayatollah has something cunning planned for his secular counterpart.
A late addition: seeing the news, it seems that the Islamic Republic may be in grave jeopardy. Analysts are calling it the largest protest since the revolution. It is certainly something to stay tuned to, particularly as it has hit rather close to home. Kristina’s cousin was killed in one of the protests in Iran. Hopefully his death will not be in vain.
June 21
It seems to me that Venice ought to lose its distinction as the city of music. While I was there I heard neither instrument nor voices, not even a gondolier. Meanwhile in Munich, I could hardly go a block without hearing a cello, clarinet, violin, singing, or piano. Once I was walking in a neighborhood, and I heard the loveliest violin from inside the house, so I lingered outside, having my own private concert that was free in the bargain. The city center was full of musicians and the beer halls usually had traditional bands playing as well. The Opera House is apparently also designed in such a way as to allow people outside to hear the concert from within. My only suggestion would be to implement London’s system of paying artists to work in the subway stations, as that was the only place that could be expected to be devoid of music.
The rest of the subway system, however, is on par with the one in London. What impressed me the most was the boards that not only showed which platform went where, but also showed how long until the next train arrived. The boards on the platforms also displayed the major stops for the train as well as its termination. The ticket system required one’s ticket to be stamped, but there was not much accountability for it; London prevented one from entering the system without a ticket and the multiday passes were nice plastic cards that remotely scanned themselves. On the other hand, Munich had few busses and fewer need for busses; where underground trains did not go, aboveground trains were abundant. There is just something quaint about taking a streetcar to one’s destination that is not present in a bus.
When speeding through the Alps, it is required to listen to the music of the north. I have playing a few Finish bands that combine their native folk music, which is like Polka but I am assured that it is totally different, with death metal. One of the bands even sings in their native tongue, making them sound like a band of trolls playing their simple instruments around a fire in the mountains where they are tearing the meat off of the bone, and telling of their most evil deeds. Another one sings of the glory to be gained in honorable armed combat; this particular band wears skins, leather armor and war paint when they play. If all else fails, listening to Wagner while the mountains, streams and forests rush by makes one feel like one is riding a Valkyrie.
Now I am a Russian Czar on the royal train to visit the front during the Great War. I never realized how quick Shostakovich’s fifth symphony moved. It is truly a song that encapsulates an entire rugged country into an audio format. These orchestral pieces are as much a must for flying through the Alps as the Folk music.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Firenze
June 12
Upon entering the Uffizi, I was confronted with a long line, corresponding to a metal detector and X-ray machine. The line moved quickly, but this was still the strongest security I had ever gone through to get into a museum or for that matter a foreign country. I got away with more at the UN in New York than I did at these museums. I have to wonder if the threat to their collection is credible or if they are merely taking every possible precaution to protect their priceless artifacts.
In any case, once we were in, I was immediately gratified by the immense collection. The main hallway has busts of Roman Emperors as well as paintings of the Ottoman Sultans and larger paintings of European leaders. There were entire rooms dedicated to Renaissance masters, and those who painted in their style. Seeing Botticelli and da Vinci paintings that I had only read about was breathtaking. I had never noticed the amount of detail in the Primavera or the sense of movement in the Birth of Venus. I had never seen a Leonardo da Vinci before. Giovanni Bellini and Caravagio were both a bit too dark for my taste, but the experience of seeing the work of someone who died around the same time Europeans were finding the Continent I live on was still amazing. This does not even take in to consideration the fact that all of this is housed in the Medici’s office building. It was well worth the security, and the hassle of reservations; I shuddered to look at the line for people without reservations.
For whatever reason, it was decided that the area under the dome ought to be closed to visitors to the Cathedral. This seems kind of like putting David under scaffolding at the Accademia; the rest of it is still nice and we were glad we went, but that kind of defeats the point of going. It was still a huge Cathedral with all of the grandiose visions that go along with that, but the only frescos are under the dome. I could see just the tiniest bit of painting from the closest I could get and wanted more. At least they could not close the outside; it still has the grandest façade of any Cathedral I have ever seen. The white marble with green marble stripes is unique among gothic Cathedrals I have seen, and the ornate carving on every square inch of the building is magnificent. Of course there is always the dome, almost invisible in the winding streets and then immediately there, gigantic and spectacular as you enter the piazza. One must not know history or architecture to see this as a masterwork.
If you want to know what is so great about Michelangelo’s David, just picture David in your mind. Now make him four times as large and twice as lifelike. Now you are close to having an accurate idea of his size in real life. I had seen him before and I was still shocked by his size and realism. It is such an amazing piece that it overshadows the Botticellis and Lippis that are also housed at the also overprotected Accademia.
June 13
The Pitti and the Bargello were both sort of lacking in the art department; I say sort of because when compared to the Ufizzi and the Accademia, the MET is lacking in the art department. Donatello’s David, much to the ladies’ chagrin, was not quite as homosexual looking in person as it is in pictures. His face seems much more serious in person, as well as the entire figure looking much younger than in pictures. Why he went to war in shoes, a hat and nothing else is anyone’s guess, but the figure looked marvelous. Equally marvelous was the fact that there was no barrier between the statue and the patrons. While David at the Accademia is behind thick Plexiglas, keeping everyone at a distance, the Bargello let people up close and personal with their Renaissance art. More impressive than the art, however, I felt the palaces themselves were amazing. The faded frescos in the Bargello, and the fireplaces and furniture in the Pitti made it clear that someone used to live here. The Pitti felt like it was perhaps a rich uncle’s house who was having you over for some tea and to look at his new priceless work that he got at “quite a bargain.”
I had a bit of a revelation today, and I think I will discuss it with Penny. I was in a junk shop with Alice, surveying the latest in retro fashion and used brick-a-brack, when I noticed the proprietor of the shop to be no less than a sixty year old woman with blonde curly hair. I further noticed when Alice wanted to know how much something cost, that she did not speak a word of English. To complete the picture, she had a radio playing in her store and that I could understand the words to every song played; that is to say, that the songs were in the very English that the woman did not speak. Do people here not care about the lyrics to songs? Is English just a more poetic language than Italian? Certainly not. Most of the music was imported from America, but one must ask how music from America could get popular with people who do not speak the language. This concept is very foreign coming from a country where one of the leading genres of music literally strips the virtuosity of any of the players away specifically to elevate the lyrics. In America, bands rise and fall based on their lyrics, and it is quite difficult for an artist who does not sing in English to get popular for that very reason. I listen to a few non-English speaking bands, and I can understand enjoying music for the experience, as opposed to the poetry, but to see a whole country who thinks the way I do is strange coming from a minority back at home.
June 14
As far as interiors are concerned, however, the tiny churches throughout the city are the main attraction. At Ognissanti, there were Botticellis and Lippis close enough to touch, with no glass or anything to impede the viewer. It seemed to be a given that nobody would do anything to harm the paintings in a church, as opposed to the museums, where being run through a metal detector and having your bags X-rayed was necessary to get to the ticket booth. The panels and altar pieces were not the only attraction; the ceilings of all of the smaller churches were painted in the brilliant art of perspective that the Florentines excel at. In a few churches, but most prominent again at Ognissanti, the ceiling was painted in such a way that the church appeared to have a balcony running the perimeter of the church; above this was the ornate roof with a hole in it for the heavens to come through, complete with angels, saints, and of course, Mother, Father and Son. I thought it to be the most brilliant ceiling painting I had ever seen, until I went to another church and found a similar design on its ceiling. Apparently the city is covered with them.
Nerve wracking would be the words I use to describe Florence. The claustrophobic old streets were never meant for cars, but there they are, tearing down the cobblestone streets, causing the most unbelievable racket. Between that and the hordes of tourists, conversation is almost impossible. Most of the piazzas have been turned into parking lots; here I would grant them that parking is much needed in the city so the transformation might be required. To add to the frustration, some museums require reservations, and all of them offer, so it is difficult to tell which ones need it and which don’t so might as well get it for all of them. This leads to a much more structured day than one ought to have amongst the neat cafés and artisan shops. Instead of ducking into that little shop with the artist carving wood and brass, we must hurry so that we do not miss our reservation.
It did, however, have beautiful buildings with tidy façades and gigantic wooden doors. It seemed as if the commune had a contest to see who could put the largest wooden doors on their building, as the smallest was still bigger than any I had ever used. The art of the city’s museums and churches is second to none; Florence is still a Renaissance city and can be greatly enjoyed as such, despite the cars and throngs of people. Away from the Uffizi and the Duomo the crowds die down a bit, until finally you turn a corner and find an almost empty street, devoid of cars, and you realize that this is the city in the brochure, this is the city in the Panegyric, this is Florence.
Another ride on Trenitalia seems to be another chance for them to screw something up. On the way to Florence we were told that it is entirely possible that the Festival of Corpus Christi would render the trains to Merano immobile and that we would be stranded, maybe as far away as Bolzano. This thankfully did not come to pass, but we did get stranded in Terlano for half an hour because the track broke. However, nobody on the train spoke both English and Italian enough to be certain that it was not the feast that stopped us. We were all order off of the train to wait for a bus. Then the broken train drove away. Figuring that further transport by train would be impossible, I inquired at the local pub as to the phone number of a taxi service. I was laughed at. Luckily, another train arrived, the track was fixed, and it was only a 22Euro cab fare to the castle as opposed to a 73Euro cab fare. I also learned later that it was the track and not the train, so for the first time, everything the railway did made sense. I do not blame the company for having a broken track, causing us to miss the last bus and take a cab; machines break. Why did the railway tell us that the trains may or may not be running because of the feast? Should they not be the first to know of a possible railway closure, as opposed to the last?
Upon entering the Uffizi, I was confronted with a long line, corresponding to a metal detector and X-ray machine. The line moved quickly, but this was still the strongest security I had ever gone through to get into a museum or for that matter a foreign country. I got away with more at the UN in New York than I did at these museums. I have to wonder if the threat to their collection is credible or if they are merely taking every possible precaution to protect their priceless artifacts.
In any case, once we were in, I was immediately gratified by the immense collection. The main hallway has busts of Roman Emperors as well as paintings of the Ottoman Sultans and larger paintings of European leaders. There were entire rooms dedicated to Renaissance masters, and those who painted in their style. Seeing Botticelli and da Vinci paintings that I had only read about was breathtaking. I had never noticed the amount of detail in the Primavera or the sense of movement in the Birth of Venus. I had never seen a Leonardo da Vinci before. Giovanni Bellini and Caravagio were both a bit too dark for my taste, but the experience of seeing the work of someone who died around the same time Europeans were finding the Continent I live on was still amazing. This does not even take in to consideration the fact that all of this is housed in the Medici’s office building. It was well worth the security, and the hassle of reservations; I shuddered to look at the line for people without reservations.
For whatever reason, it was decided that the area under the dome ought to be closed to visitors to the Cathedral. This seems kind of like putting David under scaffolding at the Accademia; the rest of it is still nice and we were glad we went, but that kind of defeats the point of going. It was still a huge Cathedral with all of the grandiose visions that go along with that, but the only frescos are under the dome. I could see just the tiniest bit of painting from the closest I could get and wanted more. At least they could not close the outside; it still has the grandest façade of any Cathedral I have ever seen. The white marble with green marble stripes is unique among gothic Cathedrals I have seen, and the ornate carving on every square inch of the building is magnificent. Of course there is always the dome, almost invisible in the winding streets and then immediately there, gigantic and spectacular as you enter the piazza. One must not know history or architecture to see this as a masterwork.
If you want to know what is so great about Michelangelo’s David, just picture David in your mind. Now make him four times as large and twice as lifelike. Now you are close to having an accurate idea of his size in real life. I had seen him before and I was still shocked by his size and realism. It is such an amazing piece that it overshadows the Botticellis and Lippis that are also housed at the also overprotected Accademia.
June 13
The Pitti and the Bargello were both sort of lacking in the art department; I say sort of because when compared to the Ufizzi and the Accademia, the MET is lacking in the art department. Donatello’s David, much to the ladies’ chagrin, was not quite as homosexual looking in person as it is in pictures. His face seems much more serious in person, as well as the entire figure looking much younger than in pictures. Why he went to war in shoes, a hat and nothing else is anyone’s guess, but the figure looked marvelous. Equally marvelous was the fact that there was no barrier between the statue and the patrons. While David at the Accademia is behind thick Plexiglas, keeping everyone at a distance, the Bargello let people up close and personal with their Renaissance art. More impressive than the art, however, I felt the palaces themselves were amazing. The faded frescos in the Bargello, and the fireplaces and furniture in the Pitti made it clear that someone used to live here. The Pitti felt like it was perhaps a rich uncle’s house who was having you over for some tea and to look at his new priceless work that he got at “quite a bargain.”
I had a bit of a revelation today, and I think I will discuss it with Penny. I was in a junk shop with Alice, surveying the latest in retro fashion and used brick-a-brack, when I noticed the proprietor of the shop to be no less than a sixty year old woman with blonde curly hair. I further noticed when Alice wanted to know how much something cost, that she did not speak a word of English. To complete the picture, she had a radio playing in her store and that I could understand the words to every song played; that is to say, that the songs were in the very English that the woman did not speak. Do people here not care about the lyrics to songs? Is English just a more poetic language than Italian? Certainly not. Most of the music was imported from America, but one must ask how music from America could get popular with people who do not speak the language. This concept is very foreign coming from a country where one of the leading genres of music literally strips the virtuosity of any of the players away specifically to elevate the lyrics. In America, bands rise and fall based on their lyrics, and it is quite difficult for an artist who does not sing in English to get popular for that very reason. I listen to a few non-English speaking bands, and I can understand enjoying music for the experience, as opposed to the poetry, but to see a whole country who thinks the way I do is strange coming from a minority back at home.
June 14
As far as interiors are concerned, however, the tiny churches throughout the city are the main attraction. At Ognissanti, there were Botticellis and Lippis close enough to touch, with no glass or anything to impede the viewer. It seemed to be a given that nobody would do anything to harm the paintings in a church, as opposed to the museums, where being run through a metal detector and having your bags X-rayed was necessary to get to the ticket booth. The panels and altar pieces were not the only attraction; the ceilings of all of the smaller churches were painted in the brilliant art of perspective that the Florentines excel at. In a few churches, but most prominent again at Ognissanti, the ceiling was painted in such a way that the church appeared to have a balcony running the perimeter of the church; above this was the ornate roof with a hole in it for the heavens to come through, complete with angels, saints, and of course, Mother, Father and Son. I thought it to be the most brilliant ceiling painting I had ever seen, until I went to another church and found a similar design on its ceiling. Apparently the city is covered with them.
Nerve wracking would be the words I use to describe Florence. The claustrophobic old streets were never meant for cars, but there they are, tearing down the cobblestone streets, causing the most unbelievable racket. Between that and the hordes of tourists, conversation is almost impossible. Most of the piazzas have been turned into parking lots; here I would grant them that parking is much needed in the city so the transformation might be required. To add to the frustration, some museums require reservations, and all of them offer, so it is difficult to tell which ones need it and which don’t so might as well get it for all of them. This leads to a much more structured day than one ought to have amongst the neat cafés and artisan shops. Instead of ducking into that little shop with the artist carving wood and brass, we must hurry so that we do not miss our reservation.
It did, however, have beautiful buildings with tidy façades and gigantic wooden doors. It seemed as if the commune had a contest to see who could put the largest wooden doors on their building, as the smallest was still bigger than any I had ever used. The art of the city’s museums and churches is second to none; Florence is still a Renaissance city and can be greatly enjoyed as such, despite the cars and throngs of people. Away from the Uffizi and the Duomo the crowds die down a bit, until finally you turn a corner and find an almost empty street, devoid of cars, and you realize that this is the city in the brochure, this is the city in the Panegyric, this is Florence.
Another ride on Trenitalia seems to be another chance for them to screw something up. On the way to Florence we were told that it is entirely possible that the Festival of Corpus Christi would render the trains to Merano immobile and that we would be stranded, maybe as far away as Bolzano. This thankfully did not come to pass, but we did get stranded in Terlano for half an hour because the track broke. However, nobody on the train spoke both English and Italian enough to be certain that it was not the feast that stopped us. We were all order off of the train to wait for a bus. Then the broken train drove away. Figuring that further transport by train would be impossible, I inquired at the local pub as to the phone number of a taxi service. I was laughed at. Luckily, another train arrived, the track was fixed, and it was only a 22Euro cab fare to the castle as opposed to a 73Euro cab fare. I also learned later that it was the track and not the train, so for the first time, everything the railway did made sense. I do not blame the company for having a broken track, causing us to miss the last bus and take a cab; machines break. Why did the railway tell us that the trains may or may not be running because of the feast? Should they not be the first to know of a possible railway closure, as opposed to the last?
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Venezia
June 4th
Well, Venice is not exactly as I remember it. True, it is still the city where the boat trumps the car and walking is the easiest way to get anywhere. It is also still true that the place is a giant maze of shops and cafes, with piazzas scattered about at random, where no one knows exactly where they are going, but they pick a general direction to hopefully make it to Saint Mark’s before everything closes. I do not, however, remember all of the graffiti. I will accept both that graffiti will occur in alleyways, and that much of Venice is an alleyway. However, the extent of it, on the Grand Canal, and everywhere on almost every building makes the place look more like Venice California than Venice Italy.
Most of it was not even good graffiti, where one must draw the line between what is art and what is vandalism. Most of it was words; spray painted on without a stencil, or pictures done with the most rudimentary of stencils. There was no Banksy, few clever slogans, and almost nothing that did not look like a mess that someone was neglecting to clean up. There had apparently been a rally of some kind; either it was a bunch of left wing nut jobs, or it was a counter protest to a bunch of right wing nut jobs, but all over the city someone had sprayed “No Nazi” in red paint. Because acts of vandalism on buildings that are older than Nazis is really going to show the city who is boss.
June 5th
Apparently, there has been an earthquake that I did not hear about. A fair portion of the buildings are in some state of reconstruction, with tarps draped over their facades. Most notably, the Gallerie dell’ Accademia is completely under a tarp, with a donation box at the ticket window to help restore the paintings that fell. Both the Doge’s Palace and the Cathedral had some construction going on, as well as the Campanile. Every direction one could look on the Grand Canal, there was at least one building under a tarp. Even with the tarps and the graffiti, the beauty of the old city still shined through.
A thousand descriptions have been written about St. Mark’s Cathedral before, so I will be brief. The floor is a brilliant mosaic, built to withstand the church being flooded every time it rains. This mosaic is warped everywhere, but it still appears in perfect condition. On the ceiling are mosaics of saints and other notable people, all very well done, so much so that they appear to be frescos. Where there are no people on the ceiling, there is gold. Gold is the default color of the ceiling, and it is present everywhere in the Cathedral. It is free to enter, which I believe is a step up from the fifteen pounds sterling I paid to get into Westminster Abbey, but they nickel and dime everyone to death. Want to see the reliquary? It is three euros. How about the alter screen? That’s two euros. Would you like to ascend the steps to the bronze horses and see the real ones? That will cost you four euros. This has the unexpected consequence of requiring barriers in the church where barriers do not naturally belong, destroying a bit of the charm of the church. Also, oddly enough, the body of St. Mark is not in the reliquary, nor is its location particularly well advertised. We were leaving the area where the alter screen lives when I noticed a big stone box with Latin written on it. Most of my party had already left the Cathedral when I saw that the Latin read, “Corpus Divi Marku Evangeliste.” Mark, don’t you know that it isn’t nice to sneak up on people?
June 6th
Saint Mark’s square flooded at some point Friday night, and the only way to exit the Doge’s palace was by wading. It was quite lovely to see the buildings of the square reflected in the water, which was cool and looked clean. It was a welcome respite from the heat of the day, and seemed to certainly be one of the many things that could only happen in Venice. The Cathedral even had to be closed due to the water; apparently, the floor of the church was already warped enough, and did not need hundreds of pilgrims tracking water into the building. One lucky café’s patio was dry enough to keep it open and there were quite a few people sitting, eating and watching people traipse through the water. One poor woman even fell in, completely soaking her.
By the time we got to the Doge’s Palace, Alice could no longer stand around admiring the paintings and required a wheelchair to properly see the palace. This provided the usual disadvantages of a chair, but it did have an unexpected bonus. Apparently, the elevator is kept in a part of the palace that is not accessible to ordinary patrons; we were thus allowed to see some pieces that were not on display, a room or two that had not been restored, and we got to go into a few of the secret passages, hidden in the walls of the palace. Along the wall of the senate chamber, there are luxurious, carved, dark wood panels with seats for all of the senators. One of the wood panels opens up, beyond the reach of the normal patrons. That panel leads to the elevator.
The palace is every bit as gorgeous as I remember it. The governing chambers each have that excellent wood paneling, above which are paintings by Renaissance masters, usually Titian or Tintoretto. These would be framed in gold, with the ceilings painted, also by masters, and gilded sculptures. The armory had the usual assortment of muskets, pole arms, swords, crossbows, cannon, some armor, and a few pistols. They did, however, have two one handed axes and a one handed mace that also cleverly housed wheel lock pistols. My personal favorite had to be a crossbow that also housed a short musket and had a bayonet on the end. It was probably completely unbalanced, and almost unusable, but here it is the thought that counts.
June 7th
The Biennale was the most spectacular display of art I have ever seen. It is a biannual art show in which almost every country sponsors an art exhibit, and it is obvious that some representatives spent the entire two years between events planning this one. The Russian entry was called “Victory over the Future,” and featured an entire room dedicated to paintings of fake futuristic monuments. They also constructed what appeared to be an old, haunted coal mine with ghostly hands shaking the paintings hung on the walls. One room was painted in a cheering soccer crowd that vanished into white when a patron walked in. It was quite an experience.
Norway and Denmark collaborated this year on an exhibit called “The Collectors;” this was a series of houses where the owners were gone, but all of the requisite evidence to determine nearly every aspect of their lives remained. The first was a truly broken home, with crumbling stairs and the dinner table split in half. A child’s drawing remained on a bulletin board, illustrating a happy mom and crying dad. There was also a business card for a business that performed paternity tests. In the fireplace were burnt love letters; I am certain that if I could have scoured the house further for evidence, more would have been forthcoming.
The second house contained a homosexual novelist who was working on a novel, or perhaps autobiography, of a sexually depraved novelist writing a novel about his depravity. The man’s notes were still on his desk, as well as a copy of the abstract he used to try to sell the novel to the publisher that we could take. Both of these exhibits were quite interactive, and the second half even had workers dressed like patrons climbing on the furniture just to show that we could. At the end of this exhibit, the audience left out of the back door to find the novelist drowned in his own pool. I believe that those three exhibits have really spoiled me by showing me what an art show can be like.
I have never seen a system of transportation more completely out of control than Trenitalia. In many stations, the schedule, as well as the platform number, is posted on permanent billboards, with ones that can be updated near the ticket booth. This causes a problem when anything goes wrong; all of the platforms are changed, leaving the passengers to figure out what is going on. In Venice, the information desk is kept behind locked doors, presumably to keep the angry passengers who missed their train while looking for the proper platform from going postal on Trenitalia employees. After this misadventure, it is quite likely that the passenger will miss the subsequent trains waiting in the gigantic line to change their reservations. Luckily, once the passenger is on the train, there is very little chance of further error; the trains seem to run the railway rather than the railway running the trains.
Speaking of trains, something I have noticed here, that I have seen nowhere else. When assigned a seat on an American airplane, or a British train, nobody seems to care where they sit. A reserved seat guarantees a spot on the train, so everyone knows that there is a seat for everyone. Granted, a second class ticket cannot move to first class, and a train conductor might force a passenger to move; but the people rarely care where they sit. Even on airplanes where movement is a bit more restricted, few mind switching seats so that husband and wife may sit together. This assumption, however, does not hold in Italy. I was kicked out of my seat no less than four times, twice when I thought I was in my assigned seat, so close was the correct seat. The train was perhaps half full; there was no reason to complain about whose seat belonged to who, there were plenty for everyone. I do not think I can understand any situation that would require me to move across the aisle to a different unoccupied seat to satisfy someone’s need to be in the seat assigned them by the computers at Trenitalia.
Well, Venice is not exactly as I remember it. True, it is still the city where the boat trumps the car and walking is the easiest way to get anywhere. It is also still true that the place is a giant maze of shops and cafes, with piazzas scattered about at random, where no one knows exactly where they are going, but they pick a general direction to hopefully make it to Saint Mark’s before everything closes. I do not, however, remember all of the graffiti. I will accept both that graffiti will occur in alleyways, and that much of Venice is an alleyway. However, the extent of it, on the Grand Canal, and everywhere on almost every building makes the place look more like Venice California than Venice Italy.
Most of it was not even good graffiti, where one must draw the line between what is art and what is vandalism. Most of it was words; spray painted on without a stencil, or pictures done with the most rudimentary of stencils. There was no Banksy, few clever slogans, and almost nothing that did not look like a mess that someone was neglecting to clean up. There had apparently been a rally of some kind; either it was a bunch of left wing nut jobs, or it was a counter protest to a bunch of right wing nut jobs, but all over the city someone had sprayed “No Nazi” in red paint. Because acts of vandalism on buildings that are older than Nazis is really going to show the city who is boss.
June 5th
Apparently, there has been an earthquake that I did not hear about. A fair portion of the buildings are in some state of reconstruction, with tarps draped over their facades. Most notably, the Gallerie dell’ Accademia is completely under a tarp, with a donation box at the ticket window to help restore the paintings that fell. Both the Doge’s Palace and the Cathedral had some construction going on, as well as the Campanile. Every direction one could look on the Grand Canal, there was at least one building under a tarp. Even with the tarps and the graffiti, the beauty of the old city still shined through.
A thousand descriptions have been written about St. Mark’s Cathedral before, so I will be brief. The floor is a brilliant mosaic, built to withstand the church being flooded every time it rains. This mosaic is warped everywhere, but it still appears in perfect condition. On the ceiling are mosaics of saints and other notable people, all very well done, so much so that they appear to be frescos. Where there are no people on the ceiling, there is gold. Gold is the default color of the ceiling, and it is present everywhere in the Cathedral. It is free to enter, which I believe is a step up from the fifteen pounds sterling I paid to get into Westminster Abbey, but they nickel and dime everyone to death. Want to see the reliquary? It is three euros. How about the alter screen? That’s two euros. Would you like to ascend the steps to the bronze horses and see the real ones? That will cost you four euros. This has the unexpected consequence of requiring barriers in the church where barriers do not naturally belong, destroying a bit of the charm of the church. Also, oddly enough, the body of St. Mark is not in the reliquary, nor is its location particularly well advertised. We were leaving the area where the alter screen lives when I noticed a big stone box with Latin written on it. Most of my party had already left the Cathedral when I saw that the Latin read, “Corpus Divi Marku Evangeliste.” Mark, don’t you know that it isn’t nice to sneak up on people?
June 6th
Saint Mark’s square flooded at some point Friday night, and the only way to exit the Doge’s palace was by wading. It was quite lovely to see the buildings of the square reflected in the water, which was cool and looked clean. It was a welcome respite from the heat of the day, and seemed to certainly be one of the many things that could only happen in Venice. The Cathedral even had to be closed due to the water; apparently, the floor of the church was already warped enough, and did not need hundreds of pilgrims tracking water into the building. One lucky café’s patio was dry enough to keep it open and there were quite a few people sitting, eating and watching people traipse through the water. One poor woman even fell in, completely soaking her.
By the time we got to the Doge’s Palace, Alice could no longer stand around admiring the paintings and required a wheelchair to properly see the palace. This provided the usual disadvantages of a chair, but it did have an unexpected bonus. Apparently, the elevator is kept in a part of the palace that is not accessible to ordinary patrons; we were thus allowed to see some pieces that were not on display, a room or two that had not been restored, and we got to go into a few of the secret passages, hidden in the walls of the palace. Along the wall of the senate chamber, there are luxurious, carved, dark wood panels with seats for all of the senators. One of the wood panels opens up, beyond the reach of the normal patrons. That panel leads to the elevator.
The palace is every bit as gorgeous as I remember it. The governing chambers each have that excellent wood paneling, above which are paintings by Renaissance masters, usually Titian or Tintoretto. These would be framed in gold, with the ceilings painted, also by masters, and gilded sculptures. The armory had the usual assortment of muskets, pole arms, swords, crossbows, cannon, some armor, and a few pistols. They did, however, have two one handed axes and a one handed mace that also cleverly housed wheel lock pistols. My personal favorite had to be a crossbow that also housed a short musket and had a bayonet on the end. It was probably completely unbalanced, and almost unusable, but here it is the thought that counts.
June 7th
The Biennale was the most spectacular display of art I have ever seen. It is a biannual art show in which almost every country sponsors an art exhibit, and it is obvious that some representatives spent the entire two years between events planning this one. The Russian entry was called “Victory over the Future,” and featured an entire room dedicated to paintings of fake futuristic monuments. They also constructed what appeared to be an old, haunted coal mine with ghostly hands shaking the paintings hung on the walls. One room was painted in a cheering soccer crowd that vanished into white when a patron walked in. It was quite an experience.
Norway and Denmark collaborated this year on an exhibit called “The Collectors;” this was a series of houses where the owners were gone, but all of the requisite evidence to determine nearly every aspect of their lives remained. The first was a truly broken home, with crumbling stairs and the dinner table split in half. A child’s drawing remained on a bulletin board, illustrating a happy mom and crying dad. There was also a business card for a business that performed paternity tests. In the fireplace were burnt love letters; I am certain that if I could have scoured the house further for evidence, more would have been forthcoming.
The second house contained a homosexual novelist who was working on a novel, or perhaps autobiography, of a sexually depraved novelist writing a novel about his depravity. The man’s notes were still on his desk, as well as a copy of the abstract he used to try to sell the novel to the publisher that we could take. Both of these exhibits were quite interactive, and the second half even had workers dressed like patrons climbing on the furniture just to show that we could. At the end of this exhibit, the audience left out of the back door to find the novelist drowned in his own pool. I believe that those three exhibits have really spoiled me by showing me what an art show can be like.
I have never seen a system of transportation more completely out of control than Trenitalia. In many stations, the schedule, as well as the platform number, is posted on permanent billboards, with ones that can be updated near the ticket booth. This causes a problem when anything goes wrong; all of the platforms are changed, leaving the passengers to figure out what is going on. In Venice, the information desk is kept behind locked doors, presumably to keep the angry passengers who missed their train while looking for the proper platform from going postal on Trenitalia employees. After this misadventure, it is quite likely that the passenger will miss the subsequent trains waiting in the gigantic line to change their reservations. Luckily, once the passenger is on the train, there is very little chance of further error; the trains seem to run the railway rather than the railway running the trains.
Speaking of trains, something I have noticed here, that I have seen nowhere else. When assigned a seat on an American airplane, or a British train, nobody seems to care where they sit. A reserved seat guarantees a spot on the train, so everyone knows that there is a seat for everyone. Granted, a second class ticket cannot move to first class, and a train conductor might force a passenger to move; but the people rarely care where they sit. Even on airplanes where movement is a bit more restricted, few mind switching seats so that husband and wife may sit together. This assumption, however, does not hold in Italy. I was kicked out of my seat no less than four times, twice when I thought I was in my assigned seat, so close was the correct seat. The train was perhaps half full; there was no reason to complain about whose seat belonged to who, there were plenty for everyone. I do not think I can understand any situation that would require me to move across the aisle to a different unoccupied seat to satisfy someone’s need to be in the seat assigned them by the computers at Trenitalia.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
First Post
I just got your email, it can be difficult to get emails here since there are only 2 plugs for the power, and the battery life is not so good on this thing. I've done some things to it, and I think I can make it work longer. Technically I could play games on it, but why sit inside and play WoW when I can go outside and play it for real? Also, the laptop doesn't like games very much. I saw that the Astros won last night so maybe things will turn around. It's amazing how similar this season is to last season when you consider how many players we gained and lost. Is Sean coming home for good? If so, that's too bad. I heard from Justin that the stuff Sean had to do was really hard, though, so maybe he was having trouble with it. I imagine moving to a new state with nobody that you know and no friends to ask for help could be difficult if they jump right into the material. Lucky for me all of the people here are really friendly because it is a lot of reading (150 pages today).
Brunenburg is German for "Fountain Mountain." As such, the tap water is excellent. I don't know if you remember, but Italy, and Europe in general, is famous for its highly available, excellent quality bottled water. This stuff puts all of the bottled water to shame. The town of Dorf Tirol (which I must take pictures of sometime) is higher up on the mountain than the castle, to completely destroy your ideal of a castle town, and the town is full of fountains. I found out the other day that the water coming out of the fountains is perfectly drinkable, like the fountains of ancient Rome. I see hikers and Nordic walkers fill their bottles in the fountains all the time. (Remember the old Nordic Trac? Nordic walking is like that, but without the skis and you go places) Not that free water is absolutely necessary, since the bottled water here is dirt cheap by comparison. Imagine, though, filling your canteen at the fountains near Herman Park. You wouldn't dream of it, but there they are; I bet they think its strange to have fountains that are not good for drinking.
Shelly (the one with the son), Christina and Caitlin just got back from Venice last night; according to them, they would be perfectly fine failing the course and never leaving there ever again. So it seems to be exactly as we remembered it. This weekend there is a huge, biannual, international art festival there so the place is going to be packed with tourists, but I remember the festivals being the best part of the place. Caitlin is a strange being. On the outside, she appears to be the typical skinny bitch, but there is quite a bit more to her than that. She has a quick wit and often sees the sarcasm in everything. Strangely enough, she visits the same odd websites me and Alice visit, namely cracked.com and 4chan. Cracked is vulgar, but funny; 4chan, on the other hand, is like some strange psychological experiment. You can post anything you want for anyone to see and everyone is completely anonymous. Rather than do something useful with this freedom, however, most people manage to find the most aweful, disgusting, despicable things that you would not believe to be in existence, and publish them for the whole world to see. They follow what they call, Rule 34: if it exists, there is porn of it. Descriptions of websites that should not be visited by anyone aside, I am surprised when any girls have ever even heard of 4chan, much less that they have been there. I'm looking forward to getting to know her, and everyone else better.
This past weekend we went to Bolzano, also known as Bolzen, for a day trip. The town is about an hour by bus, and then train from the castle, and if you want to go anywhere from the castle, you must get a train to Bolzen first. The train ride was particularly interesting because this kid, who couldn't be older than 20, accosted us in the train station, and would not let us out on to the platform. It seems he wanted to get to know us better before he let us pass into his domain. All he wanted was for us to try to talk to him and share his beer with (it was 7:30AM!!!), but it was creepy at the time. When we got back, it turned out that we were not the first to meet him, Christina saw him in the station another day. Apparently he checks out the station every morning to see what kind of fun he can have. Anyway, I digress.
Bolzano is the picture of a northern Italian town; narrow streets, lots of picturesque shops and arcades up and down the roads. Alice bought a dress in one of the shops that only sold that dress in different colors. We also went to an open air food market with bakers and fruit and nut vendors, and meat and cheese purveyers with all sorts of sausages, frankfurters and something akin to bacon called spek. We got these balls, similar to falafels, with cheese and meats inside; I have no idea what they are called. After that, we went to a strange department store; they had toys, games, art supplies, purses, scarves and such accessories. Everything was a bit on the pricey side, but it was strange to see Italian luggage in the same store as legos. After that we went to the Archeological museum; apparently in Italian, Archeology means dead people. Sure there were ancient artifacts, clothing and weapons and the like, but mostly it was mummified dead people. Mummies from South America, mummies from Egypt, mummies from Europe, natural mummies, artificial mummies, all housed in this one building. It was worth it, though, digging through the skeletons and dead heads to see the crown jewel of Alpine Anthropology: The Iceman. A complete skeleton, preserved with his tools, weapons and clothing intact. It made Alice's day.
Today is the feast of the Pentacost so few shops were open. Tomorrow, a new federal holliday has been announced, as part of this country's plan to save itself from economic oblivion. I am unfortunately not all that well researched on Italy's plan for survival so I cannot comment on the effectiveness of closing businesses for a day. As a side note, their Prime Minister is named Berlusconi so the locals are calling it Berlusconi day. Wednesday we will probably catch a bus to Merano, see what that city's like, and Thursday, it's off to the old Republic. Sometime this week I ought to tell a bit of the history of the Republic of Venice that stood for 1000 years before Napoleon knocked it down, and of the reason why Bolzano is sometimes called Bolzen and Merano is called Meran and when you go into shops here they say Grussgott (Greet God) in stores here instead of bonjourno, but I have written enough for today.
----- Original Message -----
From: Tamara Bates
To: Josh
Sent: Friday, May 29, 2009 9:25 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
Hi Josh,
I did get the pictures and they are all just beautiful!!! It sounds like ya'll are having the time of your life. I'm sure Alice will love Venice. I wish we could come visit where you are. The wood carvers and all of it sound like you are having so much fun. I am so happy for you. Take notes and be sure to write and tell me all of your favorite things. Sure you can use the emails for your journal project. What wonderful memories to have.
Sounds like you had fun watching the soccer match too. I was listening to the Astros/Pirates game earlier and the Stros were winning 3-0. I took Ziva out for a good while and now the game is over. Hope we won to end the terrible 7 game losing streak. It's funny that you saw Manchester United play because when we went to Disney World Jeremy bought a Manchester United t-shirt at Epcot. I don't know if you had a chance to see it or not.
Yes, please keep talking about a few people at a time. It's really interesting. I think I will start a new folder and keep all of the emails there. It will be fun to go back and read them a long time from now.
I will take pictures of the lakehouse, but I might need Jeremy's help getting them onto my computer and then emailed to you. I know I've learned to do that a bunch of times, but then I always forget from one time to the next. Speaking of Jeremy, he and and Stephen left for Dallas today. I think they are going to the Anime Convention with Justin and Will. Jeremy said he would rather stay at your apartment than with those guys. I told him you probably would not mind, but that he'd better ask you. Ziva and I are here all by ourselves tonight. I'm not sure that has ever happened since we moved into this house. It's really strange thinking back about the gobs of people that used to be here every night. Dad went with me to Salt Grass for dinner, so that was nice. And tomorrow morning we're going to the lakehouse. Ziva is going with us.
Can you still play the computer games at night there? From what I hear, Sean is coming home from Florida. Seems he really did not like it there at all. But I told Jeremy that when he starts school at Wharton it is going to be serious and he can't be staying up and having people over every night. Of course that probably is a bunch of hot air since he can schedule classes at whatever time of day he wants to. Since he drove the Mustang to Dallas, we took it to be serviced and checked out today. He should be getting there pretty soon. (Gee, my days do not sound nearly as interesting as yours!!)
Well, write back very soon and keep me in touch.
I love you,
Mom
----- Original Message -----
From: Josh
To: Tamara Bates
Sent: Friday, May 29, 2009 3:31 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
I hope you get the pictures, this laptop really hates dealing with pictures. Also, we plan on going to Venice next weekend, with Florence the weekend after that, and Munich and Milan somewhere in there. It is 7 hours later here so it's 10 right now. It is just one class so me and Alice are in it, and we seem to be doing well. We have to do a journal type project, so I think I'm just going to show him my emails to you, if that's okay.
The past two days we have been going up the hill to Dorf Tirol, the town outside the castle. There are two wood carving shops and a doll shop that Alice has taken a shine to. One of the wood carvers does the really traditional German looking stuff, and his shop is a fire hazzard; the other wood carver does some of that as well, although he also does some abstract carving and he does human carvings that look like they could come alive. The major grocery store chain around here is called deSpar; Alice and I went there to get the ingredients for Welsh Cakes and their attendant spoke excellent English. He was able to explain to us that in Italy, they do not have self-rising flour and that you have to buy a different powder to mix into the flour to make it work.
The other night, the Champions League finals in soccer was on. One of the people in the class is really into soccer and her favorite team, FC Barcelona, was in the final. I had never watched soccer before so I decided to give it a try. We went to a bar in Dorf Tirol called the Treff, that had it on a big screen. This is definitely the neatest looking bar I've ever seen. It's in the basement, like Cheers, but the roof was hardwood supported by stone arches. Being in the heart of Lager country I ordered the house special, which was a huge beer called the Hefe. This was the best tasting lager I'd ever tried, but it still got to be overly biter by the last part of the glass. As for the game, I found out that soccer games last 90 minutes with a 15 minute half-time at the 45 minute mark; the clock is never stopped for any reason. It does not matter if they have to get the trainers on the field, if there are penalty kicks or anything, the clock always moves. Therefore, the game devolves into a game of keep-away with the goals being scored whenever the opportunity arrises. Some say that this makes the game boring, but it does keep it intense, knowing that the lead could change at any moment. For the record, FC Barcelona beat Manchester United 2-0.
Two of the people in the class did not arrive on time since they were on another trip. One showed up Wednesday but one only showed up last night at midnight. She ended up getting a ride from the train station at 11PM from total strangers up to Dorf Tirol, where we ended up stumbling into her by accident. She's very lucky she made it here at all. Altogether there are 9 of us; 7 girls and 2 guys. I don't know how old one of the women is, but she has a son who graduated from college this semester; honestly, she doesn't look a day over 30. She's quite handy to have around, though, since she has a lot of common sense, and more importantly, speaks fluent Italian. I think I'm going to talk about one or two people an email until you know everything about everyone.
This weekend, I'm headed to Bolzano. It's only an hour from the castle and they are supposed to have a neat museum. Also, somewhere in there, I think we are going to try to go horseback riding. Send me pictures of the new and improved lake house.
Man it's a hard life
Josh
----- Original Message -----
From: Tamara Bates
To: Josh
Sent: Thursday, May 28, 2009 10:34 PMdoll
Subject: Re: I got here
Hello Josh,
Oh, it sounds absolutely fabulous where you are. Be sure to send some pictures. Where all have you been so far? And where do you plan to go? Are you going to show Alice Venice? It was my favorite place on our short Italy tour. I know you can't travel too much until school is over. Are you enjoying your classes there? Is Alice in the same class?
Yes, I do remember learning some poems by Ezra Pound when I was in high school, but that was a long, long time ago. I think he was born about 100 years before you were.
Dad and I are going to the lakehouse this weekend. Hopefully we are going to pick out some furniture. It really looks different after getting the new makeover. It is so much prettier. Jer mentioned that he told you they are going to Dallas. We went to Japaniero's for dinner tonight (Jer, Stephen and me). I'm not sure that Stephen's parents ever see him anymore.
My surgery is still healing. So far I am really happy about it and glad I had it done. Jann came over Saturday for a little while to check it out. She said that it really took about six months for hers to completely heal, so I guess I have quite a while to go.
Other than that, it has just been work as usual here. Jason told me to tell you "hi" when I wrote to you. I told him about your email and how beautiful it sounds there.
Is it seven hours later there than here? If so, it must be about 5:30 a.m. there.
Well, write me back as soon as you get a chance and send those pictures, ok?
I love you son,
Mom
----- Original Message -----
From: Josh
To: Tamara Bates
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 12:05 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
To think after 3 airplanes, 4 trains and a bus, over 32 hours of actual travel time, I have arrived in a tourist trap; apparently all of the hikers, skiers and mountain loving peoples of four countries come to Dorf Tirol to vacation. Looking out the window, I can see why. The town is populated with Cucoo clocks people live in, wood carvers, meat and cheese vendors, wine sellers and as many restaurants in this little town than in all of Sugar Land, surrounded by acres upon acres of vinyards. The castle is everything you wish for in a castle; tall towers, a beautiful courtyard, and everywhere you look, there's a commanding view of the Alps. As for myself, I am one of the clock dwellers, living in a farmhouse whose newest construction came thirty years before the Revolutionary War; the stone parts date back to the 13th century.
I don't know if you had to read anything by Ezra Pound in highschool (I didn't but they tell me he is one of America's greatest poets) but the castle belongs to his daughter, Mary. She's in her eighties now, but her son Cizzel runs things here, and at Schloss Tirol, up the hill. His wife, Briggeta, does most of the day to day stuff, raising the pigs, sheep, chickens, geese, cats, dog and donkey. Her son Nicky is a vinter, making wine out of the grapes grown on site. I'll bring back a bottle or two of his stuff, it's really good. In addition, the castle serves as an agricultural museum, and a museum dedicated to Ezra Pound. Apparently Germans see the "Privat" sign on the door as a challenge and our class has been walked in on often. I don't mind them, though, I've done the same thing at other castles in Wales.
The next email I send will have pictures; I haven't taken any yet.
Love you mom
Josh
----- Original Message -----
From: Tamara Bates
To: Josh
Sent: Sunday, May 24, 2009 2:04 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
Thank you for letting me know you got there ok. Yesterday I was tracking the planes on the internet all the way to Amsterdam, then I couldn't anymore, but it was neat. I know you are very tired and have jet lag on top of it, but when you get a chance write again and let me know what it is like there. How are the dorms and have you seen the castle yet?
I am so glad ya'll are getting to do this. What a wonderful experience!
Well, write soon. I love you so very much,
Mom
----- Original Message -----
From: Josh
To: tjbates@nstci.com
Sent: Sunday, May 24, 2009 1:40 PM
Subject: I got here
and I'm too tired to write. I'll email you later.
love you
Brunenburg is German for "Fountain Mountain." As such, the tap water is excellent. I don't know if you remember, but Italy, and Europe in general, is famous for its highly available, excellent quality bottled water. This stuff puts all of the bottled water to shame. The town of Dorf Tirol (which I must take pictures of sometime) is higher up on the mountain than the castle, to completely destroy your ideal of a castle town, and the town is full of fountains. I found out the other day that the water coming out of the fountains is perfectly drinkable, like the fountains of ancient Rome. I see hikers and Nordic walkers fill their bottles in the fountains all the time. (Remember the old Nordic Trac? Nordic walking is like that, but without the skis and you go places) Not that free water is absolutely necessary, since the bottled water here is dirt cheap by comparison. Imagine, though, filling your canteen at the fountains near Herman Park. You wouldn't dream of it, but there they are; I bet they think its strange to have fountains that are not good for drinking.
Shelly (the one with the son), Christina and Caitlin just got back from Venice last night; according to them, they would be perfectly fine failing the course and never leaving there ever again. So it seems to be exactly as we remembered it. This weekend there is a huge, biannual, international art festival there so the place is going to be packed with tourists, but I remember the festivals being the best part of the place. Caitlin is a strange being. On the outside, she appears to be the typical skinny bitch, but there is quite a bit more to her than that. She has a quick wit and often sees the sarcasm in everything. Strangely enough, she visits the same odd websites me and Alice visit, namely cracked.com and 4chan. Cracked is vulgar, but funny; 4chan, on the other hand, is like some strange psychological experiment. You can post anything you want for anyone to see and everyone is completely anonymous. Rather than do something useful with this freedom, however, most people manage to find the most aweful, disgusting, despicable things that you would not believe to be in existence, and publish them for the whole world to see. They follow what they call, Rule 34: if it exists, there is porn of it. Descriptions of websites that should not be visited by anyone aside, I am surprised when any girls have ever even heard of 4chan, much less that they have been there. I'm looking forward to getting to know her, and everyone else better.
This past weekend we went to Bolzano, also known as Bolzen, for a day trip. The town is about an hour by bus, and then train from the castle, and if you want to go anywhere from the castle, you must get a train to Bolzen first. The train ride was particularly interesting because this kid, who couldn't be older than 20, accosted us in the train station, and would not let us out on to the platform. It seems he wanted to get to know us better before he let us pass into his domain. All he wanted was for us to try to talk to him and share his beer with (it was 7:30AM!!!), but it was creepy at the time. When we got back, it turned out that we were not the first to meet him, Christina saw him in the station another day. Apparently he checks out the station every morning to see what kind of fun he can have. Anyway, I digress.
Bolzano is the picture of a northern Italian town; narrow streets, lots of picturesque shops and arcades up and down the roads. Alice bought a dress in one of the shops that only sold that dress in different colors. We also went to an open air food market with bakers and fruit and nut vendors, and meat and cheese purveyers with all sorts of sausages, frankfurters and something akin to bacon called spek. We got these balls, similar to falafels, with cheese and meats inside; I have no idea what they are called. After that, we went to a strange department store; they had toys, games, art supplies, purses, scarves and such accessories. Everything was a bit on the pricey side, but it was strange to see Italian luggage in the same store as legos. After that we went to the Archeological museum; apparently in Italian, Archeology means dead people. Sure there were ancient artifacts, clothing and weapons and the like, but mostly it was mummified dead people. Mummies from South America, mummies from Egypt, mummies from Europe, natural mummies, artificial mummies, all housed in this one building. It was worth it, though, digging through the skeletons and dead heads to see the crown jewel of Alpine Anthropology: The Iceman. A complete skeleton, preserved with his tools, weapons and clothing intact. It made Alice's day.
Today is the feast of the Pentacost so few shops were open. Tomorrow, a new federal holliday has been announced, as part of this country's plan to save itself from economic oblivion. I am unfortunately not all that well researched on Italy's plan for survival so I cannot comment on the effectiveness of closing businesses for a day. As a side note, their Prime Minister is named Berlusconi so the locals are calling it Berlusconi day. Wednesday we will probably catch a bus to Merano, see what that city's like, and Thursday, it's off to the old Republic. Sometime this week I ought to tell a bit of the history of the Republic of Venice that stood for 1000 years before Napoleon knocked it down, and of the reason why Bolzano is sometimes called Bolzen and Merano is called Meran and when you go into shops here they say Grussgott (Greet God) in stores here instead of bonjourno, but I have written enough for today.
----- Original Message -----
From: Tamara Bates
To: Josh
Sent: Friday, May 29, 2009 9:25 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
Hi Josh,
I did get the pictures and they are all just beautiful!!! It sounds like ya'll are having the time of your life. I'm sure Alice will love Venice. I wish we could come visit where you are. The wood carvers and all of it sound like you are having so much fun. I am so happy for you. Take notes and be sure to write and tell me all of your favorite things. Sure you can use the emails for your journal project. What wonderful memories to have.
Sounds like you had fun watching the soccer match too. I was listening to the Astros/Pirates game earlier and the Stros were winning 3-0. I took Ziva out for a good while and now the game is over. Hope we won to end the terrible 7 game losing streak. It's funny that you saw Manchester United play because when we went to Disney World Jeremy bought a Manchester United t-shirt at Epcot. I don't know if you had a chance to see it or not.
Yes, please keep talking about a few people at a time. It's really interesting. I think I will start a new folder and keep all of the emails there. It will be fun to go back and read them a long time from now.
I will take pictures of the lakehouse, but I might need Jeremy's help getting them onto my computer and then emailed to you. I know I've learned to do that a bunch of times, but then I always forget from one time to the next. Speaking of Jeremy, he and and Stephen left for Dallas today. I think they are going to the Anime Convention with Justin and Will. Jeremy said he would rather stay at your apartment than with those guys. I told him you probably would not mind, but that he'd better ask you. Ziva and I are here all by ourselves tonight. I'm not sure that has ever happened since we moved into this house. It's really strange thinking back about the gobs of people that used to be here every night. Dad went with me to Salt Grass for dinner, so that was nice. And tomorrow morning we're going to the lakehouse. Ziva is going with us.
Can you still play the computer games at night there? From what I hear, Sean is coming home from Florida. Seems he really did not like it there at all. But I told Jeremy that when he starts school at Wharton it is going to be serious and he can't be staying up and having people over every night. Of course that probably is a bunch of hot air since he can schedule classes at whatever time of day he wants to. Since he drove the Mustang to Dallas, we took it to be serviced and checked out today. He should be getting there pretty soon. (Gee, my days do not sound nearly as interesting as yours!!)
Well, write back very soon and keep me in touch.
I love you,
Mom
----- Original Message -----
From: Josh
To: Tamara Bates
Sent: Friday, May 29, 2009 3:31 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
I hope you get the pictures, this laptop really hates dealing with pictures. Also, we plan on going to Venice next weekend, with Florence the weekend after that, and Munich and Milan somewhere in there. It is 7 hours later here so it's 10 right now. It is just one class so me and Alice are in it, and we seem to be doing well. We have to do a journal type project, so I think I'm just going to show him my emails to you, if that's okay.
The past two days we have been going up the hill to Dorf Tirol, the town outside the castle. There are two wood carving shops and a doll shop that Alice has taken a shine to. One of the wood carvers does the really traditional German looking stuff, and his shop is a fire hazzard; the other wood carver does some of that as well, although he also does some abstract carving and he does human carvings that look like they could come alive. The major grocery store chain around here is called deSpar; Alice and I went there to get the ingredients for Welsh Cakes and their attendant spoke excellent English. He was able to explain to us that in Italy, they do not have self-rising flour and that you have to buy a different powder to mix into the flour to make it work.
The other night, the Champions League finals in soccer was on. One of the people in the class is really into soccer and her favorite team, FC Barcelona, was in the final. I had never watched soccer before so I decided to give it a try. We went to a bar in Dorf Tirol called the Treff, that had it on a big screen. This is definitely the neatest looking bar I've ever seen. It's in the basement, like Cheers, but the roof was hardwood supported by stone arches. Being in the heart of Lager country I ordered the house special, which was a huge beer called the Hefe. This was the best tasting lager I'd ever tried, but it still got to be overly biter by the last part of the glass. As for the game, I found out that soccer games last 90 minutes with a 15 minute half-time at the 45 minute mark; the clock is never stopped for any reason. It does not matter if they have to get the trainers on the field, if there are penalty kicks or anything, the clock always moves. Therefore, the game devolves into a game of keep-away with the goals being scored whenever the opportunity arrises. Some say that this makes the game boring, but it does keep it intense, knowing that the lead could change at any moment. For the record, FC Barcelona beat Manchester United 2-0.
Two of the people in the class did not arrive on time since they were on another trip. One showed up Wednesday but one only showed up last night at midnight. She ended up getting a ride from the train station at 11PM from total strangers up to Dorf Tirol, where we ended up stumbling into her by accident. She's very lucky she made it here at all. Altogether there are 9 of us; 7 girls and 2 guys. I don't know how old one of the women is, but she has a son who graduated from college this semester; honestly, she doesn't look a day over 30. She's quite handy to have around, though, since she has a lot of common sense, and more importantly, speaks fluent Italian. I think I'm going to talk about one or two people an email until you know everything about everyone.
This weekend, I'm headed to Bolzano. It's only an hour from the castle and they are supposed to have a neat museum. Also, somewhere in there, I think we are going to try to go horseback riding. Send me pictures of the new and improved lake house.
Man it's a hard life
Josh
----- Original Message -----
From: Tamara Bates
To: Josh
Sent: Thursday, May 28, 2009 10:34 PMdoll
Subject: Re: I got here
Hello Josh,
Oh, it sounds absolutely fabulous where you are. Be sure to send some pictures. Where all have you been so far? And where do you plan to go? Are you going to show Alice Venice? It was my favorite place on our short Italy tour. I know you can't travel too much until school is over. Are you enjoying your classes there? Is Alice in the same class?
Yes, I do remember learning some poems by Ezra Pound when I was in high school, but that was a long, long time ago. I think he was born about 100 years before you were.
Dad and I are going to the lakehouse this weekend. Hopefully we are going to pick out some furniture. It really looks different after getting the new makeover. It is so much prettier. Jer mentioned that he told you they are going to Dallas. We went to Japaniero's for dinner tonight (Jer, Stephen and me). I'm not sure that Stephen's parents ever see him anymore.
My surgery is still healing. So far I am really happy about it and glad I had it done. Jann came over Saturday for a little while to check it out. She said that it really took about six months for hers to completely heal, so I guess I have quite a while to go.
Other than that, it has just been work as usual here. Jason told me to tell you "hi" when I wrote to you. I told him about your email and how beautiful it sounds there.
Is it seven hours later there than here? If so, it must be about 5:30 a.m. there.
Well, write me back as soon as you get a chance and send those pictures, ok?
I love you son,
Mom
----- Original Message -----
From: Josh
To: Tamara Bates
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 12:05 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
To think after 3 airplanes, 4 trains and a bus, over 32 hours of actual travel time, I have arrived in a tourist trap; apparently all of the hikers, skiers and mountain loving peoples of four countries come to Dorf Tirol to vacation. Looking out the window, I can see why. The town is populated with Cucoo clocks people live in, wood carvers, meat and cheese vendors, wine sellers and as many restaurants in this little town than in all of Sugar Land, surrounded by acres upon acres of vinyards. The castle is everything you wish for in a castle; tall towers, a beautiful courtyard, and everywhere you look, there's a commanding view of the Alps. As for myself, I am one of the clock dwellers, living in a farmhouse whose newest construction came thirty years before the Revolutionary War; the stone parts date back to the 13th century.
I don't know if you had to read anything by Ezra Pound in highschool (I didn't but they tell me he is one of America's greatest poets) but the castle belongs to his daughter, Mary. She's in her eighties now, but her son Cizzel runs things here, and at Schloss Tirol, up the hill. His wife, Briggeta, does most of the day to day stuff, raising the pigs, sheep, chickens, geese, cats, dog and donkey. Her son Nicky is a vinter, making wine out of the grapes grown on site. I'll bring back a bottle or two of his stuff, it's really good. In addition, the castle serves as an agricultural museum, and a museum dedicated to Ezra Pound. Apparently Germans see the "Privat" sign on the door as a challenge and our class has been walked in on often. I don't mind them, though, I've done the same thing at other castles in Wales.
The next email I send will have pictures; I haven't taken any yet.
Love you mom
Josh
----- Original Message -----
From: Tamara Bates
To: Josh
Sent: Sunday, May 24, 2009 2:04 PM
Subject: Re: I got here
Thank you for letting me know you got there ok. Yesterday I was tracking the planes on the internet all the way to Amsterdam, then I couldn't anymore, but it was neat. I know you are very tired and have jet lag on top of it, but when you get a chance write again and let me know what it is like there. How are the dorms and have you seen the castle yet?
I am so glad ya'll are getting to do this. What a wonderful experience!
Well, write soon. I love you so very much,
Mom
----- Original Message -----
From: Josh
To: tjbates@nstci.com
Sent: Sunday, May 24, 2009 1:40 PM
Subject: I got here
and I'm too tired to write. I'll email you later.
love you
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
