A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

Well, it was bound to happen. I mean, we’ve been haunting Rick’s favourite spots for nine months. Today, we finally caught up with him.

We were visiting Ostia Antica today; a recommended visit, I might add. It's an ancient Roman town, similar to Pompeii without the ashes. We had downloaded Rick’s self-guided tour to our Ipod’s and were taking a break at the cafeteria. The children had decided to eat at a separate table, (you try being with the family 24/7 for nine months) when Rhys came running out to our table to say he thought he had spotted Rick Steves. We gave him the book to check the picture but you know, when you’ve been staring at a guy’s face for nine months, you pretty well have it memorized. Or maybe it was the large TV size camera on the table near him.

By now, he’s part of the family; a sort of silent partner. You remember your childhood imaginary friend? Well, today our imaginary friend stepped out of the book and sat in the restaurant eating lunch near us. Being the thoughtful stalkers we are, we waited patiently for him to finish his lunch before mauling him. At least, two of us waited patiently. The other two vibrated excitedly in their seats. I’ll let you imagine who is who.

Tom and I stood up and began to approach from opposite sides of his table. I’m sure THAT wasn’t threatening at all. How DOES one approach a person of note? Surely not as though one was tracking a rabbit. He seemed to understand immediately that we were headed to him for some reason and greeted us quite pleasantly. His camera crew and guide also had friendly, easygoing personalities and as I gushed on about how much we loved his books, yada, yada, yada, he endured it all with grace and good humour. He even posed for a picture with us. I am thinking it might be the cover of our photo album when we get home.

They all smoothly extricated themselves from our fanatical clutches and we went on our way, excited and energized. We went into the museum to finish the self-guided tour and there they all were again! There was not even any eye-rolling when they saw us coming! I’m pretty sure they thought it was simply coincidence. Rick told us he is doing a lot of filming now for more videos. We’ve seen lots and they are wonderful but we are obviously not the only ones who think so or he wouldn’t be making more. One of the camera men asked if we wanted to stand in the room while they filmed. We would be extras in the background to give the shot more authenticity. Our first film debut as a family! Make sure to look for us in the new Rome video coming to shelves soon! We’ll be the ones in the background studying the sculptures with the intensity of four people who want desperately to look at the camera.

Julia recommended Rick list more gelaterias which his guide, Francesca said she had been recommending for years. Personally, I think he doesn’t need anymore. He has Giolitti’s and that has to be the best strawberry ice cream I have ever had in my life. We have been there twice. The first time we all tried a variety of flavours and I tried strawberry. The second time we all had strawberry.

Cactus Attack at the Cinque Terre!

Well, we finally made it to Italy. The drive in from Monaco was amazing. The road is one long tunnel. I felt like a mole, popping my head out and squinting at the glare every few minutes. That must have been some long drive a few years ago before the new highway through the mountains.

We decided to ease out of our new found love of extreme wealth so we went from the French Riviera to the Italian Riviera. We stayed just outside the Cinque Terre in a seaside resort town called Levanto. The weather, the food and the location were a fantastic introduction to Italy.

We spent our first afternoon lazing around one of the cute Cinque Terre towns: Monterosso. We ate on a lovely deck overlooking the ocean. It was a spot recommended by our friend, Rick but we were disappointed when they charged us an extra 8 euros to sit down. That kind of thing just seems in poor taste to me. The wine and food, however, had a very good taste and it was a pleasant way to start our exploration of the town.

Towards the end of the day we lost Rhys. Julia waited on the path overlooking the ocean while Tom and I split up to see if we could find him. We were pretty sure he was engrossed in “lizard spotting”, his exciting new pastime that overrides any awareness of his family’s whereabouts. One would think this child would be the one at greatest risk of violence but no, while our backs were turned Julia suffered a near death experience.

While she was waiting for us she heard a cracking sound from above and when she looked up, she couldn’t see anything. She could, however, see people looking up and pointing at her and so as the crashing sound was getting louder she had the presence of mind to MOVE. A large cactus smashed onto the sidewalk next to her, splattering her legs with cactus juice and sending another piece of itself over the ledge and onto the seawalk path below. By the time we got back the whole thing was over. Julia was white and shaken but not pierced. Funny, Rick didn’t mention cactus attacks in his guide book.

The next day we hiked the Cinque Terre. My favourite part was the views. Tom’s favourite part was eating Foccacia pizza on the breakwater in the Vernazza harbour. Julia’s favourite part was the gelateria. Rhys’s favourite was spotting 52 lizards. The hike was hot and long with lots of hills but it was well worth the effort. We all had a great day.

Another Nice Trip

The drive to Italy was a long one so we decided to stop over on the French Riviera for a few nights in between drives. We especially wanted to play the “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” game. We were not disappointed.

We spent our first day in Antibes and Cannes. We took a wonderful walk around the Cap D’Antibes and then drove into Cannes to see if we could spot any movie stars. No star out during the day but we did see them setting up the theatres for the upcoming Film Festival.

The next day we drove the three corniche drive to Monaco to hobnob with the really rich. The drive was gorgeous with stunning views. We stopped in a little medieval village called Eze. It was very cute and done up well. However, the costs of items in that village were almost triple what they were elsewhere! We knew then we had arrived at the haunts of the very rich. Imagine having so much money that you don’t look at a price tag and don’t care what you pay. On the one hand it seems tempting. On the other, it seems irresponsible. Off we went to Monaco.

You can see from the picture our position in the Grand Prix. It was a difficult race but the streets were freshly paved. There weren't many Renault entries and even fewer families but we are an adventurous sort. We couldn't find the finish line. The streets all seemed the same with thousands of vehicles all pushing and shoving to be first. Eventually we found a parking spot and opted out of the race.

There were stands being set up along the harbour and the shops along there must hate it because it was quite difficult to walk along there after the race. We toodled about for awhile but the highlight was the Monte Carlo Casino. I mean, you can’t go to Monte Carlo and not gamble at the casino, right? We made the kids wait outside while we went in to gamble. I hear that’s an old Canadian tradition…just kidding. We didn’t go into the back rooms because we were too cheap to pay the 10 euro cover charge. We just sat at the slot machines in front. Tom lost his money and I doubled mine so we walked out a whole euro richer than when we walked in. It could happen to you, too. Really.

However, the real show wasn’t in the casino. It was out in front. There was a constant parade of Bentleys, Porsches, Ferraris and Lamborghinis driving around the circle. I kid you not. These people really do exist and they all go to the same spot: Monte Carlo. The per capita income in Monaco is the highest in Europe. I wonder if that includes the casino?

Basque-ing in Northern Spain

We reached Basque country some time ago but it has been tricky posting blogs without a good internet connection. San Sebastian was the recommended mid-point and we even stayed in Pension Amaiur, the recommended pension. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer spot. The reception there was just wonderful and the whole place was cute and colourful. It was also much better located than we usually are so we were right in the thick of things.

Rick recommended lots of great tapas bars so we thought we’d try a tapas crawl again. Wow, what fun THAT turned out to be! Even with the family age spread, we all had a great time. There were four or five recommended tapas bars but our favourite was the first one: Goya something. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the whole name but it has been a week or so now and my brain is a bit fuzzy. The wine was good that night too as I recall.

The Basques are a unique lot. They have somehow managed to maintain their individuality even through the Franco years. I have to wonder at the tenacity of the people living on the Iberian peninsula. Here they were, ruled by a nasty old dictator for some fifty years or so and not one, but two of their fiercely independent minded local peoples still managed to keep it all together; the Catalonians in Barcelona area and the Basques in the Northeast corner. Interesting they are both on the eastern end.

At any rate, the Basques kind of fired my imagination because their language has been around for almost 7000 years! It is the oldest European language still spoken. Wow. They also were around trading with the people in the British Isles way back when and were known for their excellent seafaring skills. Perhaps they even made it to North America? If they did, they didn’t stay long because there is no evidence of them there.

Another interesting Basque tidbit is that their capital is Guernica. This may not strike you as curious but for those of us who have been Picasso’d to death in the past few months, Guernica stands out. Picasso painted a now famous painting called “Guernica” for the 1937 Expo in Paris. The painting recalled the horror inflicted on the Basques by Hitler and Mussolini. They were trying out a new idea they had for killing people. It was called carpet bombing. They basically flattened the entire city. Odd given the Second World War hadn’t even started but Spain was in the middle of their civil war and Franco was demonstrating his ability to terrify and cripple on his way to becoming top dog. He was buddies with Hitler and Mussolini. They all shared a similar ideology. The strategy of the hour seemed to be to create as much fear as possible in order to get what you wanted. For Franco, it worked well.

This, of course, leads me to another interesting tidbit shared by Rick. Apparently, Franco wanted to get on the Hitler bandwagon after Hitler occupied France. He met with Hitler in a little town called Hendaye, also near Guernica. Fortunately for Spain, Franco was quite full of himself and presented as a boastful, pompous peacock. Hitler dismissed him as a nobody and Spain wasn’t invited to the WWII party. The alternative endings to that little story make me shudder.

We toured many of the delightful little French Basque villages, including Biarritz, a resorty beach town. Rhys and Julia had fun with the waves there but we all agreed with Rick that Saint Jean de Luz was a prettier little spot. Our day on the Spanish side was filled with a visit to the Guggenheim Modern Art Gallery along with a stop at Guernica.

The Guggenheim was a very cool building but after the mind-blowing science fiction architecture at Valencia, it couldn’t quite reach mind-blowing status. My favourite exhibit at the Guggenheim was the “Degenerate Art Collection” ostracized by Hitler. There was something very satisfying and humourous about being able to enjoy this art.

Guernica, you’ll all be pleased to know, is no longer bombed flat. It has been rebuilt. The best part is the Basque people still use the same ritual to elect their figurehead leader that they have used forever. There is a special tree behind the government building in Guernica where the new leader is sworn in. The tree has had to be replaced over time as 7000 years is beyond the life of one tree, but supposedly, the tree today shares the same seed lineage as the original. And how cool is this? The tree miraculously survived the carpet bombing! Survivors gathered under it afterwards. It just kind of makes you want to cheer for them. Go Basques, Go!

Holy Toledo!

We left Almachar with sadness. It was a beautiful place and the weather was wonderful. Our first stop was Toledo, about half an hour south of Madrid. We stayed overnight on our way to the north coast of Spain.

The term “Holy Toledo” is an American expression and probably came from Jews emigrating from Spain. Toledo is/was considered the most holy of cities. It has a rich religious history. This is where for several centuries Muslim, Jew and Christian lived together in harmony. During the dark ages, when most of Europe was wallowing in post-Roman chaos, Spain was enjoying a period of enlightenment. The Moors/Muslims had taken over most of the Iberian Peninsula and had brought with them a lot of science and math knowledge previously unknown. Part of the Islamic scripture says that all prophets are of one God so whether it is Jesus, Mohammed or another, they are all recognized. This led to religious tolerance.

Now, some writings talk about the Moors controlling the peninsula for 700 years but in actual fact, they were present for that long but began losing ground almost immediately. They only controlled the whole peninsula for about 200 years and then the Christians began driving them back. The final Moorish stand was in Granada, the south of Spain. I tell you this because I am not sure whether Toledo was under Christian or Muslim rule during the period of religious tolerance. I think the tolerance may have started under one and continued under the other.

There were many learned scholars living in Toledo and the topic of discussion was generally how religion and science worked together. People were learning so much so quickly and it was rocking their religious foundations. However, rather than rejecting one or the other, they worked to align the two. It must have been an interesting time and place to live. There is something quite wonderful about religious harmony and it makes me wonder how the world would have been a different place if these guys had been able to sway common thinking.

Now, unless one begin to think that everything was happy and calm under Muslim rule, let me enlighten you by saying it ain’t so. They fought amongst themselves just like the Christian rulers did. I think it was the time. Their inability to work together probably led to their being ousted from Spain. Again, it just goes to show the power of common vision.

The town of Toledo is very medieval feeling, perched on a rock surrounded by water on three sides. It is quite spectacular. Hearing about their enlightened ways also gives one a sense of being in the presence of something quite special. And then we took the train ride and saw the “Jewish Gate” built of Muslim headstones by the Christians. So much for religious tolerance. And of course there’s the story of the Muslim princess and Christian soldier who fell in love. She was beheaded in front of him. The city lost some of its headiness for me after that. If I could add one more piece of irony, Toledo is known for making fabulous knives and swords.

Say, speaking of religious tolerance reminds me of when we were in Arcos de la Frontera. That was where we saw the Bull Run. Of course the Bull Run was the highlight but we also took a boo around town. There were two churches in town: Saint Mary’s and Saint Peter’s. Both were interesting but Saint Peter’s had the better stories. You see, the Pope would only consecrate one of the churches and he chose Saint Mary’s. The parishioners at Saint Peter’s were outraged and refused to say the word’s Saint Mary in the prayers any longer. They’d pray to Saint Peter, mother of God. I like them. They also had a caretaker for many years who was famous for bringing a donkey into his rooms in the church. You can see his balcony over the door in the picture to the right. The donkey got too big to get back out again and finally he had to kill and eat it. I’m not sure why he had to eat it. He may have been a thrifty sort. At any rate, it’s clear the group over at Saint Peter’s is the more interesting congregation.

Easter Sunday

Well, Mom, Shirley, and all my other competitive athletic friends, we have found a new event for you. We think you are already in good enough shape to start the rounds and we know how you enjoy putting another notch in the marathon stick, so we’re here to suggest next year you come to Spain in the spring. Every year on Easter Sunday they hold the traditional “Running of the Bulls”. If THAT isn’t enough to get your athletic adrenalin pumping, I don’t know what is. I know you competitive types like to challenge yourselves to new victories. It really isn’t about the winning as much as the achieving; that sense of “I did it”. What an accomplishment THIS would be.

We had to get up at 6 am to drive the three hours out to Arcos de la Frontera to watch this. When we arrived, the streets were already closed so we once again parked outside and walked in. We could tell right away where the run would happen. They have huge metal bars that block the streets. They look kind of like the ones around farm pens to keep the horses or bulls in/out. The street we chose to wait on had a lovely top part that was enclosed looking down on the lower street where the run would take place. Many families were already there and the YOUTH that was out was amazing. We haven’t seen that many young people since we left Canada. If you were between 17 and 25, THIS was the place to be.

There were no front row spots any longer. We were only two hours early. We opted to stand near a family in the hopes they would let us peek through their shoulders. After an hour in the hot sun, they became very friendly and squished together to allow us a front row spot! What luck! They didn’t speak English and we didn’t speak Spanish but we all got along very well. The hours leading up to the event were filled with raucous laughter and excellent people watching. Strapping young males swaggered along the lower road, hoping people would notice. They did. Nimble young females cavorted along giggling and whispering together. People leaned out of windows, lined the rooftops, crowded behind the bars and spilled into the lower road every now and then. Spaced strategically along the enclosed area were tubs filled with ice and beer. Bars nearby had pushed into the street using large counters to extend their frontage. People walked around drinking beer from tins or plastic cups. It was happy hour at 10am.

A band came marching through and everyone cheered a clapped. Firecrackers went off in varying degrees of boom, causing the crowds to grow more frenzied and loud. Finally, sirens blared from down the street and two police vehicles followed by a large truck with a huge blue box labeled “Toro” on it. People cheered and waved as the beloved bull went by in his sealed blue box. What that poor animal must have been thinking…

It turned out we were at the front of the run so we watched the box lifted off the back of the truck. The police vehicles left and we all waited the last ten minutes in growing suspense. The men lining the street had now backed up along the walls and their bravado was put to the test. Some practiced leaping up the side, others passed around cigarettes, while still others bit their nails. Their bodies told a story as the minutes ticked by and we waited for the bull.

Then the bull was released. He flew out of the pen at the men and they scattered. He stayed at the top of the street for a few minutes, charging men and hitting up against the sidelines. A few men sprinted down past us. Then the bull came running our way. He stopped a few feet before us and turned, looking around him for irritants. The irritants had all wisely stopped moving. They were behind him or in front, far in front. He charged past us and on into the narrower section of the run. The street becomes narrower as the bull runs until it is a slot-car race up the final strip. We weren’t near there so didn’t see the action. I was just as happy not to watch men trip over themselves and get trampled. It was fast. We barely had time to feel our hearts pound and it was over.

We strolled up to the old town and an ambulance passed us with its siren blaring. Every year somebody gets hurt. A few years back an American soldier was killed. We walked by the first aid station and saw a man with huge abrasions down his face sitting still while the medic looked at his scalp. Think of the story he’ll have to tell! If you go in the run, you get a nice red scarf. You can also buy a t-shirt. Several men were in groups wearing matching shirts.

Mom, Shirley, are you in?

Easter in Spain

Well, it has been an interesting week in Spain. Easter here is very different. They don’t celebrate with rabbits and chocolate, if you can imagine; no painted eggs, no baskets of jelly beans, no children hunting through the grass looking for colourful surprises. However, the week was not without drama and excitement.

In Spain, they celebrate Holy Week. It is ten days long, beginning on the Friday before Good Friday and finishing on Easter Sunday. There is no Easter Monday but then most people have had the prior ten days off. All week long, the brotherhoods of the parish churches gather together to parade Holy relics through the streets. The grand finale is Good Friday when every town acknowledges the crucifixion of Christ by walking through the streets together.

All week it has been raining. I read that most of the brotherhoods will cancel carrying the huge icons through the streets if it rains because the relics are very old and precious. We had plans to go to several different events but decided not to when we saw the rain. Most places are about a half hour drive and the roads are what you might call “challenging”. We don’t really have roads like this in Canada so it is hard to explain though if you have been keeping up with the blog, you’ll understand. A friend of Julia’s told us that many tourists arrive here looking very white and needing to hang on to something for a while after they get out of their cars. One does get used to it but no sense pushing our luck.

On Good Friday, we went to Velez-Malaga, a town about the size of Langley. The rain seemed to be holding off and we didn’t want to miss out on ALL the fun. When we arrived, we had to park on the outskirts of town and walk back in. Even though there were thousands of vehicles everywhere, there were very few people. It was odd because you couldn’t really even hear people yet you knew they had to be somewhere. We didn’t have far to go before we found them all.

It was a festive atmosphere on the inner streets of the city, with kiosks selling plastic junk and greasy food, people milling everywhere and huge processions of people in tall pointy hats and long gowns. We stopped to watch several people dressed in tall red pointy hats and white gowns holding large silver candlesticks walk by. A band played and about fifty men stood shoulder to shoulder carrying a huge Jesus on a Cross display. A row of children dressed in Church robes and walking in front swung incense about them, creating a hazy sweet smell. The procession moved slowly. Periodically, a bell would ring; the men carrying Christ would stop moving, the bell would ring again and they would set down the ornate float. The band would stop playing and everyone would rest for a bit.

During these interludes, little children with balls of wax would come up to the penitents (hooded ones) and ask if they could have some of the candle wax. The penitent would tilt the candle and drip their wax onto the ball. It seemed like the older the child, the larger the ball of wax so maybe they save the balls from year to year.

We had been told the real event was watching them come in and out of the cathedral so we headed up to the cathedral to wait for the procession to reach there. Surprisingly, we ran into another procession! This one was on another street and the penitents were dressed in different coloured robes. Some had tall pointy hats and some had deflated points. We weren’t sure why the difference. The float was Jesus in a glass coffin this time. It kind of reminded me of Snow White but that is a bit irreverent given the occasion. The men carrying the coffin float wore headdresses that looked a bit like Egyptian pharaoh hats and some were blindfolded.

We decided to head back to Almachar to catch the late show there but on our way we stumbled across more processions. Each one had similarities but the penitents always wore different colours. They often carried huge candles or silver rods. Some carried a cross. One procession had ladies with Spanish mantilla headdresses on. All of them had a group of men, no women, carrying a heavy float. We’ve heard these floats can be up to 1000 kg! I don’t think these ones were that heavy.

We couldn’t have timed our arrival in Almachar better. The procession was just heading from the main square down to the church and we quickly parked the car and hurried around through the other streets to get ahead. It was a small procession by comparison. No one wore robes or hats. About ten men carried a small float of the Virgin Mary. The best part was that the men would stop and a singer would come out to sing the wailing cry of Flamenco for a short time. Everyone would clap and then the procession would continue. The arrived at the church just as the bells chimed midnight. The festivities were just beginning. We’re not sure what else they had lined up, though because we headed off to bed.