Mistral Writer

Trains, Transport & Tuscany

2010-05-31T14:02:00.000-07:00

Part of the fun of any European adventure is getting around. You can experience a lot on the way. Getting around Italy is exceptionally easy. Transportation to and from the airports is made easy for tourists with charter busses. Competing lines have dropped the price to 4 E for a one way ticket between Ciampino Airport and Roma Termini (train station).

If you need to continue on from the train station, there are tons of options. A train leaves every 20 minutes in the direction Florence! There’s no need to plan ahead; just show up as your schedule permits and hop on. Of course, you will need a ticket, but Trenitalia makes it easy with dozens of self-service kiosks. Unlike the French equivalent, these automatic tellers have understandable instruction (in five languages) and a simple interface. Click the “fast issue” icon to quickly select the next one way ticket your destination, or proceed through the cascading menus to select more details - even pick your seat on the high speed rail.

Like the TGV in France, Italy’s high speed rail is the way to travel. With large reclining seats, amble leg room and fold-back tables, it’s like flying first class. I can only imagine the luxury available to those who spring the extra 15 E for first class. Another trip to travelers: don’t bother paying to use the rest room in the station before your trip; the train has plenty of free clean bathrooms. Forty-two euros seems like a lot to pay for the 1:40 minute ride to Florence, but for once, you really do get your money’s worth.

From Florence to Pisa I took the regional train. It’s not as comfortable, but you can’t beat the bargain price of 5.80 E. The train makes several station stops along the way. Whereas the countryside becomes a green blur on the high speed rail, on the regional transport, you get a little more time to take in the Tuscan countryside.

Two traveling Australians highly recommended taking a bus tour through Tuscany. Set up for tourists, it takes you to the major cities, including Sienna, and wine growing farm. Eighty euros seemed a bit steep to me though. I preferred to explore the region at my own pace on the train.

The Lost Posts

2010-05-31T13:46:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe, but I've now been back home in Chicago for as long as I lived in France last year. The time has flown by. I've stayed incredibly busy. Adjusting back to a full time job was a bit difficult. On top of that, I even taught an online algebra course over the Winter.

Adapting to the Chicago winter was another rude awakening. Six months of beautiful blue Provencal skies ruined my weather expectations. Finally, spring has arrived in Chicago, and I feel that I'm awakening from a hibernation of sorts.

Recently sunny weather and a trip through rural Michigan have stirred many memories of Chusclan. While reviewing some of my notes from last year's trip, I realized that I wrote several blogs that were never published. Even worse, I found a list of blog topics that I intended to write about but never did. Well, it's about time to open the vaults and finish what I started almost a full year ago.

All Wet

2009-12-27T14:43:00.001-08:00

Just a few minutes after leaving the Vatican museum it started down pouring. I hid under the portico at St. Peter’s Square hoping that it would pass. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, but the rain was coming down as hard as ever. I was wearing a waterproof jacket. Would I be able to make it to the bus stop without getting completely soaked. I decided to make a run for it.

Like an agent in one of those cheesy spy movies, I ran from street to street temporarily taking shelter under overhang. Still, I was getting pretty soaked. Eventually, I made it close enough to where I could see the busses coming and going around my corner. I ran out to the stop, just to realize that there was not cover what so ever within an easy dash of the bus. I was forced to stand in the rain for several minutes waiting for my bus to arrive. I jumped on the first one with the number I was looking for.

After getting onto the bus, I realized that it wasn’t heading in the right direction. Well, how far could a city bus go before turning around. Going to the end of the line was a lot better than standing out in the rain. Eventually, the bus did turn around, and I made it back to the Hostel.

Vatican Museum

2009-12-27T14:43:00.000-08:00

From the top of St. Peter’s Basilica I retraced my steps back down the 400-some steps. On the way I stopped at a few of the souvenir stores, still on Vatican premises. Each of the little shops was manned by a small cadre of nuns. While each store sold pretty much the same collection of charms and crosses, the nuns were very strict about paying at the correct cash register. I assumed that they each represented different charities or orders, given turns to man the shops. I purchased a few pendants and an small plastic bottle to bring some holy water back for my grandmother.

Immediately upon crossing the street outside the Vatican, I realized that I could have purchased the very same trinkets for about half the price. Well, at least I could package my gifts in authentic Vatican paper sacks.

By the time I glanced through a few more stores, I was starving, but again caught in a touristy part of town. I did not want to pay 10 Euros for a sandwich again. Then, as I passed by one alley, I noticed dozens of students sitting on the stoop of a pizza joint. It seemed like the place to be. I found out why upon entering - pizza by the pound (actually per 100 grams). They had all your typical options: ham, onion, mushroom, and a few others. However, the pepperoni isn’t quite what we imagine in the US. I left with a full plate for a reasonable price.

With a full stomach, I felt ready to tackle the Vatican museum and Sistine Chapel. The entrance was around the back side of the small walled city-state. A new ticketing center had been carved out inside the medieval walls. It extended upward, via a creative spiral ramp to a light-filled glass atrium. From there, visitors were directed along various paths through the historic papal residence. I opted to skip the Egyptian and Mesopotamian collection and focus on the works of the masters.

Before arriving at Michelangelo’s definitive works, guests are treated to numerous exhibitions of priceless artifacts. However, I was most impressed with the décor of the palace itself. Much of the current museum was actually the private residence and administrative halls of the Papal court. The opulently decorated rooms reminded me of several other royal palaces that I’ve seen in my travels, most notably the Louvre. My favorite was the map room. In this long hall, the Pope had commissioned murals depicting all the lands under the watchful eye of the Holy See. Some paintings even depicted naval battles. I was even able to find one map of the region where we lived in France. Unfortunately, Chusclan was not indicated by name, but Avignon and Pont-St-Esprit were noted.

Continuing on, the museum briefly opened up into an atrium containing several classical sculptures and the busts of Roman Emperors. In a museum collection, this would seem completely appropriate, but one wonders why such respectively pagan and secular images would be housed within one of the most holy sanctuaries of the Christian church. As I admired some of the sculptures, I overheard a tour guide relating these pieces to the images in Michelangelo’s characters in the Final Judgment scene. Apparently, he caused quite a stir by depicting some of the holy figures with facial structures identical to those pagan works on display in the palace grounds. Of course, Michelangelo argued that such expressions represented the highest form of artistic expression produced by man. Who were the cardinals to argue with the vision of the great classical masters?

From room to room, signs indicating the direction to the Sistine Chapel teased me forward. Since no maps of the museum were provided, I could only continue onward, taking my medicine on art history. Clearly the curators had an agenda in ushering the visitors through such a progression in styles. The final step in the journey, brought visitors to the Papal suites decorated by Raphael. Belonging to the generation immediately senior to Michelangelo, Raphael and his contemporaries paved the way for Michelangelo’s final leap forward in realistic representation and artistic interpretation. I actually preferred many of Raphael’s paintings because of their colorful vibrance and the way he captured the moment of action in his scenes. Often times the characters in the paintings are caught in between steps as their robes flow around their bodies. It’s easy to appreciate these works for their artistic qualities.

I then descended a flight of stairs and continued down a non-descript narrow hallway. A simple plaque was all that identified the most famous chapel in the world. Stepping through the threshold near the front of the church, I almost collided with several tourists wandering about looking straight up at the ceiling. It took a moment for me to get my bearings within the empty space; I was hardly impressed until I too looked up. There were all the famous scenes of the bible most famously portrayed by Michelangelo. I had not realized, however, that the entire ceiling was covered in patchwork of murals. The frescoes continued half way down the side walls as well, and behind the alter, Michelangelo’s Final Judgement covered the entire wall.

It was a visual overload. The chapel was not the cohesive work of beauty that I had expected. Instead, it appeared more like an obsessive attempt to represent every significant event from holy tradition in one small chapel. Some individual works, like the depiction of God granting life to Adam by touch, was an impressive singular work. But I was otherwise too overloaded to leave with much of an appreciation for the work. Before leaving the museum for good, I returned to the chapel and spent a good ten minutes sitting and reflecting on all the images.

Photos of the chapel are forbidden. That doesn’t really stop anyone. Several guards walk around the room all day just yelling at people not to take photos. Seems like a lot of hassle and disappointment for visitors just because a few dummies can’t figure out how to turn the flash off on their camera - the extreme light of some flashbulbs are known to damage sensitive paintings. I discretely snapped a few photos with my camera at chest level. They turned out pretty well.

After years of restoration work, the chapel now looks almost as good as it ever has. Centuries worth of soot were washed from the frescoes, revealing much more vibrant colors that art history scholars expected. These efforts also revealed more information about the modifications made to the paintings in renaissance times - most notably censoring the nude depictions. Shortly after Michelangelo completed his masterpiece, a new prudish Pope unapologetically went about destroying countless works of art so he wouldn’t have to look at the penises - a real conservative Christian hero.

I ended up spending the entire afternoon in the Vatican Museum. My journey in art history spanned from 3000 B.C. to present day. The Renaissance works are the most famous, but I also learned a lot about other styles. One of my favorite sections dealt with early Christian art, circa 100 A.D. These early Christians adopted a lot of customs from other ancient cultures, but added a whole new vocabulary of imagery, especially shepherds and fishermen. At the 5 hour mark, however, I couldn’t stuff anything else into my mind.

Bad time for a snow day

2009-12-23T12:20:00.000-08:00

“Oh no,” Mary Ann woke me up shouting her response to the weather conditions. As forecast, it had indeed snowed over night in Madrid. This is not a common occurrence in the warm weather capital. We knew that the locals would probably be freaking out. It would probably also cause problems for our eminent departure to Miami.

The snow had turned to freezing rain by the time we loaded up the car. Instead of taking Roxy on a long morning walk, we decided to get an early jump on the trip to the airport. Immediately upon making the turn around the hotel, we were confronted with gridlock. The other drivers had no idea what to do in inclement weather; they also lacked common courtesy. Cars packed into the intersection rendering the lights useless.

Stopped at one light for about 10 minutes, I was forced to take evasive maneuvers. This earned some well deserved honks and screams from an angry Spaniard, but I had no guilt. I had a flight to catch.

On the way, we skidded into a gas station to fill up and get a breakfast brioche. This was drastically complicated by a language barrier and resulted in a fruit cake. After that point, the traffic opened up and we made good time to the airport.

I dropped Mary Ann and Roxy off at the terminal and then returned the car. It turns out that we could have all stayed together, but our method worked fine anyway. We were now officially in hurry up and wait and wait and wait mode. All of the flights were well delayed, even the arrivals. It made me wonder if they had plowed the tarmac or just waited for the snow to melt. I imagined a deep queue of planes circling above.

At least we were able to wait with Roxy. We sat for about two hours before they even announced the check-in kiosk. I read a little and Mary Ann listened to music, but Roxy had the most fun pining for all the dog-lovers in the airport. One Spanish lady, who happened to speak French, described Roxy as an angel of humanity. Needless to say, she was enjoying all the attention.

Finally, the check-in location was announced and we rushed into line. At the counter, we were informed that the flight was now only running an hour late. We had no time to spare, but to begin the process of checking in Roxy, we would have to stand in another line to pay for the service. That ticket counter had it’s own hours long line. We started to get a little desperate. Finally, we were able to plead with another American at the front of the line to let us cut. After all that the teller had the gaul to ask for the payment in cash - 300 Euros, in cash! Mary Ann was incredulous. The guy, gave in and got his manual 1980s credit card swipe from the back room. Attention pickpockets, go to Barajas airport, they expect customers to make international ticket purchases in cash.

Step 2 of 3 complete, we cut back in line at the service counter and presented our paid dog travel receipt. We expressed our hurry, but the teller remained calm, explaining that the time of departure would now be 3:30. We had time. Shortly thereafter, a lady arrived to escort us and Roxy through the special security check. She took us to one of the service elevators, and we dutifully followed even though we couldn’t understand anything she said.

Communication would be important as we were ushered through the security checkpoint. I had no idea what was happening, but gathered from hand gestures to leave all of my items and walk Roxy through the metal detector. As we emerged on the other side a gaggle of airport staff were passing through the other way. I tried to get out of the way by moving into the hallway but was quickly admonished. Then I was questioned on the contents of Roxy’s water bottle. They made me open it up which broke the pressure seal. I could only hope that it stopped leaking at some point during Roxy’s adventure without us.

After that, we asked Roxy to jump into the crate. She obliged without complaint, probably getting tired from 8 straight hours without a nap. Then she was spirited away in one direction, and we were ushered back through conventional security.

Our first look at the departures board had our flight leaving at 4:00. Not long after arriving at the gate, it was pushed back to 4:20. We started boarding around 4:10. A lack of buses to take us to our plane (out on the tarmac) delayed us further, as did the route that the buses had to take which required going through two roundabouts. Seriously, there can’t be that much traffic on the tarmac.

Sometime before 5:00 we were all finally boarded and pulling away. After asking the flight crew three times, we also learned that Roxy was safely on board. Finally, we could relax… during the 10 hour flight.

Madrid

2009-12-23T12:19:00.000-08:00

Sunday morning provided another opportunity to sleep in. Although we were still interested in exploring the city, this day would be our chance to rest before the stressful day at the airport. Roxy also appreciated the rest. Two long days of driving had really tired her out.

After taking care of Roxy, we again proceeded downtown. This time we started at the Royal Palace and Opera. Getting something to eat was again first on our minds. I spotted a Turkish kabob place and craved one last shwarma meal. It’s so hard to find a good place in the States.

Later, we retraced our steps from the night before, cutting through the indoor market, Plaza Mayor and Puerto del Sol. Then we continued along a street chosen at random, hoping to find someplace to check our email. As luck would have it, our search again brought us to Starbucks. 45 minutes was just enough time to notify our parents of our well being and get some additional information about our upcoming flight.

After backtracking to the main shopping district, we strolled along the pedestrian streets popping in and out of colorful boutiques. My favorite, based on name and selection, was called Skunkfunk. The carried lots of orange wares; my favorite. Unfortunately, all were well out of my price range. Well, maybe until I start working again...

There were lots of cool stores. One entire mall seemed to be devoted to hipster styles. Mary Ann really like all of the retro accessories and sunglasses. I tried to talk her into some goth gear. At one store, I even found a wristwatch I considered buying. Instead of actually displaying the time digitally, it contained a series of 12 dots (for the hours) and a gradually increasing bar (for minutes). Not exactly practical, but I like the idea of rethinking how we might represent time. I also liked the concept of a reverse evolution from digital to analog. However, I didn’t like the idea on the price tag.

We continued on for a bit more, eventually returning to the hotel before dinner. Roxy was up and waiting for her afternoon walk. On the way we passed by a restaurant called Vips, not sure if that was meant to be VIPs. From outward appearances, it looked to be the Spanish equivalent of Denny’s. We couldn’t pass up that opportunity. The food was as expected, but at least it was a comfortable setting, and it had Wifi.

After dinner, we decided to celebrate our last night in Spain with some personally sized champagne bottles. Serious, they were like wine coolers, but with bad sparkling wine instead. I drank enough to thoroughly dehydrate myself in advance of the ten hour plane ride coming the next day. It seemed like a fitting end to our high class/ low cost trip through Iberia… or maybe that was the other way around.

Over the mountains (to Madrid)

2009-12-23T12:18:00.000-08:00

We slept well in Barcelona and even convinced Roxy to let us sleep in a bit. At 10:00, there was still a complimentary breakfast bar waiting in the lobby. The andouille sausage and cold Spanish omelets were a little unexpected, but sufficient to get us going. It turned out that the cab ride the night before wasn’t without some benefit; it gave me the chance to get my bearings. We easily found the route back to the highway and started the long drive to Madrid.

After leaving Barcelona, we climbed the foothills of the Pyrennes. The Catalan countryside was more what I expected of Spain than the modern metropolis of Barcelona. Quaint villages were positioned on rocky hills. Fruit and nut trees and vineyards stretched out through the valleys.

Quickly, though, the landscape became more arid and the population density dropped dramatically. Along desolate mountain ridges lonely modern windmills stood sentinel. I imagined the old Don Quixote sage with the new modern power generators. How might he have reacted to blades the size of a 747. And yet, at such distance, they were just tiny reminders that we hadn’t completely left civilization. For many hours, there was almost no development to speak of. We followed signs to Zaragosa, a town apparently large enough to host a top league soccer team.

Without much warning, the arid landscape gave way to cityscape. All of the buildings seemed brand new. I had to imagine that Zaragosa was a planned city, with incentives to bring residents into the uninhabited central region of the country. That was, after all, the idea behind the settling of Madrid.

The drive was easy enough, good weather and light traffic conditions. Undulating hills and curious rock formations provided just enough interest to keep me alert. Mary Ann noticed that many of the hills seemed to have lost their tops. Curious isn’t it that some Spaniard from this region might have been in the armies that first encountered the flat topped pyramids of the Aztecs. I surmised that many of these hills might have been worked over time for settlements or agriculture.

Our approach into Madrid was almost as sudden as driving through the other small cities in central Spain. I suppose that we skirted much of suburbia by taking the toll road bypass. Again, our directions were golden until up to the last two miles. A missed exit here and an unmarked street there, and we were again orienteering on instinct. This time the saving grace was the map Mary Ann printed with directions to the airport for the next day. We eventually found the hotel and street parking to boot.

The Travelodge wasn’t quite as nice, but it met our criteria: clean, quite, cheap, and they accepted pets. Roxy was happy to find a dog park near by, and we again expected to be near the city Metro system. We only got slightly lost on our walk to the station.

Hoping for a deal, we opted for the one day tourist pass Metro ticket assuming the followed the same 24 hour rule as Chicago. Not so, we learned the following day. On the trip, we were doing our part supporting public transportation by paying unnecessary fees. Beyond the unfair calendar-day, the subway was really nice. To get to the center of town, Puerto del Sol, we had to make a few connections. Pretty easy to do following the color code and end-station direction rules.

Emerging from the underground station into the main square, we were engulfed in a sea of people. We could not believe how many people were out and about. But the odd thing was that there didn’t seem to be any focus of the madness. There was no real event taking place. That didn’t stop the crowds from taking to the streets. All around traffic was closed and people of all ages wandered around, grabbing snacks at the cafeteria-style restaurants and doing late-evening shopping.

The only real pattern we could discern among the crowds was the habit of wearing crazy hats. At first, the Rudolf caps seemed cute, but then there were also giant afros, wildly colored wigs and springy holiday top hats. We even passed a stand selling Christmas masks. Nothing says, “happy holidays,” like creepy Barack and Michelle Obama masks. If you’re Spanish and reading this blog, please explain this tradition.

We eventually pushed our way through the crowds to the Plaza Mayor. There we encountered a traditional holiday market. Unfortunately, they weren’t serving any local fare. This was somewhat of a disappointment, because all of the restaurants in the area were packed. We wandered around a bit more, before our standards began falling again. I even considered going to Burger King.

Finally, we stumbled a suitable establishment. It was a little strange that they were nearly empty, despite the mass of crowds. Still, it offered a chance to sit down and enjoy some local fare, namely a plate of ham varieties and patatas bravas. These fried potatoes in spicy sauce are probably my favorite Spanish dish. Mary Ann judged the meal and the sangria more satisfying that our previous night’s fare. And we even made it back to the hotel via the subway too. We were starting to get the hang of travel in Spain.

First stop: Barcelona

2009-12-23T12:17:00.000-08:00

Early Friday morning, we drove back down to Avignon to pick up the new, larger rental car for the trip to Madrid. Mary Ann woke up at 6, I slept another hour while she got ready.

While she dropped off the old car, I went across the street to Avis to begin the process for our new vehicle. Everything seemed to going well, until we were notified that the uncovered damage limits extended up to 15,000 Euros. Holy crap! Um, yeah, we’ll take the additional insurance. It was expensive, but probably worth it to avoid one less bit of stress on the way back.

We were told that we were getting a Picasso. I hoped it would be big enough, didn’t think he was famous for oversized works. It turned out to be what goes for a mini-van in France, mono space. The trunk was huge. Compared to the small compact cars we’d been driving for the past six months, it really felt like a semi. The ride was smooth though, and the diesel engine had plenty of pickup. The Picasso would be satisfactory.

I dropped Mary Ann off at work and returned home to finish the packing. First, I had to complete the digital packing, transferring all of my files off the MacBook that would stay in France with Mary Ann. Then, I went through the refrigerator and cleaned out all of the perishable food-stuffs. By the time I washed the dishes, cleaned off the counter and threw every last thing in the bags it was already 2:00. Packing went quickly - plenty of room in the Picasso. Lastly, I took Roxy up for one final visit with the Berards. A half hour later, we on our way to pick up Mary Ann from work.

Finally, while sitting in the parking lot and waiting for Mary Ann to join us, I enjoyed my first moment of excitement about the journey ahead. Up until then, we had been stressing about all the details. The time for saying goodbye to people, to Chusclan, to France… was over. We pulled onto the auto route and followed the signs to Barcelona.

With the exception of the setting sun in my eyes for two-and-a-half hours, the drive went smoothly until we reached Barcelona. Mary Ann had meticulously printed out all the Mapquest directions for the trip, but as usual, it was insufficient in the city. We tried to follow a half-dozen turns, winding through a maze of highway interchanges. Our undoing was to look for an unmarked street off the main drag.

Fortunately, the hotel reservation had a map included. Judging our location by proximity to one of the main highways into town and the name of the city in which we were staying, we course corrected back in the general direction. Each street seemed to throw us deeper into the maze. At last we found street signs to the hotel. It was difficult enough following these, however. By the time we pulled up to the Hotel, I was thoroughly disoriented. I had no idea where we were, but at least we were there.

Roxy was happy to get out of the car and check out the surroundings while Mary Ann checked in. The Sercotel Ciutat de Montcada hotel was nice and modern. It sported wooden floors and fancy bathroom fixtures. But we didn’t stick around the room. Having pressed on without dinner, during the five hour drive, we were starving for some tapas and sangria.

We learned from the concierge that the train into the city was just blocks away. It was easy to find, down the hill and through a shady undeveloped brown lot. I got the impression that our hotel and the connected mini-mall was a attempt to gentrify the neighborhood. Anyway, if the trains ran, it wouldn’t matter. We found a 20-something girl to tell us which side of the tracks to stand on and soon enough we were racing into town - quite a bit farther than expected.

The train conveniently pulled into a station at the top of La Rambla, the main dining and shopping street of town. We passed by the usual tourist stands and street performers looking for the perfect tapas place. I had one particular street in mind, but at night I wasn’t able find it, as we wandered substantially longer than our stomachs would allow. Finally, we settled for a bar that seemed not-too-shady. We ordered the house special tapas and a ½ order of sangria. What we got was a mug of sangria with two ridiculously long neon straws and the plates that no one else wanted. It was enough food to satisfy our appetite, but not much of a culinary experience. The meal was made slightly better when we discovered that we were sitting next to two current University of Michigan grads - small world indeed.

After dinner, I was still looking for something to quench my thirst and keep me warm. We happened to be in Barcelona on one of the coldest nights of the year. Looking for a sure thing, we got two chai tea lattes from Starbucks. Old habits die hard (even if they’re put on hold for 6 months). It was quite enjoyable to walk down to the pier and back reminiscing about the past year and looking forward to the holiday. As we approached the train station at midnight, we judged the day successful.

After buying our ticket and walking down to the platform, we were approached by a station employee. He said that the line was no longer running. What?! We had checked the times before making our way into town; there was a midnight train. Later we realized that the time was highlighted in yellow, whatever that meant. About a half-dozen other people were also turned away before we exited the platform. Well… now what? We had to cab it back to the hotel. Fortunately, Mary Ann had kept the address of the hotel in her purse - nice thinking!

The drive back seemed to take a really long time. Of course, the thought crossed our minds that the cabbie didn’t know where to go and was just taking us for a ride. His onboard GPS gave me a little more confidence, even if we could not communicate very well. 25 euros latter, we finally made it back to the hotel - quite an expensive ride given the exchange rate. At least we would have a nice night’s rest before taking up the journey again in the morning.

Final Goodbyes

2009-12-23T12:16:00.000-08:00

The day before our departure, the Berards demanded one last chance to play with Roxy. They gushed about her manners and playfulness. I got the feeling that they would definitely miss her more than me. Roxy, I’m sure, will miss them tremendously as well. She may never again have her own private garden, and there won’t be opportunities to take long midday hikes in Chicago.

While up in their place, Roxy discovered Madame’s rabbit. It was dark, so at first Roxy could only smell some animal. When she approached the cage, the rabbit jumped and so did Roxy. She didn’t quite know what to make of the small animal. I didn’t want to find out if Roxy equated it with an after dinner snack and shoed her back the the Berards.

Andre liked having a companion while working out in the garden. He got down on all fours and rough-housed with Roxy for a bit. It was pretty funny to the 60-year-old man doing his animal impressions. Roxy allowed him to man-handle her feet and grab her canines. It’s amazing that she knows just the right amount of pressure to apply so not to hurt someone. Of course, she could have taken Andre’s finger as a souvenir.

As we left, they pleaded for one more opportunity to say goodbye to Roxy right as before we left for good.

Long walks on the Gicon

2009-12-23T12:15:00.002-08:00

As the day of our departure approached, Roxy and I took ever longer walks through the Gincon hills behind the house. We actually discovered some great trails late in the season. She seemed to appreciate our short time, taking more time to breathe in the clean air and gaze out over the Ceze valley.

Packing

2009-12-23T12:15:00.001-08:00

We started packing the week before. Since Mary Ann would be coming back after the new year, our task was a little simpler. Not everything would have to be accounted for on this trip. However, we still faced luggage restrictions and had to make some tough decisions. This was especially true after we realized that the zipper was broken on one of our larger bags. The drop to duffel size made it impossible to pack the bike helmet, wine glasses and soccer ball, among other non-critical articles.

Journey Home

2009-12-23T12:10:00.000-08:00

We interrupt the series on Rome to bring you the late breaking details of our trip back to the States for Christmas.

Traveling with our dog back to the States added a lot of extra complication to our plans. Airlines typically will not accept pets when the outside temperatures are less than 45 degrees at either the point of departure or arrival. Apparently, they turn off the heat in the bowels of the plane while its on the tarmac to conserve energy. If the flight were to be delayed on the runway, the animals could be subject to the cold. Coincidentally, we were subject to the opposite problem on the way here. It was nearly too hot in Chicago.

Chicago would definitely be too cold to fly into. Only a few major US airports could guarantee the necessary temperature for the way home. We faced the same problems in France. As a result, our final flight itinerary was from Madrid, Spain to Miami. Of course, this would add two major drives. First a ten hour journey from Chusclan to Madrid. Secondly, the nearly 24 drive from Miami to Chicago.

The Miami destination wasn’t totally out-of-the-way, however, because Mary Ann’s family typically spends the holidays near West Palm Beach. Luckily, we found a one week condo rental on Singer Island.

Still, two weeks of traveling would be epic - like the intercontinental journeys that people used to have to make.

St. Peter's Basilica

2009-12-15T08:36:00.000-08:00

I intended to devote day 2 to the Vatican. Despite being the smallest independent country in the World, you could spend days exploring the monuments and museums housed within the walls. My plan seemed to suit the questionable weather outside. Intending to stay dry, I took the #64 bus from Termini to stop just off of Via della Concilliaziono, the main road leading into St. Peter’s Square.

The weather managed to keep most other visitors at bay. When I arrived at the famous colonnade just beyond Piazza Pio XII, there were few tourists in site. I spent some time wandering around the elaborate circular plaza. Some temporary barricades obstructed the view of the central obelisk, but it was an otherwise perfect time to experience the space.

Continuing through the metal detectors, I proceeded in the direction of St. Peter’s Basilica. On the way, I also caught a glimpse of the traditionally attired Swiss Guard devoted to protection of the Pope. They don’t appear to have much to do with the daily tourists though. I was surprised to see that most of the security detail seemed to have city of Rome allegiance. It certainly did not feel like crossing an international border.

I followed the trickle of tourists on toward St. Peter’s Basilica. Surprisingly, we entered right through the front doors. Looking back on the square from the stoop is quite the site. I tried to imagine it packed with people on Easter Sunday or before announcing a new Pope. But the sight of the grand space outside the church could not prepare me for the vast interior.

On the way into the church, visitors first pass through an opulently decorated atrium. Many tourists were snapping photos of the gilded doors. Upon passing through those doors, I was immediately struck by the massive size of the nave. The path to the altar seemed to stretch a mile detailed in intricately patterned marble. Massive columns rose like redwoods to support the high vaulted ceiling. I had been in plenty of cathedrals in my time in Europe, but none could prepare me for the size and spectacle of St. Peter’s Basilica.

The central path through the church was almost too much to take in. I ducked into one of the side aisles where I could appreciate the numerous works of invaluable art. On this day, I decided not to pay for any of the guided tours, preferring just to experience the art for it’s intrinsic and holy value. As series of chapels lined the sides of the nave until opening up at the great transept that forms the traditional cross in the floor plan.

In the center of the transept, the most prominent location within any church, stood a massive stone baldachin. Made of cast bronze, the canopy looked like nothing I’ve seen before in any church. Spiraling columns reach upward to support a sculpted platform protected by four angels at the platform. Later, I learned that this monument was one of the early works commissioned to the famous Roman sculptor, Bernini. According to church tradition, the tomb of St. Peter, the first Pope, rests directly below the baldachin. A staircase leads down to small door decorated with the image of the saint, beyond which lies the crypt.

The structure above is even more impressive. Rising almost 450 ft. (to the top of the cross), the dome of St. Peter’s is the tallest of its kinds. It took almost 150 years of design conception to finally arrive at the structure that completes the space today. Michelangelo and other highly regarded architects of the day, contributed plans for completing the dome inspired by the Pantheon and the dome of Florence’s medieval cathedral. The final result did not match the breadth of either of those domes, but contributed mightily to the vastness of the space below.

I paid the extra 5 euro fee to walk up the 400 or so steps to the exterior viewing platform. For an additional two euro you can take an elevator up for the first 200 steps. Continuing on from there, you walk between the two shells of the dome. As I continued up surrounded by other tourists, passing the occasional person overcome by claustrophobia, I imagined that this might be what purgatory feels like - spiraling upward forever. At times I was able to glimpse uncovered sections of the dome, that might give some indication of the construction. Unfortunately, neither during my visit nor since have I been able to find a comprehensive description of the structure of the dome.

You need not understand the behavior of the dome to appreciate it’s incredible size. And the amazing view from the top speaks for itself. Even despite the overcast sky and gusting winds, I was in awe of the panorama before me. It was fun to pick out the major attractions of the city from this high perch. I also felt like the whole of the Vatican was literally a stone’s throw away. From this vantage, I briefly reminisced my journey to date and considered what was next. Would anything compare with the sight I had already seen?

View more of my Vatican photos on Flickr.

City at Night

2009-12-13T10:51:00.001-08:00

This post again recounts part of Day 1 of my Rome trip. The city is enthralling like that. There are so many sites to see; you feel compelled to continue on and on. Already, this day had included an early morning flight, checking into a hostel, exploring the ancient ruins of the Forum and Palatine Hill, visiting the Colosseum, and experiencing the Pantheon. Still, there was time to see a few more attractions. As the sun set, the lights of the town began to glow, and an entirely different city was waiting to be explored.

From the Pantheon, I followed a young family to the nearby Piazza Navona. Attempting to keep the children’s attention after what I assumed to be an equally exhausting day, the father informed that they used to race cars here around the fountains. On this night, I couldn’t have imagined an auto race. A Christmas market was being held in the Piazza. Dozens of Christmas trinket stands and candy vendors were organized in neat rows in the oval shaped plaza. While adults shopped for wooden manger figurines, teens loitered around the fountains wondering what might come next in their night.

After making the rounds myself, I struck out in a new direction, this time hoping to find a good place for dinner. My feet were sore and my stomach was rumbling, but it still seemed like a fine night for a walk. My southbound path next took me to the Campo de Fiori. In this city of plazas (at least 21 warrant their own page on wikipedia), they all start to run together. At this location, I only remember that the retail stores along the narrow path leading to the square remained open at least to 8 pm.

Continuing on, I passed a street car station just in time to hop on and save my feet a few more blocks of walking. My final destination of the night was St. Maria in Trastevere. The church is known to have beautiful mosaics inside, but I wouldn’t know. I was on the hunt for a reasonable place to sit and eat, and I was told that this neighborhood, south of the Tiber, was the best in town. There were too many choices. Of course, I wanted Italian, but how do you rate one pasta menu over another.

I decided to avoid the restaurant advertising that they stood opposed to “war and tourist menus.“ I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t exactly sound inviting to an obviously American traveler. Eventually I settled on a small pub packed with patrons waiting to watch the Real Madrid take on the defending Champions League winners, FC Barcelona. The establishment even boasted free wifi. I was able to send emails to a few friends while watching the game, enjoying the cannelloni and drinking some Italian brew. The food and the atmosphere was exactly what I was looking for that evening. With each scoring chance, it was plain that the patrons were pretty evenly split between support for each team. Even if the final score was only 1-0, I had a great time and was suitably rejuvenated to make the trip back to the hostel. It was a perfect ending to a magical day in Rome.

The Pantheon

2009-12-08T00:55:00.000-08:00

Few 1800-year-olds look so good. From within the rotunda of the Pantheon, you could be excused for thinking that the church was constructed just recently. Among all the remaining Roman sites of the Mediterranean, the basilica is probably the most well preserved. Two features contributed greatly to the preservation: its constant use as a place of worship and the incredible concrete enclosure that protects the interior from the elements.

Officially, the present current name for the Pantheon is the Basilica of St. Mary and the Martyrs. Since the 7th century, the edifice has been used a Catholic church. The transition from pagan temple to Christian church speaks to the desirability of the architecture. Today, the building is opulently decorated with intricate marble patterns, gilded statues and priceless renaissance works. In fact, the space is so revered that several two Italian monarchs and several renaissance masters have tombs within the walls.

However, the most prominent feature inside the Pantheon is it's awe inspiring dome. Ancient engineers and architects found a synergy in form that provides a visual experience while enabling the structure to function. Weight was judiciously removed from the roof structure by including a 30 ft. diameter oculus and coffered interior surface. The oculus is simply a large hole in the ceiling that admits the only natural light into the space. Some might also interpret the opening as a spiritual window to the world of the gods. The coffered sides of the dome provide a waffle-shaped pattern that draws attention upward. These two elements give the only outwardly apparent visual clues to the means of structural support.

Constructed in 126 A.D., the Pantheon very likely represents the height of Roman structural engineering achievement. In fact, the 142 ft. diameter cupola is still the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world. That record is in no jeopardy of being broken, as no modern building code would permit such a structure without the use of at least a minimum of steel reinforcing. And yet the Pantheon stands today without any significant reinforcing to alter the original engineers' design intent.

Several recent investigations have been undertaken to answer the mystery of the structure. The most frequent citation found on online accounts of the Pantheon follows: Mark, R.; Hutchinson, P. (1986), "On the structure of the Pantheon", Art Bulletin 68: 24–34. A nice online summary of those findings is presented by David Moore, P.E. at RomanConcrete.com. Some of the grandstanding is a bit unwarranted, but it is definitely easy to get carries away when describing the achievement of the Roman Engineers.

To start with, the original designers were accustomed to super-sized structures. And for all the delicacy portrayed within the Pantheon interior, the first rule of the construction is to build it big. The strip foundation on which the curved building rests is about 34 ft. wide. The wall which supports the dome is about 20 ft. thick. However, perhaps to reduce weight or provide behind the scenes storage space, 8 large niches were created within the otherwise solid wall. As usual, arches are used to great effect to relieve distribute load to piers, thus permitting the openings. This great mass of wall was necessary to provide adequate resistance to the inevitable outward thrust of the dome. No buttresses or perpendicular supporting structures were employed, as was common in later medieval structures.

The dome itself is nearly 20 ft. thick at its base and tapers to just 5 ft. thick at the oculus. A number of techniques were used to achieve the full span. First, a series of seven concentric rings of decreasing size were constructed one on top of the other, like stacking incrementally smaller metal washers. Other authors have suggested that this form is likely borrowed from the very early structural development of the corbeled arch - where a series of stones are stacked, with each cantilevering slightly past the previous. Using this technique, it's possible that the first stages of the dome were constructed without shoring down to the floor.

Beyond the stepped region, the shell becomes a smooth continuous surface. This part of the dome, in addition to the visible interior coffers, was likely cast on formwork supported from below. At the ring of the oculus, the building materials change again. Here a combination of tile and metal plates provide the compression ring that resolves all of the forces acting at the apex of the dome.
The Roman engineers impressively used the materials and methods available to them for maximum structural efficiency. They even created special light-weight concrete to reduce the overall weight of the dome. The 85 lb/ft3 (PCF) mix used at the top of the dome is approximately 40% lighter than today's normal weight concrete. It's even lighter than most conventionally available lightweight concrete. Despite the selection of lightweight aggregates, the engineers still achieved a compressive strength near 3000 lb/in2 (PSI), very near modern expectations for standard strength concrete. It's also important to point out that the Pozzolan binder used by the Romans differs quite a bit from the Portland Cement we use today (which requires a very high energy industrial process).

Despite their best efforts, cracks have been witnessed in the dome. The papers I reference above go into detail about their possible origins. They tend to equate the problem as one of excessive tensile hoop stresses near the base of the dome. Like a simple arch, domes also convert vertical forces into horizontal pressure. I prefer to think of the cracking in terms of the small displacement probably occurring at the top of the supporting wall. Stone and concrete, we all know is not a flexible material.

The obvious solution to the problem would be to wrap the base of the dome with some form of tension ring, essentially preventing it from spreading further. However, experts again disagree about when the cracks first appeared. It's likely that they formed immediately after construction, and the dome has stood for over 18 centuries since. It's even possible that the ancient designers were aware of this phenomenon but anticipated it and compensated in the early construction phases.

Barring a catastrophic seismic event, raging fire or destructive conflict, the Roman Pantheon seems to be in shape to survive many more centuries. It is a credit to the initial work of the designers to plan such a robust and awe inspiring building that future generations would have such keen interest in maintenance and preservation. The structural elegance of the rotunda will be an inspiration to engineers for many generations to come.

The Colosseum

2009-12-07T03:21:00.001-08:00

Imagine if the Wright Brothers first plane looked more like a modern 747. In the context of modern sports stadiums, the Colosseum is a model of similar form and function. It’s hard to believe that it was the first of it’s kind. Before construction of the massive stone structure, gladiatorial events and exotic menageries were held in temporary wooden venues. The Emperor Vespasian opened a new chapter in Roman engineering achievement as he was trying to make a massive political statement.

Vespasian didn’t care much for politics. He earned his fame with victories in the war to reclaim Judea for the Empire. State functions bored him and the ramblings of the Senate only complicated his battlefield strategies. When a civil war broke out in Rome, in the wake of the Nero‘s tyrannical reign, Vespasian returned from the front lines, and with the authority of his armies established himself as the new ruler. His son Titus was left to finish the job in Jerusalem.

To solidify his position as Emperor, Vespasian needed to gain the popular support of the people of Rome. One of his first acts was to return to the public much of the space acquired by Nero for his self-aggrandizing villa, called the Domus Aurea. Legend has it that a bronze colossus in Nero’s image stood at the entrance to the private gardens and porticos. This is where Vespasian planned to locate his stone amphitheater - henceforth it became known as the Colosseum.

Construction of the massive edifice (615 ft long by 510 ft wide by 160 ft tall) would have been extremely costly, even for the Roman Empire. However, shortly after Vespasian’s ascension to ruler, Titus completed his middle-eastern campaign and arrived Rome with cartloads of treasure, possibly from the destroyed Temple of Solomon. Titus’ Arch of Triumph commemorates his return with riches, but experts disagree about the extent to which those valuables could have financed the construction of the Colosseum. In a romantically historical sense, it’s intriguing to link these major structures and events of history together in such a way. In fact, the legend continues, since it has been recorded that stone mined from the ruins of the Colosseum were used in the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.

The Colosseum was completed in 80 AD under the rule of Titus. Amazingly, it only took 10 years to construct. Upon completion about 50,000 spectators were able to witness gladiatorial contests, wild beast hunts and possibly even naval battle re-enactments. The elaborate staging was made possible by a complex under-stage structure complete with mechanical elevators, trap doors, underground tunnels and an potentially massive piping system capable of flooding and draining the lower bowl.

In many ways, the architecture of the Colosseum is still very familiar to us today. A system of ramps allowed the citizens to proceed directly to the correct concourse. Seating was assigned by social status, but at least admission was free for all those permitted to attend the events. On the concourses, vendors would sell souvenirs and food. The spectators were even known to play betting games and make wagers on the activity below. Gambling was controlled by the State and sometimes banned, depending on the ideology of the rulers.

Even the structural elements of the Colosseum are employed to this day in stadium design. We’re very familiar with the series of concentric seating rings. As in today’s construction, these seating sections were supported by evenly spaced rakers oriented perpendicular to the rows of seating. Today it might be more common to use a series of reinforced concrete or steel beams for this function, but the Romans managed just fine with masonry arches. Between the rakers, they used continuous vaulted arches, inclined to provide “stadium seating.” It appears that these arches were formed with a clay brick and then topped with a low strength concrete fill to level out the seating surface. Similar technology was still being widely employed in steel building construction well into the 20th century.

As brilliant as the engineering of the Colosseum might seem, the techniques employed were well practiced by centuries of previous Roman construction. The truly impressive feat is in the organization of the construction and the collaboration between experts. No documents explicitly state the members of the design team, but we can assume, based on the speed of construction and the success of the design, that a division of labor similar to modern project teams was in use. In the centuries following, master builders would receive the credit for masterminding architectural feats, but back in Roman times we can suspect deeper specialization leading to more incredible structures.

However, the Colosseum was lacking in one design criteria. A major earthquake in 443 AD caused damage requiring fairly substantial renovation. And in 1349 another quake caused the collapse of the outer South ring. The damage can in part be blamed on the weak alluvial soils below the amphitheater. Masonry is also a notoriously bad material in seismic activity due to its low ductility and large mass. Re-purposing the rubble from the collapse also lead to general acceptance for mining stone from the massive free-standing quarry. Long before 14th century, however, the marble facing and semi-precious metals were likely removed from the Colosseum. Many of the jagged masonry surfaces exposed today were probably faced with smooth Italian marble at the height of Empire.

Finally in 1749, the Pope declared the Colosseum a sacred site, suggesting that it was the site of early Christian martyrdom. Whether Christians were actually massacred inside the Colosseum cannot be historically verified, but the Pope’s call for preservation of the site surely prevented the final deterioration of the structure. Later Popes instituted a series of stabilization and restoration projects.

One reinforcement scheme commemorated in paintings still on display in the Vatican museum included the installation of masonry buttresses at the exposed ends of the outer ring. Since the collapse of the southern portion of the ring, the rest of the third concourse was in danger of collapse. Arches redirect vertical forces horizontally. In the complete structure, which forms an imperfect oval, the arches are all mutually supporting. In the damaged state, the slightest geotechnical activity or over-loading event could have caused a domino effect, resulting in the complete collapse of the tallest colonnade. The new buttresses redirect the horizontal thrust, via solid diagonal walls, to the ground.

The Colosseum stands today as the most visible link between the great engineering achievements of the Roman Empire and our current understanding of building principles. Somehow, it seems perfectly natural view traffic racing down the Via dei Fori Imperiali right past the ancient edifice. The team of architects, engineers and builders delivered, on their first try, a structure that would set the standard for arena design for 2000 years. To this day, few structures make a stronger statement about the strength of civilization than the Colosseum; Vespasian would have been pleased.

Palatine Hill

2009-12-04T10:36:00.000-08:00

About an hour and a half into my first tour, the long day was starting to catch up to me. However, off to the south, an intricate series of man-made terraces needed inspection. These brick archways formed extended the slope of the ancient Palatine Hill. The earliest archeological remnants of Roman civilization were found here. It’s also the mythical setting for the stories of Romulus and Remus, founding brothers of Rome. In later times, still ancient history to us, the wealthiest senators, Cesars and royalty made their homes in this prominent location.

The way up from the Forum takes visitors through the renaissance gardens of the Farnese family. Historians argue whether their landscaping adequately pays tribute to the early history of the Roman hillside or disrespects the later work of the Empire. Such real estate saw many redevelopments as the property changed hands. In my opinion, the gardens and villas pay adequate homage to the spirit of the much admired address.

The top of the hill provides the best views down to the Forum. From here you cans see all three victory arches and even as far as the Colosseum. From this perspective, you can imagine what the site would have looked like in antiquity. With the building plans laid out below, it takes just a little imagination to project the lives of the senators, priests and priestesses working to keep the public institutions of the Empire in motion.

Further on, past the gardens and to the opposite slope, visitors encounter the remains of the oldest and most sacred sites on the hill. Here researchers have uncovered Romulean Huts from the very beginnings of recorded history. Digesting all of the information and keeping all the sites in chronologic order becomes too much in one afternoon, however. At this point, I began selectively jumping to only the most visually interesting audio points.

Without doubt, the most impressive and important structure on the hill belonged to the Cesar. Although Augustus constructed a modest residence on the hill (using his own money no less), the Domus Flavia palace was the real trend setter. This sprawling mega-plex included beautiful baths, numerous residential suites, executive offices, a Nymphaeum (you wouldn’t want your playful virgin demi-goddesses to go homeless) and a private hippodrome. An ego driven construction to be sure, it was also necessary as full control of the State was placed under executive control. The major mechanisms of government would now be fulfilled on the Palatine Hill.

Four hours and a couple thousand years of history and still I had not seen the ultimate symbol of Roman power. The Colosseum was up next.

The Forum

2009-12-04T10:35:00.000-08:00

From the main boulevard that leads to the Colosseum, an inconspicuous gate leads into the site of the ruined Roman Forum and Palatine Hill. It’s very easy to miss because your view is instinctively drawn to the spectacular ruins just beyond. The Colosseum beckons from the end of the the Vie dei Fori Imperiali and the forest of free standing columns calls to the right. I used my pre-purchased Roma Pass, which covers admission to two museums and unlimited public transport, to skip to the front of the entrance line. Beyond that I was drawn down the Sacred Way like a fly seeking the light.

Regaining my senses after the initial wave of architectural euphoria, I returned to the entrance to purchase the personal audio guide. It’s also possible to join a live tour, but I wanted to explore on my own for a bit. Over 40 different locations are discussed in detail on the audio guide. I dutifully returned to station number one and began the history lesson.

After the general layout of the site was described, I immediately saw the similarity to the Mall in Washington D.C. The placement of the Presidential memorials, Smithsonian Institutes and war memorials around a central public space is highly reminiscent of the Roman Forum, just to a super-sized American scale. The parts of the Roman Forum that are remain uncovered today relate closely to the functions of the representative State government and religious worship.

One of the oldest colonnades belongs to the ruined Temple of Jupiter, king of the Roman gods. The large plain Ionic columns stand despite the torments of time. In fact, this temple and many others of the Forum were destroyed numerous times in antiquity. The elements that survived were highly regarded by many ancient cultures or re-purposed. Archeologists also note that the current excavated level of the Sacred Way is several feet below its constructed level in Christian Rome. For that reason, the entrance to some remaining monuments seems strangely elevated above the modern path.

The Curia, or Roman Senate, has survived because it was converted into a chapel by the church. The preserved mosaic marble floor is one of the most impressive aspects of the ancient building. Compared the Cesar’s palaces and public works, the building fairly modest. Could that unusual display of modesty by the Roman leaders have been in light of cost conscientious public? Like the US House of Representatives, it’s difficult to imagine the 100+ senators congregating in the under-sized space.

All other monuments seem to be outrageous in scale. Of these, the Basillica of Maxentius is the most impressive. Three huge arched ceilings survive. As massive as the structure still appears today, we can only view a third of the space. It was so large that records show that multiple functions were often held concurrently, separated by large curtains that hung from ceiling. Despite the name, this structure was not originally used for religious ceremony. Several other temples on the site served the functions of god worship - including the posthumous establishment of cults to a former Cesar.

The most interesting stories are associated with the temple of Vesta. This goddess was particularly important, because the preservation of her eternal flame, allegedly spirited away from Troy when it was sacked, guaranteed protection to city of Rome. A cult of priestesses, known as the Vestal Virgins, maintained the flame and, in return, were granted unprecedented privileges. They attended social events as special guests, travel by carriage around the city and could commute the sentences of death row inmates. After 30 years of service, the women chosen for their unparalleled beauty were finally able to marry. If on the other hand, they were found to have violated the terms of their pure existence, they were immediately put to death.

Finally, the war memorials are among the best preserved monuments on the site. These Arches of Triumph commemorate several decisive victories in the history of the Empire. The arches of Septimus Severus, Titus and Constantine form the axis of the Sacred Way. Titus’ arch depicts the victory of Rome in Jerusalem and the return of the Holy Land to the Empire. Constantine’s arch shows his victory over a rival and the adoption of Christianity as the state religion. He shrewdly uses popular symbolism to credit his supporters and speak to the people of Rome.

In these ruins, the history of Rome is well recorded. For better or worse our impressions of the Roman people and their empire are largely drawn from the remains of monolithic places such as these. It makes one wonder, how will future societies judge America based on war monuments and memorials featured in our nation’s mall?

Funny Palace (of Rome)

2009-12-04T08:40:00.000-08:00

As much as we complain about modern travel, it really is something amazing to travel by highway, high-speed train and airplane. A trip to Rome from France was at one time the culmination of a life’s effort to raise the funds and a long and dangerous journey over land and sea. For all but the fantastically wealthy, this pilgrimage was fantastically difficult. I was mildly inconvenienced by having to travel to Lyon the night before in order to make the 4:45 am bus to the airport for my 7:00 am flight.

Another bus ride from Ciampino airport was required before I could definitively say that I had arrived in Rome. The bus dropped me off at Roma Termini, the central train station and starting & ending point of all adventures in Rome. My hostel was conveniently located only a few blocks from Termini. Despite being quite groggy from my early morning travels, I easily followed the directions provided by hostelworld.com to Funny Palace Hostel. I hoped that the funny name was just the result of an unfortunate translation.

Despite the odd sounding name, reviewers had highly rated the hostel. They warned, however, that the check-in seemed a little sketchy. The owners of the hostel rooms also ran an internet and laundry service. Entering through the front door, I was ushered to a simple table nestled between computer stations and washing machines. Immediately, Mabri, my host, began planning my stay in Rome. Though it was 10am, he also offered a bottle of wine.

Mabri suggested that I see the Colosseum and nearby Roman ruins to start my day. He had tricks for avoiding the long lines. Like: buy your ticket at the entrance to the Forum, because it’s also good for the Colosseum but isn’t as busy in the morning. Also, go up Via dogi Annibaldi for the best view of the Colosseum (note that you cannot access the entrance from that street). On day two, I would visit the Vatican. Remember, Mabri urged, to look for the #40 and #64 busses from Termini. If I was up for a long walk, he suggested a half dozen sites of interest between the hostel and St. Peter’s. Finally, I left with coupons for free breakfast and some discount cards for local restaurants.

The room was quaint and the bed was comfortable - not that I would have much difficulty sleeping after all the walking. I shared a room with three other travelers. They were all nice, and I even shared dinner later with a couple of Aussi’s. This was their first time to Europe. For once, I felt like the seasoned traveler. I figured that would prepare me well for my whirlwind tour of Rome.

Dining in Lyon

2009-12-04T08:33:00.000-08:00

Lyon is France’s second city. Like Chicagoans, I get the feeling that the Lyonais don’t much appreciate being overshadowed by their more famous countrymen. However, the mini-Eiffel tower barely visible next to the large cathedral overlooking the city seems to reinforce the point.

Where Lyon has staked out it’s own reputation is in the area of fine cuisine. Frenchmen from any region are likely to admit that Lyon has the best restaurants. That’s a pretty high honor to hold in a country obsessed with the culinary arts.

We returned to Lyon for the first time since June, so I could catch a flight to Rome. With only one free evening, we didn’t have much time to explore the substantial city. However, we were treated to some festivities associated with the Christmas shopping season. There was a large Christmas market set up in the square outside the train station and a skiing exhibition outside one of the main shopping drags. Being amid the hustle and bustle of a vibrant city felt nice after our solitude in rural Chusclan.

After strolling through the city and purchasing chai tea lattes from one of the only Starbuck’s in France, we decided to pursue more local flavors for dinner. Our hotel was conveniently close to Brasserie Georges. Unbeknownst to us at the time, this establishment is one of the culinary destinations of Lyon. The space is a throwback to the art deco décor of the roaring twenties. Neoclassical faux columns separate large glass windows and mirrored glass. The ceiling is high, allowing substantial chandeliers to hang into the massive space. The dinning room is huge, surely the largest that I’ve seen in France.

All around the place is a buzz with activity. Row after row of tables are filled with people celebrating special events. We were surprised to get a seat without reservation, despite the obvious seating capacity. The formally dressed wait staff moves urgently from table to table taking orders and delivering food. Watching them work the room, I was tempted to describe French efficiency. The typical French waiter has the uncanny ability to survey a room without ever making eye contact with a patron - not this wait staff. They seem to understand that faster services means more visitors and more profit.

In the corner of the restaurant a four piece jazz band played international standards. Perhaps permitted by the size of the space, we were treated to a trumpet player. He was quite good and on the flugelhorn had a tone to melt butter. In addition to playing their set, the band needed to keep an eye open for any waiter to appear in the main aisle with sparkler topped cake. Immediately, they would jump into a rendition of happy birthday. It didn’t matter the key, time signature or style, they flawlessly jumped into a fitting version of the famous song. This happened repeatedly all night long. Apparently everyone goes to Brasserie Georges for their birthday.

The menu was as expansive as the room, but we decided to stick with the prix fixe meal. As is typical, Mary Ann and I ordered the exact same thing. We started with the poultry terrine, one of those mystery meat products that you’re better not knowing about. The prize of the meal was the main course. It sounded pedestrian, sausage and mashed potatoes, but the way the homemade sausage and an delectable cream sauce made it a dish not to forget. I followed up with cheese and dessert. It was one of the best meals of my entire stay in France. Lyon deserves its reputation as the culinary capital of France.

Thanksgiving

2009-12-04T07:23:00.000-08:00

One of my biggest regrets from my time spent in Denmark was not celebrating Thanksgiving. While abroad, you become more aware of your own cultural identity. And no holiday is more American than Thanksgiving. Foreigners are fascinated by the concept and the pageantry. The food and customs that seem so familiar to us sound a little alien in Europe. Of course the have turkeys and squash, but it’s difficult to find all the ingredients for the traditional courses.

Beyond the food, the legend we celebrate and the familial nature of the meal defines the day. We learned all about the first Thanksgiving of the Pilgrims in grade school, but more important to the cultural definition of Thanksgiving is that shared experience of wearing construction paper buckle hats and Indian feathers. While community festivals for abundant harvests (like the original Thanksgiving) are common, the way we celebrate today is actually characterized as more of a family affair. But not just the nuclear family, it’s best to seat as many friends and relatives as possible at the ad hoc table settings. Dealing with the inevitable awkwardness and restricted elbow space is all part of the ceremony.

Egged on by Mary Ann’s British colleagues, we endeavored to hold a proper Thanksgiving for twelve people. Of course there is no holiday in France, and everyone still had to go to work Thursday and Friday. That meant that all the preparations would fall to me. Not fully appreciative of all the work required, I happily volunteered.

The first challenge was getting a turkey. A stuffed turkey is sometimes prepared for Christmas celebrations, so they obviously have the farms. But we did not expect to find a frozen Butterball in the hyper-marche. Mary Ann placed an order for a 10 pound bird with the local butcher - a medium sized bird by American standards. Fortunately, we had come in two weeks before the event, they said it would take at least a week to arrive. And when we did finally go to pick up the bird, we only found a paltry six pound poultry. The butcher said he was lucky to find even that. That size certainly would not feed the masses, so we bought two more large legs to supplement; they weighed almost as much as the turkey. The total cost was close to $70.

Turkey:
Just butter and pepper outside. 8 lbs (including stuffing): cook 3 1/2 hrs. @ level 4 (350 degrees F)

When I got home, I opened up the packaging to see how it looked. It seemed to be properly dressed. However, despite the expense, they hadn’t even left us the usable innards. Mary Ann had to make another call to request the liver and gizzards that would be necessary for the stuffing. At least they provided these for free.

The day before the big event I tried to prepare as much as possible. I peeled and sliced the potatoes, prepped the green beans and diced most of the veggies necessary for the stuffing. I wanted to have the cool efficiency displayed on the cooking shows. I also experimented with some new ingredients to make a type of caramel Chex-mix, a staple at our family events. I had to substitute rice flakes for Chex and caramel flotante for corn syrup. I think my recipe came out even better than Mom’s. Finally, that night I also prepared two types of squash, butternut and another French variety. I couldn’t quite figure out the proper seasoning for the French Squash. One of the British guests at dinner described the French species as a result of war rationing; apparently they don’t really like it either.

Mom's Stuffing Recipe:
2-3 sleeves saltine crackers - substitute: Biscottes
Turkey liver
1 onion (medium)
couple sprigs parsley (fresh is best)
1" pat of butter (softened)
1 egg
chicken broth (if you are boiling the gizards, neck, etc.--that's best.)

Fortunately, I was not on the hook for pumpkin pie. Mary Ann’s American colleague, Anna, had a recipe that she had worked out while living in France. The challenge of performing the ingredient substitutions and unit conversions cannot be underestimated. Even setting the oven temperature was a bit of a research project. The dial only reads the numbers one to ten, Somehow, I had to convert that to some actual measurement of temperature and then make the Fahrenheit adjustment. My suggestions is to cook an 8 lb. stuffed bird for three and half hours on number 4.

Of course, cooking the diner would only be half the battle. I also needed to clean house, rearrange furniture and wash the dog. Upon waking up on Thursday, I had a full slate. After sweeping the floor, I started moving tables and cupboards to find some arrangement that would seat enough people in our modest apartment. Fortunately, our landlords allowed us to borrow another table and enough chairs so that everyone could sit together. Moving things away from the wall revealed another task, cleaning off the waist-high cobwebs and washing the base boards. This brought me back to the Cinderella days, preparing for company as Mom issued orders to keep us busy and out of her hair.

As two o’clock approached, I shifted gears to food preparation. We planned to eat at 6:30, so I needed the bird in the oven no later than 3:00, and that meant that the stuffing was next up on the list. Again, I planned two dishes. The first was my Grandmother’s Hungarian recipe which called for judicious use of the turkey liver. My other variety was the more traditional breadcrumb style; I followed the instructions from cooks.com. That’s where I used the gizzards. Somehow I was able to find enough room in the small bird to fit both batches, now I wondered if it would be enough.

Stuffing (traditional)
http://www.cooks.com/rec/doc/0,1822,133185-243195,00.html

I had just enough time to run into town for some fresh baked bread before getting the potatoes and beans on the stove. Soon I had all four burners in action while the oven maintained temperature. I prayed that this wouldn’t be the moment we ran out of gas.

The final challenge was the cranberry sauce. Our family tradition is just to by the canned jelly that retains can-shape on the platter. Sadly, the cans were not available. All we could find, and this required pretty substantial internet searching, was a bag of frozen cranberries. Again I deferred to the pros on cooks.com. It came out a little too runny; I should have drained them slightly before adding the sugar. Nothing a little flour couldn’t fix. I even received some compliments.

Cranberry Sauce:
1 bag frozen cranberries
1/4 x water
1/3 x sugar

The guests started arriving while all of my irons were still in the fire, so to speak. Fortunately, Mary Ann had made it home a little bit earlier and was able to greet them. Meanwhile, the landlord had them playing musical cars, reshuffling the parking arrangement in the French way. We waited on one of Mary Ann’s colleagues for quite some time, before realizing that the gate might have closed him out. Mary Ann found him standing in the cold outside just about to turn around and walk back into town. Everyone agreed that it was his fault for not owning a cell phone. Arrival drama is just part of the tradition I explained.

As everyone was seated, I gave the quick Iron Chef description of the family style dishes. One of the translators interpreted in French for our landlords seated at the opposite side of the table. The dishes were passed around, and it might well have been anywhere USA. The stuffing was the first to go, everyone wanted to try both types. We had plenty of turkey; the Europeans preferred the dark meat - good thing, because the white was limited.

It was a little strange to hear French and English being spoken simultaneously, but the conversations were typical. The British sense of humor really livened things. And of course the translators had a lot to say about work. It was good to see Mary Ann’s colleagues again and get to meet their spouses. Between the food and the company, it was a perfectly celebrated Thanksgiving. I think the only things we missed was the afternoon football game. Oh well, we learned the Lions lost again anyway.

Becoming a Scrooge

2009-12-03T11:06:00.000-08:00

I’m typically very cynical about the American continental monoculture. Our sea-to-shining-sea conformity is really quite unique. Especially during holidays, times that should showcase a diversity of customs, most Americans seem to obey the same guidelines for celebration. We are so influenced by commercial behavior that the holidays have been branded with defined colors and images: green and red Santas at Christmas; black and orange witches at Halloween; pastel bunnies at Easter. To an extent, holidays have become little more than guideposts for directing the patterns of consumer spending.

While most holidays had roots in faith and the old world, Americans have dropped most of the pretext. The point of my rant, however, is not to suggest that all the commercial trappings of the holidays be stripped in favor of the solemn religious affairs. Even sacred observances tend toward a uniform pageantry in the US. My wish is to see more diversity in the observance of holidays based on heritage, locality and experience.

One of the great pleasures of traveling through Europe is getting to experience the variety of cultures. Although it can be said that Americans and Europeans share the same base of Western Civilization, it’s apparent that our way of life differs. Exploring these peculiarities is often most fun during the holidays. Most countries of Europe are still majority Christian and observe the same major holidays, but the unique ways in which each is celebrated is fascinating. In Italy you might find Christmas witches, while in Denmark it’s hard to avoid the Christmas trolls.

On the compact European landmass the variations in the landmass are matched by the diversity of its people. Over the centuries, differing customs were developed and guarded. The coalescing of nationalities has even served to preserve regional identity in the face of nationalization and commercialization. The US landscape, encompassing an entire continent, is likewise diverse. Settlers populated the new country with many and varied cultures. Yet we become increasingly homogenous through commercial pressures.

Americans ought to celebrate the differences that still distinguish local cultural populations. We must be more welcoming to recent immigrants and share in their celebrations. By trying to manufacture a common national identity, we are losing the cultural spectrum that makes the human experience beautiful.

Do not enter

2009-12-03T11:03:00.000-08:00

By the time we completed two full days of snow boarding, we where exhausted. I don’t think that I ever fully recovered from the mountain bike race the day before. When it came time to check out and return the equipment, we hoped not to have to lug the boots, boards and bindings up the hill to the rental location.

Instead we hopped in the car and began circling up the village in search of the central commercial area. It had been easy to find on foot. Just go up the elevator, then take the sky bridge, then the escalator and finally the stairs to the back side of the mall.

The map was little help. An artists interpretation for the village had been used because it was difficult to adequately portray distance, given that the town was more vertical than horizontal. We wound up the roads but found no sign of our destination. Several times, I turned up one way streets and pulled into dead ends. Eventually, I found the sign for the Tourist Information center, I knew the right ski rental was nearby. We turned down a path, that was probably marked “do not enter.”

Strangely, there was a big patch of snow on the road. Huh, no matter. Was that a skier behind us? Uh-oh, there are stairs in front of the car. Do you think we’ll make it down? Ok, it’s too late to back out now. And then, simply enough, we parked in front of the ski rental. Mary Ann started unloading the equipment, and I ran to scout an exit.

We found ourselves parked in the pedestrian only zone. The best way out seemed to be through an alley blocked by two delivery trucks. Eventually, Mary Ann tracked down the drivers, but there was still the matter of the locked municipal gate. Several passers by urged us not to test it. We tried unsuccessfully for several minutes to wedge the car between the extended bars. There was no choice but to go back up the way we came, up the stairs and over the ski run.

I was really nervous about the car, but the Pugeot didn’t have any problems. It would have been quite the advertisement. After it all, we were quite grateful to have escaped the situation without a ticket or any vehicle damage. Now there was just the matter of descending the steep mountain pass…

Riding Lessons

2009-12-03T10:55:00.000-08:00

Nearing lunch I rejoined Mary Ann. She couldn’t wait to show me how much she had learned. Apparently, her instructor was a very good teacher and Mary Ann was an excellent student. The instructor said so. After just two hours of practice, Mary Ann felt ready to take on the top of the mountain - the part that had challenged me earlier in the morning.

Newly confident, Mary Ann exclaimed that there were only a few things that had tripped her up. First, look where you’re going. I don’t know why I hadn’t told her that; common sense, I guess. It you look at the board, you have no hope of making it down the hill. It’s like the old balance-egg-on-spoon race. Somehow the body adjusts if you keep focus forward or on the horizon.

The instructor had also taught Mary Ann some techniques for taking difficult slopes. This is the real advantage of snow boarding - you have a safety for getting out of situations way out of your league. On skis, the end result is usually a total yard sale. On a board, you can just stay on your back edge, looking down the mountain, and slowly take the slope down left and right. Mary Ann’s instructor called it the dead leaf method. It doesn’t look as cool as carving sharp lines down the mountain, but safety first.

Armed with this new knowledge, Mary Ann dutifully followed me up the hill. The flat spots were especially difficult for her, because she didn’t feel comfortable maintaining as much speed. She also had to do a lot of “dead leaf.” But eventually, she made it down the entire mountain with only moderate difficulty. A few more practice runs in the afternoon and Mary Ann was finding her way down the slopes with fewer falls than me. The culmination of two days effort, Mary Ann also successfully descended a red slope.

She is very excited to go riding again. Surprisingly Chusclan has a skiing club; they call themselves the Snow Marmots. Friday is the organizational meeting. We might be back on the Alpine slopes much sooner than I ever expected.

Snowboarding

2009-12-03T10:46:00.000-08:00

“We come from the land of the ice and snow, of the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow.” Immigrant song by Led Zeppelin was rocking through my ear buds as the gondola reach the top of the mountain. I stepped out of the station shelter and into a blizzard of ice. The conditions for my first run down the mountain would not be ideal.

I strapped the rented board to my feet and slowly edged down the first slope. There the drama ends. Ten seconds later I had to unstrap the boot and walk up a short incline. Ok, the day starts now, I thought. Again, with little momentum, I had a hard time controlling my direction and fell trying to avoid the steady creep off the groomed path. At this point, I had totally forgotten the music coming through the mp3 player.

Eventually, I gathered my myself, found a suitable slope and launched downhill. Further on down the mountain, I escaped the high altitude clouds and a majestic view of Val Thorens and the Alps opened before me. Another Zepplin song was playing, and I was really starting to feel good about my control of the board. I resisted the urge to go off trail and blaze my own trail. There would be plenty of time for that - better to race to the bottom of the run in order to explore more of the mountain.

I was riding by myself for the morning, because Mary Ann had decided to take snowboarding lessons. Last year, at Lake Tahoe, she had attempted to pick up the technique. My instructions were less than helpful. As is her way, she was determined pick up the sport. Meanwhile, I had the morning to set my own pace and explore the mountain.

This early in the season, not all the runs were open. However, those that were provided more than enough opportunity to practice my technique and challenge my ability. From the top of the mountain, I estimated that it took about 10 minutes to descend to the main gondola lift going at my top speed. That meant that I could make the turn around in about half an hour. Another chair lift ran half way up the main slope outside our villa. From either lift, it was possible to ski down to another valley and then another and so on. The total mountain network was billed as the largest in Europe.

A light morning snow provided a nice base of powder to really liven up the runs. My first treks down the mountain had been plagued by icy conditions. Able to dig in with my edges a little better, I found the nerve to head down an uncharted black run. The European difficulty rating system has four levels, beginning with green, then blue, red and black. I vaguely remember riding past some caution tape, but quickly I found myself alone, on a steep slope, confronting several uncovered rocky patches. The ride down was exhilarating! I wanted another go, but the next time someone had stood the “run closed” sign back up. Oops.

Are we there yet?

2009-11-27T05:21:00.000-08:00

The drive from Chusclan to Albertville, home of the 1992 Winter Olympics, takes about three hours. Eager skiers can stop there and enjoy the slopes or continue upward into the Alps. Having found excellent deals on the necessary clothing, we couldn’t wait for the low altitude resorts to open. Mary Ann booked us a suite in Val Thorens - the highest ski resort in Europe. At an altitude of 2300m (at the bottom of the resort), it was the only resort in France to open before Thanksgiving.

Our trip to Val Thorens started quickly. We rode the Autoroute through Valence and Grenoble on our way. Just outside of Grenoble, the Alps came into sight. Towering rock massifs appeared on the horizon. The way that the rock thrust up through the earth is really breathtaking. You can tell that some serious geologic activity had been at work. Stratifications in the rock that were deposited in horizontal layers, are now found at all angles; some turned vertical.

At Albertville, we turned off the highway and began our ascent into the mountains, first through a narrow mountain pass. A few ruined castles still guarded the passage. Having climbed only moderately through the first 3 hours of our trip, we knew that a steep ascent was eminent. At the exit for Val Thorens, the road reduced to two lanes and we climbed. In inclement weather, the road signs frequently reminded that tire chains were mandatory. I’m glad we chose to take our trip into the highlands before the first winter storms hit.

The final 38 km of our journey took almost an hour. We switched back and forth incessantly. It was impossible to maintain speed going around the tight turns. Around one turn, we noticed a pickup pulled over, and the driver was waving their hand outside the window. I turned to ask Mary Ann, “what do you suppose that means.” She slammed on the breaks in response. A herd of cows were being lead up the highway! They seemed to know the drill. In all, about a dozen large cows meandered past our car. We hoped that they wouldn’t scrape the paint on our rental. Finally, two senior citizens with walking sticks held up the rear of the parade. I guess running your animals up the mountain pass daily keeps you in pretty good shape.

We pressed onward, slightly more cautious about what we might find behind the next bend. At last, the resort town of Val Thorens appeared at the base of the tallest peak yet. On first glance, it wasn’t so much beautiful as impressive. Miles from civilization, the town had grown several times larger than Chusclan, with several multi-story hotels and an elaborate infrastructure. Construction of the village was obviously made difficult by its location on a steep mountain slope. However, the upside to the building challenge, was the opportunity to offer real a real ski-out-the-front-door experience.

Our rooms were in the section of the development named Montana. Land of the "big sky" seemed appropriate for the high mountain location. As we waited for our suite to be assigned, I snapped a photo of the sun setting beyond the Alps. You know, they say, "red sky at night, sailors delight." I hoped that applied to snowboarding as well.

Fête de VTT

2009-11-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

This past weekend was quite athletic endurance challenge. First up was the much hyped biking festival in Chusclan. Then, after taking a quick shower and packing up the car, we drove to the Alps for two days of snowboarding at the only ski resort in France already open for the season. By Tuesday morning, I was suffering a full-body ache.

On Saturday morning, however, I felt great. I was up at 8:00, took out the dog, and made myself some ham and eggs with melted Roquefort cheese. My stomach usually goes through its own acrobatic routine during athletic events, so reserved plenty of time to digest breakfast. A little before 10:00, we rode down to the Chusclan Cave for the beginning of the race.

I could not believe how many people had ventured into town for the event. Once again, it appeared as though an event had brought out more than the entire population of the village. Our landlord, a proud member of the Chusclan cycling club, had volunteered to help out with the registration. He reported that around 1,500 people had already signed in by 9:00. Despite all the activity, I secretly hoped that the mountain bike trails would be mostly clear by the time I began my run.

It only cost $7 to register for the event, and all participants received a bottle of Chusclan wine. Locals, including yours truly, ride free. This clearly wasn't a money making operation, just another advertising opportunity for the local wine grower's cooperative. With such an impressive domestic advertising campaign, it's a wonder that the cave doesn't also export. Keep your eyes open for the Laudun-Chusclan appellation.

After receiving my riding instructions and course map, I said goodbye to Mary Ann and started up the mountain bike course. There was also a road ride being run concurrently. Bikers had fanned out over 40 km in the surrounding countryside. Luckily, the day seemed ripe for a bike ride. Some fog kept the ground temperature cool and comfortable. Lacking all the fancy gear worn by most riders, I was thankful not to be sweating profusely through my warm-up pants and long-sleeve tee.

Turning on the main road through town, I quickly found myself behind about 25 other riders on their way to the off-road courses. We rode slowly through the village and up the narrow roads just outside of town. At this point, most riders were still in groups with their friends. They carried on conversations while the ascent was still moderate. I did notice two female riders struggling in a very high gear to climb the moderate paved slope. They would be in for a very long day. I slipped ahead at the first opportunity.

Four days earlier, I had noticed that the trail markings were up and took a test run through two-thirds of the 25 km course. This proved to be very helpful, because I knew when to anticipate sharp turns and forks in the road. Four different courses were available. The longest was 57 km and very technical. From previous adventures through the Gicon hills, I knew to avoid the red-marked trail. However, on many occasions throughout the race the trails overlapped and therefore a wide variety of skill levels rode side by side.

The first test came about 1.5 km outside of town. We turned left sharply and were confronted by a steep climb over a dirt path littered with loose rocks. I knew the climb was coming, and attempted to gather speed. However, many of the riders in front of me were woefully unprepared for the beginning of the endurance challenge. Somehow, I managed to weave around the stalling cyclists while maintaining balance and shifting into my highest gear. Five months ago, I had stalled half way up that climb. Now I was in better form, and it helped that all the previous riders had helped to mat down the loose dirt and clear away larger stones.

While many riders waited for their friends at the top of the hill, I passed by and followed the sign for the blue trail. The reward for the tough initial climb was a nice descent through the dense brush. Eventually the path opened up to another hillside vehicle path. On a clear day, I would have seen the Rhône River and Mt. Ventoux beyond, but on this day the mist obstructed everything just beyond the cliff edge.

For a time, I continued on without confronting any other cyclists. My path turned left and into the vineyards on the Gicon plateau. The soil there was sandy, and I knew to ride up onto the ditch banks in certain spots to avoid getting stuck in the sand. Riders making their first voyage through this course had to dismount and walk through the momentum-killing sand.

Throughout the adventure, Don McLean's American Pie song ran through my head. Depending on the rate of my peddling, I would hear different verses at the equivalent speed. Strangely, I never really did think of the chorus. I remember the last time I ran a 5k, the Eurithmics' Sweet Dreams was my cadence. Strange how random songs will permeate your thoughts. However, unlike a monotonous foot race, I needed all my concentration to navigate the tough single track.

Deeper into the course, the difficulty level rose for everyone. I was prepared on most occasions, but had to stop at many of the most technical runs because riders in front of me had fallen. This can be especially annoying when you're trying to maintain momentum for inclined sections. At one bouchon, or bottleneck, a kid pushed past me, unaware of the reason for the stoppage. Apparently, I made enough disapproving sounds that his friend called to the side, so I could proceed in front again.

On several occasions, I saw large groups of kids on the course. They were typically chaperoned by a few patient adults. Their ride must have taken forever, because every time they were pulled over waiting for the kids holding up the rear of their party. I took just two breaks in my two hour journey. The first came before the ascent to the high point of the Gicon.

Peddling up the longest ascent of the course, I focus on maintaining a constant peddle rate and the same American Pie verse. When I made the final turn to view the Cèze Valley from atop the hill, the view was reward for all the hard work. By then, the morning haze had lifted, revealing the multicolored valley of vineyards and olive trees.

I was now 15 km into the tour. A rest stop, or ravito, was set up to allow bikers to replenish their sugars. I eagerly grabbed a nut bread, some gummy sugar snacks and, then because it seemed like the French thing to do, I also had a glass of red wine and some dark chocolate. Really! Later, I would regret that decision, but I was feeling good a the time.

Continuing on, I turned up the steep incline to the base of the Chateau de Gicon. Once again, my prior knowledge of the course helped me gather the speed to make the touch climb. However, for the next several kilometers, I would have to navigate uncharted territory. Eventually, I came to a sharp drop in the path that took me by surprise. My rhythm had been disrupted by the break. The first bump dislodged my feet from the pedals' toe clips, and I had to dismount. It was several more meters before I found a suitable flat stretch where I could reset and gather myself for the final stages of the course.

Back on more familiar territory, I was now struggling with fatigue. With every descent, I could only think of the difficulty in having to climb again. I leapfrogged with several other riders also struggling to complete the challenge. Eventually, we reached the final descent. My legs were so tired that I could barely hold the bike under control through the steep decline. Again reaching the familiar streets of Chusclan, momentum carried me to the cave.

Since riders were competing at the own pace, there was no grand finish line. However, there was the matter of receiving your final reward. First I found my landlord running the raffle for free T-shirts and water bottles. I hoped that he might help me cheat to win, but to no avail I cam up empty on that contest. But I still had a bottle of wine to claim. They stamped my map complete and handed over the award winning red.

My final challenge was to ride back home carrying my wine bottle while chewing a delicious apple. Mary Ann applauded my conclusion and then strictly ordered me to shower. There would be time to rest in the car on the way to the next athletic adventure.

Gorges du Tarn

2009-11-18T07:22:00.000-08:00

The remote villages tucked in between the steep cliffs of the Gorges du Tarn are shrouded in medieval mysticism. Given the ominous misty highlands above, the difficulty of journey and tough life of subsistence it's easy to understand why imaginations might run wild. Today, the sights of the gorge are no less inspiring. If you can handle the incessantly winding roads, it's a great place to enjoy nature.

My favorite tale of tale of the Tarn comes from Sainte-Enimie, so named after the story's heroine. The story the this Merovingian princess began in Paris. She wanted to devote her life to God. However, her father wanted to marry his beautiful daughter off to one of the many suitors that had come calling because of her rare beauty. She refused them and prayed to receive an affliction that would hold the suitors at bay for good. To her initial delight, she fell ill with leprosy.

As her conditions worsened, she began to have second thoughts about her situation. Seeking a cure, she traveled to a remote region of France said to have cold healing waters. Near present day St. Enimie she found her salvation. She lived and took residence with the local monks. Her faith grew, but she was often tested. The legend even recounts her victory of a dragon-like incantation of the Devil himself.

View more of my photos of the Gorges du Tarn on flickr.

Roquefort's Best (cheese)

2009-11-18T06:18:00.000-08:00

Legend has it that a shepherd tending his flock in the fields near present day Roquefort. At lunch he retreated into one of the natural caves at the base of the Combalou cliff to escape the midday sun. After getting out his bread and a bottle of ewe's milk, he was distracted by a beautiful maiden and chased after her. She alluded him for forty days, and when he returned to his meal the bread had molded and the milk curdled. Some curds were infected with green mold. Apparently, the shepherd was so hungry after his hunt that he dug in anyway. It tasted incredible, like no other cheese he had ever tried. At that moment, the idea for Roquefort blue cheese was born. The rest, they say, is history.

I love Roquefort cheese. On a fresh baguette with a glass of light red wine, there is simply no better snack. Mary Ann and I took advantage of our trip to Millau to hop over to the home of the famous Roquefort cheese producers. Several companies provide tours of their cellars along with a free tasting. We decided to patronize the Papillon brand on the advice of Chusclan local. He swore that their black label was the best in the business. That was a test we were willing to take.

Along the way we learned that the modern process for making A.O.C. approved Roquefort cheese is somewhat more complicated that the fairy tale. It begins by collecting sheep's milk from within the region. The Lacaune ewe contains an enzyme that causes the cheese to curd naturally around 30 degrees C. The curds are then collected and seeded with the penicillium mold.

This mold must also be harvested locally from bread loaves aged in the approved cellars. For quality control the loaves are seeded with the specifc strain known to be safe and tasty. 600 g of penicillium can be harvested from each round loaf, but it only takes 100 g to produce one ton (metric) of cheese.

After excess liquid is drained from the cheese wheels, they are salted and taken to the cave for aging. The aging process for both the mold bread loaves and the cheese wheels can only take place in the natural Roquefort caves. In four to six months time the cheese is ready to be packaged and distributed.

Ancient seismic activity opened up fissures in the rock that allow the perfect natural temperature and humidity regulation for aging cheese. Therefore the entire A.O.C. region for Roquefort cheese is only about 4.5 km long. As such, really the only thing in Roquefort are the cheese factories. Though it's perched on a hillside, it feels oddly industrial.

Unlike dairy cattle, the Lacaune ewe's gestation cycle is seasonal. Therefore during our visit to the caves in mid-November they were completely empty. Bread production will begin again around December, and cheese production will peak around June. The cheese keeps well in its specially designed tinfoil wrapping and is good year round.

Of course, our favorite variety was the black label. Though in fairness, we did not try the ultra-premium super-moldy cheese that Pampillion markets for special occasions. As it is, the black label is not available in supermarkets. Our tour guide did let us in on a secret. The Bio (or organic) variety of their cheese is most similar to their popular black label and is also available in many French grocery stores. We purchased a quarter wheel and convinced ourselves that it would last until our eventual return to the States. That seems highly unlikely now that we sneak a sample at every opportunity.

Larzac Templars & Hospitallers

2009-11-18T05:25:00.000-08:00

The knights Templar are most famous for their exploits in the Holy Land. Shortly after their founding around 1119, the order took residence on the Temple Mount supposedly directly over the former site of Solomon's temple. The legend continues to proclaim that the eventual source of their wealth was mined from that location. However, it's more likely that monastic warriors were simply shrewd business men. In addition to mercenary work on the battlefield, they helped manage the financial affairs of pilgrims traveling to partake in the crusades. Receiving official recognition from church, they also became a favorite charity for medieval Europeans.

Their influence extended through much of France and into Italy, Germany and England. However, with the end of the crusades, the Templars' purpose was less well defined. Eventually, they seemed redundant with other militaristic orders including the Teutonic knights and Hospitallers. On Friday the 13th of October 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the knights arrested and the leaders executed. His prime motivation was to eliminate large debts owed by the crown to the order.

Many of the Templars' lands were transferred to other orders, like the Hospitallers. Interestingly, some of the best preserved Templarand Hospitaller sites are located in the Averyon department of France. Perhaps it was the remote location and undulating natural landscape that generally spared the religious edifices from later upheavals around the country. Even so, the Hospitallers fortified many of the villages for security during the Hundred Years War.

We explored two Templar & Hospitaller settlements during our weekend trip to the region. An easy to follow driving circuit directs visitors to up to five different sites. For the past decade a regional council has been working to preserve the Templar and Hospitaller heritage of the area.

The first site we visited was located on a hilltop overlooking an extensive plateau of sheep grazing fields. Saint-Jean d'Alcas is a small rectangular fort containing round towers at each corner. The small homes built into the fortress wall are all practically identical. A small abbey was also integrated into the defensive construction. Today, only a few shops and a tourist information desk keep residence within the small outpost. A lone cat greeted our entrance.

Twenty-five kilometers east, over rolling hills and through river gorges, we arrived at another historic site. The geography had changed substantially but the medieval architecture was familiar. At la Courvertoirade, visitors can explore the remains of a castle built by the Templars around 1200 and ramparts built by the Hospitallers in the 15th century. The scene standing near the gate of the old castle reminded Mary Ann of a castle scene in Robin Hood. I also thought that the church of the Hospitallers was unique, containing a few pagan symbols and creating a more mystic ambiance than most other churches of the era.

The course continued on to several more sites, but we had exhausted our time. These modest sites of the Larzac barely compare to other massive fortresses or religious sites in France. However, the historical intrigue associated with their founders keeps the tourists coming.

Millau

2009-11-18T00:45:00.001-08:00

Millau is an otherwise quaint French town located at the confluence of the Tarn and Dourbie rivers. It is the ideal launching point for dozens of scenic tours through the beautiful Aveyron region. Tour guides for the area would have highlighted the proximity to Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, home of the famous blue cheese, or the sordid history of the knights Templar who maintained several settlements in the region, or the majesty of the gorges and rolling hills. In 2004, when construction concluded on the bridge between the Larzac and Rouge plateaus just outside the city of Millau, tourists had a whole new reason to visit the city.

Spanning 2.5 km and standing 343 m tall, the Millau Viaduct can be considered one of the modern marvels of the world. It set a host of records upon completion, including the tallest temporary support (172 m), highest pier (245m) and overall the largest multi-stayed viaduct in the world. Perhaps the most impressive feat, however, was that the entire bridge was constructed in just three years.

The rapid construction was facilitated by an ingenious idea to push the bridge deck out over the piers from both plateaus. This saved the team both from having to ship the massive steel structures down the narrow gorge roads and from needing to hoist the deck up an incredible distance.

Certainly the sequence of erection was critical. First the massive concrete piers were poured, rising 4 m every three days. Then the first segment of roadway was constructed high above on the Larzac plateau. One of the cable towers was also installed to permit the long cantilever while the deck was being pushed out over the valley.

Segment by segment the bridge was constructed until the point at which the two ends met in the middle - no more than a few millimeters off target! That feat seems even more incredible when you drive over the bridge and realize that it actually makes a slight arc over the valley. Oddly, the rest of the cable towers were not installed until the link had been made. Apparently, the box-girder deck segments were substantially stiff to allow the transport of these huge towers under shored conditions.

Two visitors' centers explain the process of design and construction of the viaduct. They also provide contrasting view points from which to admire the bridge. One of these areas is maintained by Effage, the company that oversaw the construction. They are now in charge of operation and maintenance of the viaduct. Visitors to this lookout can appreciate the awesome size of the piers by standing near their base. The tallest pier is actually even taller than the Eiffel Tower.

The elegance of the Millau Viaduct, seeming to accent the natural beauty of the region, was not an accident. Michel Virlogeux conceived the viaduct and Norman Foster's team designed the architectural effect. Through the project life-cycle thousand of people contributed to its construction. And today millions of people annually pay the toll to drive across on the most direct route from Paris to Southwest France.

Madrid Airport

2009-11-16T02:18:00.000-08:00

There's no question, I have put on a lot of miles this past year. Since May, I've taken seven cross Atlantic flights, and there's at least one more trip to make back home. Within the States, I've flown from Chicago to Nevada, Phoenix and Washington, D.C. I have seen a lot of airports! In my opinion, the most impressive terminal of all is at Madrid's Barajas International airport.

The T4 terminal opened in 2006 after many delays. By all appearances it was worth the wait. The architecture, by Antonio Lamela and Richard Rogers, features a wave form roof supported by slender steel posts. The interior colors gradually change from bright yellow to green to blue with slightly different shades on each successive support line. Large window walls on both sides of the long terminal allow in a great amount of natural light. Even a weary international traveler can appreciate a few moments basking in the Iberian sun.

The bowels of the terminal contain a vast and complex interchange of pedestrian paths through boutiques. At many points along your long journey from one terminal to another, signs indicate approximately how many minutes it will take you to reach the desired gate area. Groggy from the long international flight, I was able to make my way through the maze by following the frequent signage. Along the way, I rode a modernistic tram, ascended multiple escalators and strolled through the flashy duty-free mall.

This architectural gem is unlikely to impress everyone. Richard Rogers in renown for architecture that presses the limits of current convention and taste. His most famous designs include the Pompidou Centre modern art museum in Paris and the Lloyd's of London Building in London. Both designs are notable for placing much of the mechanical innards of a traditional building outside and visible to the public. Though critically panned, both buildings are now landmarks. The Barajas terminals are less evocative, but they still make a strong statement - one of comfort and inviting if only for a brief respite for tired travelers.

Cahokia

2009-11-16T01:33:00.000-08:00

Between the 11th and 13th centuries A.D., a thriving Native American culture, known as Mississippian, supported a network of cities along the length of the Mississippi River. Their domain extended west to the foothills of the Rockies and as far east as Florida. The settlement at Cahokia (near present day St. Louis) was perhaps the largest, with as many as 20,000 inhabitants. At the time it would have been larger than the European city of London. Over time the inhabitants constructed massive earthen mounds that still stand today. The largest of these mounds encompasses a greater area than does the Great Pyramid at Giza.

To sustain such a large population, the culture must have been incredibly complex. We know at least that they were extraordinary farmers, growing corn, squash and seed-bearing plants. Many of the other grains that we associated with the Midwest today, like wheat, barley and oats actually arrived in the New World with the Europeans. The Cahokians initially supplemented their diet by hunting, fishing and gathering in the abundant Mississippi valley.

As the settlement grew, the central government needed to become stronger to keep the peace and distribute the abundant harvest. As in other large Native American cultures, archaeologists believe that the leaders was revered as a living god. He took residence at the top of the largest mound, presumably for closer communication with the heavens. Monks' Mounds, so named for the French Trappist Monks who lived nearby in the early 1800s, stands over 100 ft. tall and consumes an estimated 22 million cubic feet of earth.

Other mounds were constructed for various purposes: for lesser government officials, burials, defense and to mark important locations. The mounds come in three forms: rectangular platforms, conical burial mounds, and triangular markers. So many mounds were created within the Cahokia site that the large excavation pits are still also visible today. They have since filled with water and enhance the aesthetic of the park.

In addition to the mounds, archaeologists have discovered the remains of some timber constructions on the site. The residents of Cahokia would have lived in wooden homes with thatch roofs. Additionally, the constructed a large palisade wall around the governmental center of the city. Experts believe that the wall was constructed late in the city's prosperous history, and does not appear to have protected the residential areas of town. This has led some to surmise that the wall was construction to protect against rebellion from within the community.

Further outside the city complex, a circular pattern of timber piles has been reconstructed. The locals have dubbed this structure "wood henge." It seems to serve a similar purpose to the mysterious Stone Henge rock construction in England. Certain perimeter posts align with the rising sun at the Spring and Fall equinoxes and the Winter and Summer solstices.

Mysteriously, the cities disbanded about 100 years before the arrival of Columbus to the New World. What lead to the abandonment of such an advanced urban culture? Depletion of resources, climate change, political upheaval and war have all been suggested as possible reasons for the decline. Sadly, these challenges appear to mirror the problems faced by our modern culture. By delving deeper into the history of the Mississippian people, can we gain a better understanding of our current situation?

Aqueduc de Balouvière

2009-11-12T23:18:00.000-08:00

They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. Does the same go for structures? In 1870 the citizens of Laudun needed to construct an aqueduct to span a small gorge in the hills just outside of town. Instead of opting for a typical wooden lattice structure, they commissioned a design inspired by the famous Pont du Gard.

Over time, the town has grown up around the Aqueduc de Balouvière which is now located within the city limits. Actually, it's practically in someone's back yard. The smallish stone arch structure hardly compares to its inspirational model. However, we had fun climbing into the arches and walking across the top platform which no longer carries any water.

It's all the same to me

2009-11-12T06:26:00.001-08:00

Its about 300 miles from Chicago to St. Louis. 300 boring miles. What can you do to stay alert while driving through the monotonous countryside?

I decided to take a photo out my front window every 10 miles. I tried to capture the rear-view as well to give a more complete sense of the space I was occupying at that moment. At time, I thought compiling all the photos into a collage would make an artistic statement. Instead, it simply whimpers, "it's all the same."

Covering such ground in my current home region of France, would take you through dense forests, river valleys, vineyards and rock formations. To be fair, the French Autoroute also tends to follow a mundane path, but at least there is some change in elevation.

I grew up in the Midwest, so the plains shouldn't surprise me so. But having visited many beautiful regions of the US and abroad, I find myself expecting more. A travel companion acknowledged that the sameness of the American Midwest has it's own enduring quality. True as that may be, I wonder if I will be able to accept that fact upon returning from a world of geographic and cultural diversity.

Amber waves of grape vines

2009-11-12T03:00:00.000-08:00

I did not realize that grape vine leaves turned brilliant golden colors in autumn. Each variety seems to be a slightly different hue. The brightly colored vines make the Céze valley even more beautiful. Viewed from the cliff behind our apartment, the patchwork of colorful fields is absolutely stunning. The above photo is taken viewing south. The Marcoule nuclear research facility is visible in the distance. Natural beauty even overcomes the man-made industrial site.

Summers here in the Gard are famously clear and dry. We've enjoyed many hikes and bike rides through the countryside. But, I have to say that the Fall is the prettiest time of year. Though we may have to contend with more rainy afternoons, the results are worth it. Most trees have become more brilliantly green with the extra rain, providing a great contrast to the golden vineyards in the valley below. Roxy and I have been taking daily walks to enjoy the sights while they last.

Going to Kansas City

2009-11-10T03:41:00.000-08:00

Actually, I was just there for the annual ASCE (civil engineering) conference. It's a nice "little" city in comparison to Chicago. About 2 million people live in greater Kansas City, and 'greater' is a big caveat. It is another one of those Midwest towns that saw several decades of flight from the downtown area. Even still, "locals" are hyper critical of the seedier areas of town. Those of use visiting from major metropolises were much less fearful of the so-called blight.

Activity appears to be returning to the city. The power and light district, which is really only one city block, provides a lot of night life. A series of bars and restaurants ring a central courtyard that includes an outdoor concert stage and is covered by a cool steel canopy. The ASCE younger members convened here every night of the conference for some "networking." However, again compared to Chicago's bar scene, I was surprised by the low turnout of locals to the great venues.

Patronage of the bars is probably hindered by the fact that most everyone still needs to drive several miles out of the city to their homes in the suburbs. I fell into that category myself, since I was staying with a colleague on the other side of the river in Kansas. It's a driver friendly city with lots of cheap parking and fast-moving highways. That hardly substitutes for a robust public transportation system and an army of cab drivers.

Even through the recession, the city appears to be making great strides in re-inventing itself. Our conference hotel was opposite the new convention center. The cable supported structure makes for quite the impact as it spans over one of the highways. An even more impressive architectural achievement is under construction in the form of a new opera house. It appears that a large glass curtain wall is intended to be suspended from massive steel arches that span over the seating bowl. Though, it's a little difficult to imagine the building as anything more than a mangled pile of steel truss work at this point.

Despite new construction and modern amenities, Kansas Citizens (don't know how they refer to themselves) are most proud of their barbeque sauce and fatty local specialties like cheesy-corn and cheesy-bacon-pretzels. Kansas City will satisfy your taste buds and your impression of what a midwestern town aught to look like.

Aiguèze

2009-11-10T03:10:00.000-08:00

The village of Aiguèze is perched high on the cliff adjacent to the Ardéche River. Over many millenniums the powerful force of erosion carved the French equivalent of the Grand Canyon. The river is now a tourist destination, perfect for canoeing through its moderate rapids. The imposing castle wall of Aiguéze looms above the paddlers as they approach the very end of their recreational journey. We may assume that medieval travelers down the river would have been less enthusiastic about the site, potentially the stronghold for a river tax collector.

Today the village is sustained on tourism and wine production on the gentle sloping plateau opposite the cliff. On the day we visited, we approached from the southern farm lands. It was a cool rainy day. Even so, we encountered a few other families touring the medieval highlights of the city.

The buildings are now well maintained, but over the centuries, most of the city walls were demolished. Only the tall church spire and two small castle towers project medieval strength. A nice ridge line path allows visitors to take in the sight of the ravine, and an outcropping at the west end of town provides a bit of an aerial view of the city and surroundings.

We noticed dozens of apartments for sale or rent in the city. Aiguèze would be a wonderful place to have a vacation home.

New Modern Wing, Art Institute of Chicago

2009-11-10T02:42:00.000-08:00

The new Modern Wing of the Art Institute of Chicago opened to much fanfare last year. Designed by renown architect Renzo Piano, the architecture features much of his famous style, including a "flying carpet" roof design.

Admittedly striking from the outside, if fully achieves its purpose within. The main hall is a welcoming grand space, perfect for evening receptions and midday rendezvous for separated families. The space sets the tone for the eclectic modern art housed within mostly on the second and third floors.

One of my favorite interior features are the suspended stairways. The floating impression is facilitated by slender cables hanging from the ceiling. It's a simple but elegant design. Having worked on many monumental stair designs, I'm always disappointed in other architects desire to do more complicated designs just for the sake of being unique.

However complex the actual design and construction process of the new modern wing, the simplicity of the final work is much appreciated. Setting up beautiful panoramas of Millenium Park and well lit spaces for the artwork, the architecture is as much a success for the views it provides as its own appearance.

Chartreuse de Valbonne

2009-11-09T00:23:00.000-08:00

I'm back in France following a three week tour through the US. My next few entries will alternate between recent experiences in France and some stories from my State-side visit.

The Chartreuse de Valbonne was founded by Benedictine monks in the 11th century. It was subsequently abandoned and re-settled several times until reaching its heyday as a monastery devoted to Saint Bruno. At that time, at least two dozen friars lived in private apartments. These were described as cells on the tour but were actually quite spacious and comfortable for the times. According to the customs of Saint Bruno, the brothers ate their meals standing up and slept in the fetal position. To lie fully extended on your back was to tempt death by assuming the position of your final rest.

Each of the cells was accessed from the grand cloister. Probably about 200 yards in length, it is perhaps the largest cloister in France. In addition to maintaining the large courtyard, the monks also tended to private gardens and cultivated the surrounding land. The chartreuse is fairly secluded withing the Valbonne forest, so most of their sustenance had to be home grown. They never ate meat, but occasionally caught fish from a nearby stream.

The large complex was built over the course of 800 years. Therefore the architectural styles are highly varied. The oratory appears renaissance Italian from the inside, with ornate marble stonework and elaborate wooden choir chairs. However, the outside looks more baroque, and the colorfully tiled roofs remind me of the cathedral in Vienna. The steep chapel spires also indicate a borrowed architecture, not common in this region of France.

Unfortunately, it was dark and rainy on the day we visited. Nevertheless, we risked a short walk through the surrounding vineyards to get a panoramic view of the complex. Set among the lush green forest and golden vines, the chartreuse is beautiful even on a dreary autumn day.

The slow train to insanity

2009-10-24T09:49:00.000-07:00

Your blog reading pleasure comes at the expense of my outrageously delayed train from Grand Rapids to Chicago. We are at least two hours behind schedule due to malfunctioning signals and track-switching equipment. This has extended the four hour ride into a 10 hour ordeal. The delay is seriously encroaching on all my plans for a productive day in Chicago. Aargh!

Who watches Judge Joe Brown?

2009-10-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

After living in France for three months, watching American television is a real treat, even the mid-day nonsense programming. I quickly found myself invested in the dispute of a man suing his girlfriend for damages to his car. Never mind that the BBC was digging deep into the ongoing Afghanistan election debacle, I was hooked on Judge Joe Brown. Later I did feel guilty.

Like fast food, these shows are engineered to hold your attention. They also seem to have an inordinate number of commercials. Of course these are usually preceded by some upcoming teaser. In that way, you view most of the show as a series of foreshadowed events.

The commercials are telling. Apparently the target demographic at this time of day is unemployed due either to lack of education or personal injury. Sam encourages you to call now if you have been the victim of medical malpractice. Inspiring student A implores you to go back to school; if they could do it, so can you. Community college and online education seems to be big enough business to devote quite a bit of advertising capitol to the midday commercial slate.

GRR Airport

2009-10-24T09:47:00.000-07:00

The second leg of my transcontinental US tour was Grand Rapids, MI. My plane touched down around 8:00 on Sunday night. We deplaned onto the tarmac but only had a short walk into the terminal. At that point, I was pleasantly surprised. I had expected a small concourse, but was greeted by a very familiar scene: rows of plastic chairs, a long walkway lined with golf-related business ads and a large crowd at the baggage claim.

Stepping outside the building, I was again impressed by the modern structure confronting me. A large curved canopy extended between the parking garage across the street to the terminal building. Even though a conventional joist roof might have done the job, a cool pipe truss design emphasize the idea of the modern airport. Of course, I took lots of pictures.

Desert Sustainability?

2009-10-24T09:46:00.000-07:00

From the top of Camel Back mountain near Scottsdale, AZ you can view an incredible panoramic of the greater Phoenix area. In the distance, tall mountains hem in the desert valley. The city sprawls out encroaching on these natural barriers.

Closer to the rock outcropping, multi-million dollar estates take their place on manicured golf courses. Some enterprising developers have even created desert oasis’s complete with palm trees and artificial lakes. The metro area thrives and continues to grow despite current economic conditions.

Is there something wrong with this scenario? Is man meant to live in the middle of a desert? Engineering prowess has enabled us to transport water for irrigation and human use long distances from highland reservoirs. Does the fact that we can do these things justify this desert existence?

This week my brother is moving into a new home in Mesa. This community extends further into previously uninhabited areas of the desert valley. Anticipating substantial growth, speculators have invested in thousands of new homes and an extensive infrastructure. Large boulevards now seem unnecessarily large in these days before the residents have arrived. Affordable home prices promise to entice inhabitants to the new community.

The homes are large. My brothers place feels like a Mcmansion in comparison to my modest condo in downtown Chicago. The kitchen and dining room alone equal the size of my entire place. Large windows provide beautiful views of an adjacent golf course and distant mountain ridges. I can only imagine what cooling costs must be for such a home. I also reflect on the fact that temperatures were still reaching 100 degrees in late October.

It does not seem responsible to build communities and homes modeled after those in temperate regions in the middle of the southern desert. People of all communities are entitled to comfortable and affordable housing, but we ought to make adjustments that permit a more harmonious relationship with the local environment.

A small class of artisans has set up such a model community in nearby Scottsdale, called Cosanti. The architecture, by Paolo Soleri, is almost reminiscent of the desert dwellers’ in Star Wars (whose scenes were actually filmed in the deserts of Tunisia). They subsist by selling artistic goods to visitors. To some extent outcasts, there is a religious-like belief in their sustainable way of life.

Similarly, a number of native American tribes live modest lives on several southwest reservations. Despite being situated on poor lands, dictated by unsatable homesteaders, the Indians make do with limited resources. Increasingly, even they try to take advantage of anglo-american largess by opening nearby casinos. Perhaps we could learn much if we spent less time tossing dice and more time learning about their culture.

So this is the paradox of Phoenix: it’s a beautiful desert oasis with all the comforts of home, but at the cost of an entire nation’s freedom and an increasing environmental cost. I cannot help but feel that the city’s growth is unsustainable.

Flight of the Phoenix

2009-10-17T07:31:00.000-07:00

Over the next three weeks, I will be back in the States attending multiple engineering conferences. My first destination was Phoenix to attend the National Council of Structural Engineering Associations annual conference. I'm on a committee about media relations and educational outreach. The conference was held well outside the city in a convention center in Fort McDowell.

My brother also lives in Scottsdale, so I was able to stay with him during the conference. It was great to see him again. Immediately before moving to France, I had attended his wedding in Phoenix.

One morning before my conference events, I went hiking up Camelback mountain - so named for the shape of the rocky profile from a distance. It is one of the steepest hiking ascents you'll find so near to civilization. With only a couple of hours to spend, I didn't even make it all the way up the 1.5 mile hike. Still, I was able to snap some panoramic views of the city.

la Cathedral d'Images

2009-10-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

The rocky hills around les Baux de Provence have long inspired visitors to the medieval city. It's rumored that Dante's description of hell was based on the apparent cascades of jagged rocky outcroppings. Others found an immaculate strain of mineral resources in the hills. Bauxite, a principle ingredient in aluminum, is so named because of its discovery near les Baux. Some entrepreneurs were content to exploit the pure white limestone itself.

The monolithic limestone quarries are themselves inspirational architectural spaces. Massive passageways and expansive "rooms" are reminiscent of monumental Egyptian burial sites. Further considering the bright white limestone walls, reminiscent of so many churches, the mining sites are best described as cathedrals.

Within one such abandoned quarry, an artistic installation of picture and sound is on display. This year they are featuring the works of Pablo Picasso. When reading about the exhibition, I had expected something like a typical art museum - a series of still photos and solemn observers. The cathedral d'images provides a much different experience. Instead of static displays, the images constantly scroll through the vast walls of the quarry. Children dance on images projected onto the floor to dramatic tunes. The musical selection is diverse, juxtaposing the bull fighting anthems from Carmen with the serious theme from the Godfather. And yet, each selection fits the mood of the images appearing all around.

les Baux de Provence

2009-10-12T06:25:00.000-07:00

Legend has it that Balthazar, one of the magi that followed the star of Bethlehem, later retired to the South of France and established the community now known as les Baux de Provence. The Provencal people seem to have a knack for inserting themselves into biblical relevance. Anothe rexample is the story of les Maries de la Mer, which now famously sets the premise for Dan Brown's DaVinci Code.

Though the story of the city's founding is historically dubious, there is a legendary quality to the ruined fortress perched at the top of an imposing hill. Throughout the middle ages, les Baux de Provence exemplified the era. Devious castellas sometimes inhabited the fortress, using their might to extort the local populace. The walls were fortified to thwart marauding moors. At least twice, the castle was besieged by rival factions. Knights and troubadours promulgated the myth of chivalry and honor within the walls of the keep.

Today, the castle grounds are a sprawling museum for learning about the myths and truths of the middle ages. Little remains of the actual castle walls, having been ordered destroyed during the wars of religion. However, the installation of several replica siege machines and a thorough audio tour bring the hilltop fortress to life.

It seems that life in Les Baux was closely tied to rocky outcropping into which it was constructed. Many walls of the castle were simply carved out of the rock. Many peasants even made troglodyte homes within the soft stone. These rock walls survive where the man-made ramparts have fallen. As a result, it's interesting to note the ridges and corbels chiseled into the rock to receive wooden beams or act as washing basins. The local people even relied on the rock walls to receive water. Gutters were carved into the rock to channel water into cisterns.

Medieval life was hard on the peasantry, but court life would have lacked many of the creature comforts that we cherish today as well. The keep of the castle is a small square shaft with limited lighting and only minimal opportunity for fireplace heating. Loyalty was also hot and cold. A duke hoping to replenish the ranks of his warriors with a mercenary knight or desiring some entertainment from a troubadour might well find his wife swept away into a courtly love affair by these supposed compatriots.

Today, you're more likely to lose your wife among the maze of specialty shops in the small village. There is no permanent city to speak of, it's entire existence is based on a reputation as one of the most beautiful villages in France - and this is true.

View more photos of les Baux de Provence on my Flickr page.

Rosés are only slightly red

2009-10-12T05:44:00.000-07:00

The festival in Chusclan draws wine devotees from around France. Châteauneuf du Pape exports one of the most famous labels of red wine. But for a truly unique local wine, you must visit the sister cities of Lirac and Tavel, home of rosé wine preferred by kings.

Both villages have their own unique Appellation d'Origine Controlée. However, Tavel only produces rosé wines. It's said that Louis XIV and Philip IV traveled through the region and enjoyed the wine. According to legend, the latter declared Tavel's brand of rosé the only good wine in the world.

Like most Côtes du Rhône wines, grenache, syrah and mourvedre grapes are predominately used. But whereas many rosés are simply made by blending red and white wines, that process is strictly forbidden by French A.O.Cs. Instead, the grape skins are allowed to ferment with the wine for a short period of time. In Tavel, an extra step is added to the process allowing for a more powerful flavor from the wine.

The best thing about this local variety of Rosé: you don't need to wait for a long fermentation period in the cellar.

Chateauneuf du Pape

2009-10-12T04:22:00.000-07:00

Though Chusclan might have a local reputation for producing quality Côte du Rhône A.O.C. wines, it is by no means as internationally renown as Châteauneuf du Pape. This small wine-obsessed village is located just a few miles outside of Avignon, home to the Popes through much of the 13th century. During their reign, wine production benefited from their Papal influence. The latest techniques were applied and the vine stock greatly improved. The modern success of Châteauneuf de Pape is still linked to Avignon and the reputation that is spread by the numerous international visitors that visit the famous walled city.

Our trip to Châteauneuf du Pape was less based on touristic interests than our own appetite for good wine. We had asked some friends to check out our local wine super-store in Chicago to see if any of the local cooperatives were represented. Only one variety was widely available: the rouge of Châteauneuf du Pape. Though white and rosé wines are also produced, the region northeast of Avignon is most well-known for its deeply colored red wine.

Upon arriving in the small village, we proceeded to the office of tourism for some help in finding wine tasting venues. A light-up board provided our answer: go in any direction. The city is littered with mini-caves (pronounced in a Mayor Quimby way, as in cod) for tastings. We set a rule to avoid those with neon signs and flashing lights.

Our first stop was already being patronized by two east-coast Americans. They intimated that their wine selection was worth the hype. We tried a few rouge samples and settled on an aged bottle that agreed with our palate. The price was 27€, previously unheard-of in our wine tasting adventures. The best quality wine in Chusclan is less than half the price. Nevertheless, we were committed.

We continued up in the direction of the castle ruins at the top of the hill. On the way, we passed an unassuming cave in a cave-like cellar: Cave due Veger. Walking through the dimly lit passages, we encountered a large group of North Americans, well into a multi-flight tasting. We were encouraged to join in. The French wine-master began a quick recap of the tasting, beginning with some light white wines. He implored us to use our imaginations to pick out the various scents and flavors in the selections. In one case, he told the story of a child describing the smell of one wine as honey-nut Cheerios. The kid was exactly right.

We were scolded repeatedly for taking wimpy whiffs and holding the glass improperly. Never touch the bulb, it warms the wine and leaves ugly smudges during a meal.

To approximate the aged taste of the wine, he explained how to slurp the wine - like whistling backwards. Be careful, though, too much gusto and you'll look decidedly uncool coughing up your sample. Done right, we learned to feel the taste from the front of our mouth to the back of our jaw. Fruits up front, tobacco-like sensations in the back. A good classic French wine, we were told, should taste like the leather from an old set of worn farm boots deep in your palate. Fruity wines are for women.

All the while, the others in our tasting company peppered our host with food pairing questions. A gentleman from Atlanta wanted to know what would go best with grilled dates wrapped in goat cheese. Not to be outdone, the women from Ontario suggested some traditional Canadian fare. As casual observers this played out hilariously as we could read the wine experts impatience with such neophytes. Suspecting that the group on a privately run excursion would pay handsomely for his wares, he played along.

The final test came when we were presented with a fruity desert wine - like an ice wine, but not produced according to those rules. We were challenged to come up with six different fruits and and one flower. Mary Ann and I successfully guessed none of them, though our generic guess of citrus did in fact describe the most prominent taste of a ruby-red grapefruit. Who cares what was in the wine, it tasted good. We left with another $30 bottle of wine from Châteauneuf du Papes.

Celebrating Wine (day 2)

2009-10-12T02:05:00.000-07:00

Our antique car disaster was not enough to keep us from day two of the biggest party of the year - in Chusclan. Again, our landlords insisted that we arrive in town early to see all the dancing and singing and Provencal merry-making. To our surprise, Chusclan was even busier than the day before. And even more people were wearing their old-time costumes. We had elected to go as typical tourists... in case we were stranded somewhere again.

Our first stop was at the accueil (welcome) table to buy our wine tasting glasses. For just 3.50€ we could enjoy unlimited degustation (tasting). The best, and classiest, part of the tradition is that the glasses are mounted on strings so you can wear it around your neck all day. That way you never lose any time between rounds searching for your glass.

Madame Bérard again showed us around town, making a point of directing us to the very best wine tasting stands. I think we visited the Champaign stand three times. In all there were about a half dozen different wine cooperatives represented around town. Of course we had to try them all. Now with three months of wine tasting experience, we really felt like pros swirling, slurping and making funny faces. As expected, the local wine was the best - I mean, why would you invite someone with better goods to your wine party?

All day, local residents played the part of peasants from the 1800s. I was most impressed by the guys shoeing the horses. I was a little surprised that the horses were so accommodating, allowing the smith to manhandle is massive hooves. Nearby, a faux-nun pretended to scold school children, women washed the same white linens for hours and an accordion player flipped through this collection of classic tunes.

Meanwhile a drum and whistle band was supplying the music for a troupe of dancers. Professional might have been too strong a word to describe both groups, but they certainly held the tourists' attention. The most impressive dance was performed around a pole with colored streamers flowing from the top. Each dancer grabbed a streamer and followed joined in dancing around the pole. The choreographed movements resulted in a colorful braiding - pole dancing a la 1830.

Around 3:00 the mayor announced the grape harvest. The costumed residents look their places in a parade of donkeys and dancers and processed out of town and to the nearest vineyard. The mob of tourists followed. Reaching the end of the field, the mob disbursed among the vines and began collecting grapes. Large wooden barrels were filled and mounted on the mules. The procession then returned to town to celebrate the pressing of the grapes.

Unfortunately, this local celebration did not include an grape stomping. However, the freshly squeezed grape juice was collected in a large cask and served to the brave. It actually tasted pretty good - very sweet, not much different than your highly processed supermarket variety.

See more photos of the Chusclan Vendanges de L'Histoire on my Flickr page.

Celebrating Chusclanaise History (day 1)

2009-10-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

This weekend was the 11th annual Vendanges de l'Histoire in Chusclan. The autumn festival celebrates the local traditional culture associated with grape faming and provides a really good excuse to drink lots of the products of that labor. Many of the event's attractions reminded me of home: the old tractors, a petting zoo and antique cars on parade.

Our landlords were pretty committed to ensuring that we received the complete Chusclanaise experience. They reserved diner for us on both days of the party and hooked us up with a classic car ride. But most importantly, madame provided Mary Ann with an authentic provencal costume. True to the local flair, the outfit included a lavender skirt, shawl, apron and bonnet. I attempted to join in the spirit of the peasantry by wearing a knit shirt and a straw hat. I'm sure we made quite the couple.

We joined the festivities shortly before lunch. It was incredible to see so many people in the small town. For a moment we couldn't figure out how so many shops and wine tasting places managed to open over night. Then Mary Ann realized that these merchants had just set up shop in people's garages. Apparently, the city itself joined in the costuming craze.

Finally meeting up with our landlords in the place de la Mairie (city hall), we decided to enjoy an apertif and then take an early lunch (12:30). A makeshift guinguette was constructed in the public boules courts, where they were serving heaping portions of paella. This traditionally Spanish dish included a menagerie of meats and seafood mixed into spiced rice. As usual, it was better not to ask what you were eating, but just enjoy all the flavors. The second course was a plate of two giant slices of cheese. Together, Mary Ann and I finished about half of one serving. A meal, of course, would not be complete without desert (some type of apple tart) and coffee.

Completely stuffed, we waddled over to the antique cars that would be taking us on a 1 1/2 hour tour of the countryside. André had chosen for himself a 1971 French muscle car. It was unique in that the rear two tires would set at an angle to improve handling performance. As they fired up the engines, it certainly sounded like a fast sports car. Madame, Mary Ann and I, on the other hand, were seated in a 1937 Peugeot with a top speed of about 35 km/hr. We were counting on a more scenic trip.

We proceeded along the route that we typically take when going to points North. It's my favorite road in France because of the tight turns and minimal traffic. Not yet featuring any automated radar speed traps, it's a great place to channel your inner formula one driver. However, it was nice to travel at slower speeds, as I had the chance to see for the first time a chateau on the opposite bank of the Rhône. Our path took us through Pont St. Esprit and then west along a rural road that was completely new to me.

And that's when Madame Bérard told the driver that it felt like her shoes were melting from the heat emanating from the car. A few moments later, the engine began sputtering, and then we were stalled. The situation wasn't make very clear by the driver, but we soon realized that the vehicle had overheated. We were stranded. Fortunately, another of the antique drivers and his passengers were kind enough to wait with us, while the car was being worked on.

It turns out that some part of the engine had actually melted - something to do with a spool or a coil. Engine mechanics is not my specialty, but I think it had something to do with the electrical system. The driver tried repeatedly to get the engine to turn over, after making a series of small adjustments. Finally, he gave up and phoned a friend to bring over the necessary parts.

Now, keep in mind that we were all dressed in traditional garb. This is not normal attire, even for the French. We received quite a few odd glances from passersby. Realizing that we were American's someone pointed out that this wasn't a very good advertisement for French engineering. I was thinking, "if this was typical of 1930s French machinery, then it helps explain the success of the German blitzkrieg."

Meanwhile, André had returned to Chusclan in his sports car and realized that we were well behind schedule. He and the driver turned around and backtracked to our location. All the while, we waited. When our driver finally heard from his friend, it was to say that there had been some problem getting to our location. We waited some more. André arrived in his blue sports car, but with only two seats, we were still out of luck.

Needless to say, when the mystery part finally arrived, it didn't work. We ended up retracing our path back to Chusclan in a ten year old Citroen sedan - not exactly high style. How reliable is a 75-year old car? I wonder how reliable it ever was. I suppose that we had the most authentic experience, but I'll be content from now on to travel in modern comfort.

Running of the Bulls

2009-10-07T08:15:00.000-07:00

Pamplona isn't the only place where you can take part in the running of the bulls. The Camargue has it's own tradition of bull running. We were lucky to catch a glimpse at le Grau de Roi.

While the camarguaise bulls are slightly smaller than your average breed, I still wouldn't want to be in it's path going full speed for any amount of time. Apparently, French teens do not share that sense of self preservation. Instead, I've learned that your goal should be to stand in the way as long as possible.

Now I suppose that they're given some measure of confidence by the presence of the Gardienne, Camargue cowboys. A top their horses and armed with long spear-ended poles, they attempt to guide the bull down the street. So the fearless spectators must also avoid being trampled by the large quarter horses.

Still seems pretty safe, right? Well, if you're lucky, the gardienne will try to head off the taureau so that it must come to a stop. That's your signal to run into the street grab onto the half tonne bull and attempt to wrestle it to the ground. It usually helps to get about a half dozen pre-teens to jump into the fray, and do not forget the one hopeless soul who will grab the tail to slow ithe bull down. Don't worry, they almost always put a cap on the horns to prevent gorging.

Course Camarguaise

2009-10-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

A trip to the Camargue would not be complete without an evening in the arena viewing the course camarguaise. This local type of bull-fight pits man against beast in an athletic show of speed and agility. The bull is the protagonist. Taureaus are rated throughout the season based on their performances. Based on this ranking, they receive WWF-like billing when they enter the ring. Unlike in the Spanish Corrida, the Camarguaise bulls are not harmed during the course. The band of a dozen or so tourneur, on the other hand, are applauded most vigorously when on the receiving end of the bull's charge.

The primary objective of the game is to remove from the taureaus one of three object attached dangerously to their body. The ficelle strings tied around the bull horns are the most difficult to remove. Tourneurs must make strafing runs past the taureau attempting to cut loose the ficelle with a special claw-like device. When working as a team, they are most successful when running from either side of the cow in rapid succession.

However, the taureaus are smart and always unpredictable. The bull-fighters frequently must jump out of the ring to safety. Because of the height of the ring-side boards, a small step is provided about a foot off the ground. The form of the dive seems awkward and is only successful if the tourneur is able to catch the metal railing along the first row of spectators. Amateur bull-fighters are probably at greater risk to injury attempting this "jump for safety" than inside the ring with the bull.

We happened to attend one of the season finales. This meant that only the best taureaus were in action and the stakes were highest. As the course progresses, the men are offered increasing payouts for successfully removing the ficelle. The announcer rattles off a string of dollar amounts provided by sponsors. This auctioneer-like rattle is incredibly annoying and is only disrupted on the occasion of some near catastrophe in the ring. I would have preferred some ring-side advertising and the soundtrack from Carmen.

In the end one the taurneur was named league champion and the bulls were free to return to their grazing until next season.

Les Salins de Camargue

2009-10-07T03:18:00.000-07:00

It's said that the Roman engineer Peccius was the first to organize the salt production efforts in the Camargue. The natural salt marshes and higher-than-normal natural salt content make the region an obvious place to harvest sea salt. In Aigues-Mortes, 500,000 tons of salt are distributed annually. While some of the process occurs naturally, capturing the quantities of salt demanded by market requires an engineered process.

First the salt is collected into vast evaporation pools. More than 45 million cubic meters of sea water must be pumped during the month of march. Throughout the spring, the evaporation process increases the concentration of salt 9-fold to 260 grams per liter. By mid-summer a thick cake begins to form on the surface of the water. The concentrated brine can grow to 20 cm thick, 9 cm of which is harvested as sea salt. The top of the cake takes on a bright red hue due to the presence of a special kind of algae which turns brighter as the salt concentration increases. Some of the algae and waste sediment can be collected and used as fertilizer, while lower quality salt is sold for road de-icing.

In September, the salt is harvested. Quality control measures ensure that the product is 99.5% pure sodium-chloride. Some salt is shipped on flat bottom barges along the shallow canals to the port, while another portion is loaded onto rail cars and sent in land. Several special bridges and conveyor systems are placed in service specifically for the once-a-year collection.

Three major brands are harvested in the Camargue, including Le Saunier de Camargue and La Baleine. Ironically, they are all owned by the same parent company. Many of these brands are widely available in the US.

Having harvested salt from these marshes for over a thousand years, the Camargue salt farmers have struck a symbiotic balance with nature. While many industrial processes pose a threat to the local ecosystem, salt farming in the Aigue-Mortes salt marsh has actually demanded preservation of the indigenous wetlands. Of course, the salt companies probably exaggerate the extent of this success. Nevertheless, it is a model living sustainably with nature.

Port Camargue

2009-10-07T03:00:00.000-07:00

Can you name the largest recreational port in France? Nice? Nope. Marseillies? Maybe not. The title goes to Port Camargue. Maybe only 30,000 Frechmen know the answer, but by docking their boats in the creatively engineered harbor, they set the record.

The port is located just outside le-Grau-de-roi. While the city may have historic roots tracing back to Roman times, the Port Camargue is decidedly modern. From above, the marina layout is similar to the pronged islands being built in Dubai. The land has been sculpted to maximize the amount of water-side property and boat anchorage. For those not quite wealthy enough to park their boat within feet of their vacation home, dozens of jetties are available for docking at only mostly exorbitant prices.

We had an excellent view of the harbor from our hotel, Spinaker. It was located amid several docks. It would be a great place to stay, if you had just sailed into town. Morning walks with Roxy were quite a bit more enjoyable while checking out all of the sailboats and yachts. My favorite are the catamarans. Maybe someday I'll be able to dock my own in Port Camargue.

Le Grau de Roi

2009-10-07T02:18:00.000-07:00

On his way out to sea from Aigues Mortes, Saint Louis would have first had to navigate a narrow inland channel, called a grau. Along the way, his view would probably have been similar to the one that modern visitors enjoy. Riverside reeds provide a habitat for feeding flamingos. Camargue bulls graze on dry plains between the marshes. Farmers store their sea-salt harvest in tall mounds. With the exception of some sprawling harbor communities near the city, local managers have done a good job of preserving the unique natural habitat.

Finally the waterway, cuts through le Grau de Roi, so named in honor of Saint Louis’ first passage, and spills into the Mediterranean. Today, the city is a major tourist destination. The canal through town is lined with restaurants, offering the day’s freshest catch. Further inland, the city streets provide a menagerie of traditional tourist trinkets and apparel. The rows of Slushie machines reminded me of Bourbon street.

An expansive sandy beach stretches for miles along the coast. However, except for the ocean channels dug to allow the fishing fleet to exit to the sea, the water level is low. At low tide, it’s possible to walk all the way out to the breakwaters, several hundred meters out from the boardwalk. Developers have seized on the opportunity to build along the beach and erected all sorts of odd pyramid and wave-form shaped time-share buildings.

Fortunately, we visited on an off-season weekend. This allowed us to stay in an excellent high-end hotel (3 Logis lamps!). But, most importantly, it meant that the traffic and crowds were manageable. Given the vast numbers of condos, I could not imagine visiting in season.

Aigues Mortes

2009-09-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

Before embarking on his famous but ultimately futile crusades, Saint Louis (King of France) realized that his nation didn't have a suitable Mediterranean port. The spot he chose for his new naval fortress was located in the salt marshes of the Camargue. This region was largely considered uninhabitable at the time. Cholera and pestilence were spread by mosquitoes bred in the still waters. The locals called it Aigues Mortes, meaning dead water.

Unswayed by difficulties in encouraging workers, settlers and soldiers to relocate to the region, he pressed on and re-construction of the town was completed around 1248. The fortress city was expanded by later French Kings.

Only the Constance Tower remains of Louis' original fortifications. Its thick walls are considered impregnable, perfect for a prison. Following revocation of the Treaty of Nantes, which had granted Calvinists some freedoms in Catholic France, Aigues Mortes' walls were used to imprison the protestants. The tower of Constance was duly named after a female inmate who spent 38 years in captivity.

Over time, the shifting alluvial basin of the Rhone rendered the port of Aigues Mortes unnavigable to ocean-going vessels. This, in effect, served to preserve the medieval city. Its now regarded as one of the most complete medieval naval fortresses in Europe. As such, its a huge tourist draw. The crusader armies have been replaced by legions of retirees. Instead of riding horses through the city streets, tourists can board the senior train for a guided tour in five languages.

Despite its dangerous past and touristy present, Aigues Mortes is a unique and enjoyable city. After wandering around the ramparts, it's best enjoyed with a crêpe and café in the central square right in front of the statue of Saint Louis.

Harvest Time

2009-09-25T00:49:00.000-07:00

The grape harvest started a few weeks ago. It was earlier than normal this year due to the odd weather conditions. We learned that spring was quite wet, but the summer months were dryer than normal. I assume that this is going to lower the yield on this years' crop. Expect your 2009 vintage Côte du Rhône wines to be more expensive, due to scarcity.

Nevertheless, the harvest continues. It doesn't just happen over a long weekend. Despite the introduction of mechanized harvesting machines, it takes time to pick all of the fields. Apparently, the new equipment is only a few decades old and just recently perfected. I cannot fathom how long it must have taken to harvest the grapes by hand. They must have needed thousands of laborers. Seems a little anti-socialist to remove so many jobs, doesn't it (see, the French are just like the Americans. No one wants to do the dirty work, and they don't like their immigrant workers either :(

The grape picking machines can hold about two tons before having to unload. The wagons are then pulled by tractor to the local cave-cooperative. At the cave, the grape varieties are stored in separate bins and then processed automatically. No grape stomping here either. Wine production is big business, and the technology applied is equivalent to the factory farms back home.

When you visit a local cave for a wine-tasting, you might have the opportunity to peek back into the work room. Don't expect to see the mashers sitting on the floor though. Much of the process actually takes place in the basement, allowing for easier delivery from the grape haulers.

The Appellation Contrôlée claims to monitor the growing and processing of the grapes for strict adherence to the tradition of making wine in the region. I wonder how seriously that can be taken given the noticeable recent advances in technology. In any case, the taste of the wine is not diminished by the robotic touch. The popularity of wine is as high as ever.

Customer Service Complaint #999

2009-09-23T06:29:00.000-07:00

Europcar, you're up this time in the never-ending carousel of incompetent customer service providers. I'm willing to overlook the two hour wait for my vehicle in Paris because the busiest airport in the world was only staffed by one lone worker who had to retype every personal data field separately into three computerized forms. I might even let the 30€ diesel fuel vehicle surcharge on gasoline engine pass.

But, do not think for a moment that you are going to sneak by a 600€ up-charge for extending my contract. Why would I ever pay 50% more than the basic online rate for the privilege of driving a Ford Fiesta? The daily rate that I was told at the counter was substantially lower than the rate I was billed over one month later. Oh, yeah; and I will not pay the extra VAT on a contract that clearly stated online that it was included.

You're sneaky SOBs. It's clever how you discretely tossed by original contract when I had the vehicle renewed. It was also clever that you billed two different credit cards. Fortunately, I've got the time and the desire to get my money back!

Country Day

2009-09-23T06:05:00.001-07:00

Classic muscle cars, Harleys, chocolate chip cookies, straw hats and line dancing: it's Country day in Chusclan. Although the village is located in rural France, the term country is obviously means a celebration of American country life. I'd say they pretty much nailed the experience too. The only things missing were some confederate flags, a reproduction of the General Lee, and a dozen or so beer-bellied men with coozies.

Don't be fooled by France's stubborn insistence that there never were any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, they admire America culture. I could not image my home town having a France day complete with crêpes, accordion music, and classic Renaults.

Despite iffy weather, a lot of visitors, including the local French branch of the Hell's Angels, drove into Chusclan. The presence of too many motorcycles so disturbed the planning committee, that they had signs directing where to park every dozen yards. Rules breakers to the end, only a handful of motos were actually parked in the proper location.

We didn't stick around for many of the festivities. An authentic chocolate brownie more than met our appetite for American nostalgi.

Health Care for Dogs

2009-09-22T04:39:00.000-07:00

If only human medicine could be administered as efficiently...

We've been to the vet in Bagnols-sur-Cèze twice now. Roxy is thoroughly enjoying being an indoor/outdoor pet new that we have a large yard for her to lay in. First, we thought she picked up a fungus, which turned out to be nothing; then she got a tic. Apparently, these insects burrow under the skin, creating a cyst, and feed off the hosts blood.

Fortunately, every day after 5:00, the local vet has open visitations without an appointment. The cost of the visit is only about $35, without insurance - yes, this is also an option in France. So while everyone but Roxy would prefer to make fewer trips to the vet, at least it's not costing us an arm and a leg.

Lussan

2009-09-22T04:07:00.000-07:00

Heading west from Bagnols-sur-Cèze and the Rhône river valley, the landscape gradually changes. Further to the west the Cévennes mountains dominate the region. On the way, small villages, like Lussan, can be found perched on small hills overlooking an arid countryside.

In many respects, the town of Lussan is like any other small village of the Gard department. It attracts a few more visitors due to its picturesque perch and proximity to Les Concluses. However, in the off-season, it reverts to a lazy town, and the many restaurants reduce their hours. On our visit, only the town hall and one crêperie were open.

However, rumor has it that the Gendarmerie, the French national police force, recently discovered a cell of Basque separatists hiding out in the community. Big news indeed for a small town.

Les Concluses

2009-09-21T05:50:00.000-07:00

The power of water to cut through solid rock is pretty impressive. This process, however, can take hundreds of years and can leave uneven results. Sometimes the rivers rush through narrow gorges and other times they meander around gently sloping valleys. The geologic age of the river and the type of rock have a lot to do with the results.

A few kilometers northeast of Lussan (in the Gard region of France), the Aiguillon river has unevenly cut a path through the soft limestone. This river completely dries up in the summer, making it possible to hike along the river bed and stand in the rocky shelters created by the river's swirling pools. The many large bowl-shaped indentations in the rock create an interesting hiking experience.

We descended along a trail for about 2 kilometers down to the river bed. Two short planks pass as a bridge to cross the "river." Roxy joined us on the hike. She loved exploring the rocky basin, as we listened to our echoes and searched for hidden caves among the concluses.

On the opposite side of the river, trails promise more interesting destinations. However, this requires a steep ascent over boulders and around steep cliffs. The standing rock at the end of the trail was hardly worth the extra effort. Nevertheless, it was fun watching everyone scramble over the rocks in the path.

Grotte Madeleine

2009-09-21T05:16:00.000-07:00

Something about human nature makes us terrible stewards of the environment.

The Grotte Madeleine would have been an incredible sight when it was first discovered by a shepherd. The light of his lantern would have revealed an spectacular cascade of sparkling concretions, drapery-like crystalline formations that were formed over thousands of years like their stalactite and stalagmite cousins. Streaks of different natural hues were made possible by the minerals naturally occurring in the stone.

Unfortunately, the cave has become a victim of it's own beauty. Today, preservationists do their best to protect the fragile underground environment, but the visitors take their toll. While descending through the cave, it's obvious that some earlier visitors walked away with natural souvenirs. The tips of many concretions are noticeably missing. Even modern visitors leave traces that damage the cave. Hot air expelled while climbing back up the steep stairs creates an environment for algae and bacteria to grow on the walls. Later, these infiltrators must be power washed off the fragile walls.

Unlike the more spectacular Aven d'Orgnac, the Madeleine cave has not yet found a means of balancing human visits with preserving the natural wonder. Although this cave is more accessible, located on the main route through the Gorge de l'Ardèche, it's less impressive. If you've visited a major cave before, I recommend skipping this tourist destination.

Canoeing le Gorge de l'Ardèche

2009-09-18T01:23:00.000-07:00

Though online accounts conflict, consensus on the origin of the word canoe is that it is derived from the native peoples that Columbus encountered on his first voyage to the new world. The present spelling of the word comes from the French canoë. We drop the trema in English.

I was always impressed by the stories of the early American explorers canoeing down long uncharted waterways just to see where they lead. The French explorers in particular seem to have been adept at using this native form of transportation. This shouldn't come as a surprise given its many perfect rivers for canoeing.

There are at least three waterways within an hour of our house that provide a spectacular canoeing experience: le Gardon, passing below the Pont du Gard; the Cèze; and the Ardèche, cutting through a magnificent gorge and underneath l'Pont d'Arc. I finally had a chance to paddle the latter with my friends Mark and Darcie. Although the entire course offers an 8-hour adventure, we settled on the two hour teaser.

Dozens of outfitters manage canoe trips departing from the city of Vallon Pont d'Arc. It's impossible to know which offers the best deal because no prices are prominently posted. We settled for a company offering purple boats, signed the contract and hopped on a bus down to the launch site. Based on my extensive concrete canoeing experience, I declined the 30 seconds of paddling instructions. These proved to be less than comprehensive to Mark and Darcie who were making their first canoe trip since grade school.

Fortunately, the water level was at it's lowest point of the year, so the river ran slowly and the rapids were mild. Unfortunately, this meant that we constantly had to struggle to dislodge ourselves from the shallow rocks. I also had to learn how to keep my boat facing forward as the current through the rapids frequently turned me around. The solution: paddle like hell through the fast currents. Mark and Darcie also eventually figured out their steering problems. By the end of the short journey, it was smooth sailing.

We stopped to eat lunch within sight of the Pont d'Arc, a natural rock bridge spanning over the river. Hundreds of other people also stopped here to enjoy the sight, rest on the sandy beach and swim in the refreshing river.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

2009-09-17T04:00:00.000-07:00

St. Tropez is located on a rustic peninsula along the French Riviera. When planning the day trip along the coast, we expected to jump on the freeway and reach the small vacation town in under an hour. We had no idea that the coastal mountain range would make this destination of the rich and famous so difficult to get to. Our drive took over 2 1/2 hours, a good half hour of which was spent waiting in traffic along the only road that leads into St. Tropez. We later read in a tour guide that the best way to reach St. Tropez is by Yacht.

I could not imagine a starlet or foreign prince waiting in market day traffic or touring endlessly through back streets looking for a parking spot. Never mind the size and view from George Michael's sea-side mansion, I want to know how he avoids the local hassle.

The lifestyles of the rich and famous were made a bit clearer from the deck of a sight-seeking boat ride around the St. Tropez peninsula. Although the tour guide was committed to pointing out all the famous villas in an incoherent accent, the more impressive view was the mega-yachts moored outside the harbor. Amid the Sapphire blue waters of the Mediterranean, there's little motivation to return to the hectic land - better for your butler to do that.

We were actually surprised to see so many boats docked in the harbor on a beautiful weekend. I suppose the large colorful market was enough to draw the nouveau riche port side. We only purchased a few things to eat, preferring the less classy but more affordable wares of the market in Bagnols-sur-Cèze.

Before the long adventure back over the coastal mountains, we decided to check out the famous St. Tropez beaches. Pulling up the long drive to one parking area (for which there is a fee, of course) I thought I saw a battleship in the sea. It turns out to have just been a ridiculously large private yacht painted gun-mental gray. The beach had a course white sand - quite the luxury on the typically rocky Riviera. There were quite a few beach side bars, including one that was hosting a wedding reception. Venture too far down the shore, however, and you'll find yourself on a nude beach. Not a happy site.

Despite all the hype about St. Tropez and the famous people that frequent it's beaches, it's possible to have a much more relaxing and enjoyable Mediterranean experience in the less well known town of St-Cyr-sur-Mer.

Beach Vacation for the Common Man

2009-09-17T01:55:00.001-07:00

On our first pass through the traffic circle we drove right past the hotel gate. By the time we realized the mistake, we were a quarter mile up the road on staring out at the beautiful beaches of Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer and La Ciotat. We hurried back down the sea-side hill, turned into the hotel's parking lot, unpacked in our rooms, and threw open the shutters. The sounds of crashing waves and the scent of the salty sea filled the rooms. Our first floor, beach view rooms were everything that was advertised. Now this is how to enjoy the Côte d'Azur.

Advice to travelers in France: if you're looking for a guaranteed pleasant hotel stay, look for the Logis endorsement. This independent rating services has not yet let us down. The Hôtel au Tapisde Sable was exactly the Mediterranean getaway that we were looking for - and only at the price of a two-star hotel.

Each morning a class of children learning to surf first took to the sea. It was pretty comical, though I doubt my skills would have been any better. Later, the more daring wind-surfers would take advantage of the morning winds. But by the time we had slept in and found pastries for breakfast, the climate was perfect for relaxing in the sun. The sea-breeze and the view from the private sunning deck at our hotel was perfect.

Relaxing isn't really my thing, so I bought a set to play paddle-ball. The concept is simple, just hit the ball back and forth trying to keep the rally going as long as possible - easier said than done. Mary and Mary Ann took turns playing with me. We tried to find the perfect surface; first, the dry sand didn't work so well; then the wet sand; and finally, out into the knee-high surf, perfect for ill-advised dives. The game seemed innocent enough, until I awoke the next day with a severe full-body muscle ache and a ridiculous sun-burn.

At night we walked along the beach promenade to find a restaurant. Seafood is, of course, the specialty. Our maitre'd on one night reminded Mark and I of the scuba instructor in "Along Came Polly" - without doubt the funniest character in that movie. He was nice enough to make a special dish for our vegan friend Darcie.

The Impenetrable Fortress of Carcassonne

2009-09-16T01:38:00.000-07:00

Located near the southwest boarder of France, Carcassonne was once an important strategic city for the Kingdom of France. The Romans first recognized the potential for the fortress at the intersection of a pass through the Pyrenees mountains and the Aude River. Around 100 BC the first Gallo-Roman fortifications were installed. Driven by various forces, including at one point the fear of internal rebellion, Carcassonne's fortifications were progressively upgraded until the city was considered impregnable.

However, by the time that Napoleon came to power warfare technology had passed Carcassonne by and the walls were ordered to be demolished. This disturbed the locals who were extremely proud of their heritage. Instead, they hired Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, an architect renown for medieval restoration, to return the city to its former splendor. The work took decades of research, and modern historians concede that Viollet-le-Duc sometimes missed the mark. The cone-shaped roofs on the towers, for example, would not have been typical in the southern climate where snows are rare and light. The result of these efforts provide one of the most authentic medieval experiences in Europe.

My sister and I had a blast wandering the ramparts, pretending to be knights and archers in defense of the city. Carcassonne has every element that you imagine in a medieval fortress: moats with drawbridges, high towers, a secure keep, and crenelated walls. I was also surprised to learn that large wooden platforms were built on the tops of some walls to provide more room and protection for archers and men operating the siege defenses, including cauldrons of boiling hot water.

Though it was admittedly fun to play the part of the crusaders, there are dark chapters in the city's history, frequently written by those soldiers said to be acting on God's behalf. In the early 13th century a crusade was called for in southern France and Catelonia. A religious sect known as the Cathars grew large enough to trouble the Catholic church. In the ensuing conflict, the tall walls of Carcassonne were not sufficient to protect the Cathars indefinitely. In a short time the Albigensian Crusades had completely eradicated the non-believers.

Storming a Castle

2009-09-15T05:41:00.000-07:00

I just can't help myself. If I see a castle, I simply must find some way up to the gates, frequently to the chagrin of my companions. Not 30 minutes after telling my sister that we wouldn't be doing any hiking, I had us on the path to the fortress overlooking St-Victor-la-Coste.

"It's an easy hiking trail," I argued.

"You're not wearing flip-flops and a dress!" Nancy retorted.

Lesson learned? Doubtful. As ever, storming castles is risky business. Sometimes you lose friends and get locked in a dungeon.

Sore Feet in Barcelona

2009-09-15T01:36:00.000-07:00

Remember those Family Circus cartoons showing the little kid's circuitous path through the neighborhood. At the end, he returns home and says something not-quite-funny like, "boy am I tired." That's the best mental image I can conjure to describe our two night stay in Barcelona.

Our "Family Circus" map might look something like this Google map. The computer estimates a total walking distance of about 36km. Not bad for two days. To be fair, we did make use of the subway, but this estimate in no way considers all of our wanderings. In all we visited the following attractions:

Parque Güell - Gaudí
La Rambla - Pedestrian area & historic Barcelona
Maremagnm - Harbor mall
L'Eixample - Modern Barcelona
Casa Batlló - Gaudí
Casa Milló - Gaudí
La Sagrada Familla - Gaudí
Parque de la Ciutadella
L'arc de Triomf
La grande Casiono Barcelona - lost 6€
Plaque Espanya
Tarantos - live Flamenco

Gaudy or Gaudí

2009-09-14T04:34:00.000-07:00

Architect Antoni Gaudí envisioned a built environment in much greater harmony with nature. His major works, constructed between 1884 and 1926, were ahead of their time. In fact, it's rumored that upon receiving his university degree, the regent said, "Who knows if we have given this diploma to a nut or to a genius. Time will tell." Like his contemporaries, the impressionist painters, Gaudí is highly regarded today as an architectural innovator and the earliest authority on melding nature and design.

Gaudí spent most of his life in Catalonia. He attended college in Barcelona and continued to work for wealthy patrons in the city. Visitors come to Barcelona from around the world specifically to marvel at his many lasting creations.

Our first destination upon arriving in Barcelona was the Parc Güell. The development was originally conceived as an über exclusive resort for the rich and famous. Cost overruns and a declining economy ended the commercial prospects for the park - lucky for us. It's now perhaps the biggest tourist attraction in the city. The park displays Gaudí's talent for integrating functional elements with nature. Several series of winding paths appear to grow out of hillside providing a promenade to the best views of the city. And while natural expression was Gaudí's passion, he's probably better known for the fantastic "candy land" pavilions and mosaics that greet guests to the park.

Though the critics and creditors may have lambasted Gaudí's works, his patrons were staunch defenders and provided their Gaudí designed homes as proof of genius. In l'Eixample neighborhood, we passed by two more masterpieces: Casa Batlló and Casa Milà. The houses exemplify the Art Nouveau style that Gaudí was pioneering. However, despite the radical curves in the facades and twisting balconies, the underlying structural systems were almost identical to the then-modern techniques being used by Burnham, Sullivan and other legendary Chicago architects. The buildings are steel framed, with self-supporting facades, and floor systems are provided by clay-tile arches spanning between steel beams.

But was seldom content to rely on the innovations of others. He spent the last decades of his life looking for architectural and structural solutions to build a cathedral of unprecedented detail and complexity. La Sagrada Familia was Gaudí's magnum opus. Begun in 1884, it will remain under construction until 2026. The facades present a continuous scene of biblical characters and symbolic local animals. Inside, the columns shoot up and branch like trees into an awe-inspiring cathedral canopy. The 18 spires project ever higher until the tower for Jesus projects 170m (560 ft) into the sky.

Gaudí's master plans were destroyed by anarchists during the 1938 Spanish Civil war. So architects, archaeologists and art history experts have been working side-by-side to recreate his vision. Meanwhile, modern engineering has been employed to enable the dizzying architecture. Tower cranes loom above the cathedral, lowering re-bar cages into place for the reinforced concrete columns.

However, over a century ago, Gaudí was able to solve most of the engineering challenges with contemporary building techniques. He looked for efficiency in nature and experimented with intersecting hyperbolic shapes. To find shapes that would exist in pure compression - necessary for unreinforced masonry - he created ingenious models. He understood Newton's law, "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction," and flipped his models upside down. He couldn't very well measure the compression in a block, but he could create a model with strings that only resisted tension. He added weights proportionate to the weight of his building materials to the strings until a complex but perfectly balanced form took shape. By taking a photo of the form and then flipping it upside down, Gaudí engineered a design that could be built with the most basic building materials - blocks.

Gaudí's genius had been proven in time. His understanding of aesthetics, natural shapes, and engineering principles marks him as a unique visionary. Architects would do well today to study the designs of Gaudí and become inspired to create designs that are more compatible with our environment.

Barcelona - International City

2009-09-14T02:32:00.000-07:00

Barcelona was not what I expected. It greatly exceeded my expectations for cleanliness, modernity and international appeal. Although I did not visit the city before it hosted the 1992 Olympics, I got the impression on this visit that Barcelona truly used momentum from that opportunity to become one of the great cities of the world. If awarded the Olympics, I hope that Chicago will endure a similar transformation. However, after experiencing Barcelona, I am less confident that Chicago has what it takes to host the world.

First off, Chicago lacks the crazy street performers - like this guy at the Parc Guell, who sung a hilarious rendition of At the Hop in a thick Spanish accent. Bonus points for the holey jeans and star-sunglasses. I think he was attempting to look American. La Ramblas, the main pedestrian thoroughfare, featured even more eccentric performers. The most popular was a guy under a sheet with a hand puppet that lunged out to scare people by saying, "hola!" Now where is that talent going to come from in the US?

More seriously and importantly, however, is Chicago's unpreparedness to communicate to non-English speakers. You might get buy with Spanish or Polish, but a majority of the world is going to struggle in Chicago. Most transit information in Barcelona, on the other hand, was printed in multiple languages. Restaurants made good use of pictures on their menus. And just about everyone we ran into had a satisfactory command of English. The Chicago Business Bureau better start handing out copies of Rosetta Stone.

Barcelona's transit system was incredibly robust. For a city nestled around several steep hills, it was possible to get just about everywhere by public transit. Chicago's El is helpful and historic, but it hardly offers the necessary level of coverage to destinations. Chicago may go toe to toe with Barcelona for architectural features, but I'm not sure that it has quite so many tourist destinations. Really, how does a 150 year old American city compete with one that boasts the square where Columbus was greeted on his return from the new world?

I don't mean to be down on Chicago. Despite my travels, I still believe it's one of the best cities in the world - in the summer. Chicago just needs to get serious and make some upgrades if it hopes to provide the international experience that the world is looking for.

Never before seen by humanity

2009-09-14T01:21:00.000-07:00

In 1935, the residents of Orgnac described the local legend of a bottomless pit to Robert de Joly, a renown cave explorer. To the people of the small farming village located between the Ardéche and Cèze rivers in southern France, there certainly would have been an aura of mystery surrounding the hole. Despite the danger, several residents, including a young boy, joined the speleologist in a descent through the cave.

What they discovered was a spectacular cavern about 2.5 acres in area. Directly below their point of entry, they found a huge pile of debris, including animal bones dating back to the last ice age. Upon lighting the room, they observed thousands of concretions (stalactites and stalagmites). Some had grown up to 15m (approximately 50 ft) tall. In some areas of the cave, the stalactites and stalagmites were even found to grow until they connected in one continuous column.

This first massive room is just one of many in the vertically descending cave network. Because visitors must descend through the cave, in French it's called an Aven as opposed to a Grotte. Modern geologists suspect that the cave extends all the way from the Cèze river valley to the Ardéche river gorge to the north. In prehistoric times, the aven would have provided an underground waterway linking the two rivers. After the water levels of the two adjacent rivers subsided the cave would have dried out and the concretions began forming.

Perhaps the most interesting story of the cave, however, is it's fight against human interference. Archaeologists have found no signs of human habitation of the cave. Robert de Joly was at least the first man to enter and then return alive. Fortunately for future generations, he was committed to the preservation and took immediate action with the local city council to prevent unsupervised visits and desecration of the cave. Despite these efforts, the cave was nearly ruined by an overwhelming influx of visitors.

Installation of an asphalt parking lot over the caverns prevented water seepage into the ground; the formation of concretions was stalled. Likewise, the air exhausted by visitors climbing back up the 700 steps to exit after visiting the third room, changed the cave's climate enough to encourage the growth of mass and algae on the walls. In the winter, when visitations declined, the organic matter would die, leaving an ugly black film. Attempts to power wash the cave walls caused further damage and permanently stopped the formation of stalactites and stalagmites in some locations.

Fortunately, scientists realized some solutions to reverse these negative trends. The parking lot was torn out and turned into a terraced garden. And elevators were installed at the base of the third room to whisk visitors up to the surface. L'aven d'Orgnac has now regained much of its former luster. It is truly worth of being called a grad site de France.