Paris Redux and Home

Grey and overcast and drizzly the central city is still magical.  Some areas not so much.  OUr flight from Seville landed in Bauvais, a regional airport about 60 kilometers outside the city.  The shuttle bus trip in was less than enthralling.  The setting, pastoral at first, turned into a series of shanty towns and shabby housing.  There is a real sense of decay around the city and the there is an understandable unease as the French elections are imminent.

However, we did not spend a lot of time on politics.  Our friends Ralph and Zaz invited us for dinner at their slightly fabulous apartment and Ralph also showed a few places in the city like the symphony hall that we not visited before.  We had a wonderful dinner at their place and spent hours talking, eating and drinking wine.  A wonderful last night of our trip.

Things were only slightly marred by word of a massive snow storm scheduled to hit New York the next day when we were flying home.  We spent a somewhat sleepless night wondering if we’d get home as almost all flights were being canceled.  Air France and Delta cancelled all Paris-NYC flights but scrappy little Norwegian Air, our carrier, held out and the next day when JFK remained open our flight was the only one to depart.  We took off and landed on time and we were able to get a cab and get back to our apartment in record time.  A few days in NYC to see some plays and hear Yo Yo Ma at the Philharmonic and then home to Washington.  The end of a wonderful trip.

Farewell Seville

Walking all over the city.  Exploring little nooks and crannies.  Inhaling deeply into the air suffused with oranges, cloves and cinnamon. It was going to be difficult to leave this enchanted place.  Even in a brief space of time we had come to think of our charming AirB&B apartment as home.  There is a peace here and I suddenly realized that although there was crime there was little of the kinds of gun murders that we seem to take for granted will occur around us at home.  Once I reflected on this it was unsettling.  Have we come to take for granted the mayhem that takes place around us in America?

A farewell dinner at a wonderful neighborhood restaurant in Triana and it was time to pack up and head for Paris.  The last leg of this trip.

Finding Murillo in Seville

In an effort to retreat from the heat of the Seville day I looked for an indoor activity.  In one of those wonderful, serendipitous travel events I stumbled across the Seville Museum of Fine Arts.  

My usual position on arts museums in provincial cities is that they don’t have much to offer but like many unthought out positions this one turned out to be wrong.  

We set off to find the museum while it was still relatively cool.  We crossed the bridge into the main part of town, running a gauntlet of festive firemen who were conducting games for kids and first aid instructions.  It was another cloudless, blue sky, postcard day.  After only a few wrong turns down twisty side streets we found the museum.  It is housed in a former church and monastery that was run by the Capuchin order.  It is a magnificent Moorish style structure with formal courtyards with fountains, forty foot painted coffered ceilings in the main former church part and marble pillars holding up the various galleries.

But the real treat was the rooms full of paintings by Bartolome Murillo the 17th century painter from Seville.  I only knew his work from one small painting that hangs in the National Gallery of Art in Washington.  It is a picture of two girls in a window and it has a Vermeer like quality to it.

Here in Seville we were enthralled by dozens of his works.  Although most are religious themed it is clear that his models were the people around him, mainly dressed in their contemporary clothing.  It was a wonderful find on our last day in Seville.

Cordoba

Another day another beautiful city in Spain.  Cordoba, the birthplace of Maimonides, and home of the Mezquita-Catedral, one of the largest cathedrals in the world.  The site was originally a small Visigoth church.  When the Muslims conquered Andalus in 711 a mosque and church shared the space.  But in 784 the Muslims took over and built the Grand Mosque, one of the largest and most beautiful examples of Moorish architecture.    Christians again took over in the 13th century and a church was constructed inside the mosque.  It’s a fascinating clash of styles as the Moorish inner arches with their splendid marble columns topped with red and white arches surround the Christian altar with its images of Christ and various saints.

It was a hot (very at 85 degrees, after snow a few days ago) day and we got a bit lost wandering the twisty streets.  There’s a beautiful arch and bridge built by the Romans and we walked over and had a delightful tapas lunch.  By the time we got back to Seville, however, I was feeling a bit woozy from the heat.  A nap and all was OK.

Moses Maimonides, one of my heroes, the influential 12th century Sephardic-Jewish philosopher, was born in Cordoba.  His family fled to Cairo when he was a child because of threats of persecution.  Nevertheless the city seems to have embraced him.  There is a Maimonides street, Maimonides souvenirs, a Maimonides Hotel, a statue and on and on.   The old Jewish quarter is near the Cathedral which natives point to a sign that the Jews were in the mainstream in the middle ages.  There remains a Sephardic synagogue that now functions as a museum.  I have mixed feelings about synagogues that are now museums.  It’s nice that they’re preserved, but sad that they indicate a failure of the Jews to survive in these areas.  I had the same feeling in Budapest among other places.

Swinging Seville

Once the center of the universe, or at least the Spanish Empire.  From the 15th to the 17th centuries all commerce to the new world flowed through Seville.  It was rich and cosmopolitan.  And sitting at dinner, at an outdoor cafe surrounded by houses from that era it does not seem unlikely that a Spanish soldier, in plumed hat and with a breastplate of armor would come strolling into view.  At moments time stands still here and the past and future seem as one.  The sun setting orange in the sky and the white doves cooing around the cathedral create and impressionist canvas.

The architecture, a riotous amalgam of Moorish, Gothic and Frankish tropes is stunning.  The Alcazar built by Moorish kings and then taken over by Spanish Christians incorporates symbols and styles of both.  The Cathedral formally Catedral de Santa Maria de la Sede is considered one of the largest cathedrals in the world.  It certainly seems to merit that description.  Started in the 15th Century is was built over a mosque and the minaret of the mosque remains as part of the church.

The old city and the Triana section where we are staying are similar to the way they were centuries ago.  Triana has become an artsy, trendy section with cafes practically wall to wall.  At all hours they are filled with locals and tourists.  This is mainly a residential area and every morning we see loads of people heading off to work, stopping for a quick coffee on their way to the bus or riding their bicycles.  There are a lot of bike lanes throughout the city.  Triana is across the river from the main old city that contains the Alcazar, the Cathedral and many of the old administrative buildings of the old Spanish Empire.  There’s also a bull ring but no fights scheduled while we’re here.

Snow in Segovia

A small jewel of a city perched on a plateau amid olive groves and greenish farms, Segovia with its aqueduct and fairy tale like Alcazar Castle is a delight.  We walked it’s medieval streets and cobblestone walks gazing at the many churches and houses.  The Cathedral is considered one of the finest examples of Gothic architecture in Europe.  Like many cities in Spain that emphasize their historic past his one also heralds its Jewish heritage even though the Jews didn’t arrive here until the 1300’s and were expelled in 1492.  The Jewish quarter is small although there were five synagogues, non operating today.  There does seem to be an interest in exploiting the interest Jewish visitors have in their history.  It was cold and cloudy in Segovia most of the day but as we were getting ready to leave a blizzard like snow began.  We hurried to the train station and made it back to Madrid by dinnertime.

The aqueduct, constructed two millennium ago by the Romans originally ran nearly 17 kilometers bringing fresh river water to the city.  It is nearly one hundred feet high and is built of granite blocks.  It has 167 arches.  At the entrance to the historic part of the city there is a staircase that we we climbed to the top of the aqueduct.  At the top the breathtaking panorama of the city stretches out.  One question that comes to mind seeing this amazing engineering feat is why today there are so many parts of the world that do not seem to be able to bring in clean drinking water.  And the subsequent health problems that causes.  Surely if the Romans could do it 2,000 years ago modern technology should be able to also.  

Outside of the historic area it seems like a thriving and lively city.  We did not stay long enough to explore as we just did a day trip from Madrid.

Ode to an Orange

As sweet as a sleeping baby, as round and colorful as a Madrid sunset, the oranges of Spain are a gastronomic delight.  They are here in abundance but we found ours at a nearly hidden market.

While exploring we wandered down an alleylike street where Jim spotted a warehouse type of building marked Mercado.  It was a  huge two story cement block building.  The ground floor was a loading dock for deliveries and a series of stalls selling everything from olives to pigs feet, to oranges.  The second level was more of the same and also had a few food service stalls where the locals were drinking coffee and eating empanadas and pastries.  We bought an empanada (big enough for us to share for lunch) and some oranges.  Back at our hotel room we ate the oranges, the citrus-y aroma filling the room and the taste exploding on our tongues.  Devine.

Madrid

Like all capital cities Madrid bustles with traffic, important people and tourists.  Backbackers abound.  But there are still whiffs of the sulphurous undertones of the Inquisition as well as the smell of tobacco from the many furtive smokers in the street and the saffron hints from paella being prepared.

International shops litter the lovely boulevards, the Zaras and H&Ms are ubiquitous.  Not so much the chic local shops that used to be here. There is here as in so much of the West an ineffable sense of exhaustion and ennui. Nevertheless people are unfailingly polite and helpful.  For example when we were buying our bus tickets to Toledo the machines wouldn’t work and we were one minute away from the bus pulling out of the station.  A bus station employee came rushing up and tried to get the machine to work.  He failed but he said “nevermind, you can pay on the bus.”  Of course had we known that or had there been a sign indicating that we would have hopping on much earlier.  But, of course, it all worked out so que sera, sera.

Fantasy Toledo

When fantasy matches reality there is a sudden sense of convergence that can be dizzying and mystifying.  This feeling came over me on arriving in the ancient city of Toledo, often known as the city of three faiths.  In the thirteenth century Christians, Jews and Muslims lived and working together in relative harmony.   Toledeo looked exactly like I imaged it and it was easy to picture Cervantes or El Greco walking the same streets. The scent of olive groves outside the city mixed with traffic smells and cooking odors.

Taking an inter-city bus from Madrid for a day trip was inexpensive and easy.  Toledo is about an hour outside of Madrid.  Although it’s the beginning of March the temperature soared to seventy degrees fahrenheit  and the sky was what we call Carolina blue.  Maybe there’s an El Greco blue.  The city perches on a hill and was clearly chosen for it defensive position.  High walls bolster the natural defenses.  The city looks untouched from the middle ages.  The narrow cobblestone streets and three story houses built to the edges give the sense of walking through a dream.

The cathedral in the center of town is impressive as cathedrals are, but the two ancient synagogues were also.  The old Jewish quarter is marked with tiny tiles in blue and white with the hebrew letters for Chai.  The cathedral, in the gothic style is considered one of the best of this style, but it also incorporates some aspects of a mosque, which it was for a time during a Muslim conquest.

It’s a one mile hike uphill from the bus station to the central plaza in town.  So after that and an entire day of walking we were ready to head back to Madrid, our headquarters in central Spain.

Learning about the Jews of Barcelona

Although the history of the Jews in Spain is one of unending interest to me I did not plan this trip as an exploration of this story.  But I found myself sucked in as I realized we were staying in the heart of the ancient Jewish part of Barcelona. The sign above indicates a street that was the highest point in ancient Barcelona and the site of the Jewish community.

The old central Catedral in Barcelona is a gothic pile of stone with intricate designs in the French manner.  It is also the heart of the original site that the Romans founded as one of the outposts of their empire.  And some time after that the Jews came and settled in the old city.  Through most of the middle ages they were a vital part of the city working as doctors, administrators, artisans, metalworkers and engaged in all kinds of shopkeeping and trade.  Quite by accident we found ourselves staying at a hotel around the corner from the Cathedral.  This lovely hotel, the Barcelona Catedral offered a guided tour of the area on Sunday morning and we took them up on a it.  About eight hotel guests gathered and met our guide.  They included two young men in town for the huge technology conference that was taking place, a Greek couple and a family from Spain.  The guide was knowledgeable and told us a lot about Jewish life in the middle ages.  We saw where the old synagogue had been as well as houses where you could see the marks where mezuzahs had been. Most of the Jews were driven out in that 1390’s, before the famous 1492 expulsion.  There had been a series of massacres of the Jews at that period  all across Spain and nearly ten percent of the Jews of Barcelona were killed.  Most of the rest either left or became conversos.  Convertings to Christianity but secretly practicing Judaism.  For a wonderful book on this history I read “Farewell Espana” by Howard Sacher before I trip.  He has a terrific description of the golden age of Sephardic Judaism and its subsequent decline.

Paris to Barcelona on the TVG High Speed Train

                                                    One the High Speed Train        

                                                       Barcelona Street

Ah!  If Amtrak could only have high speed trains like the rest of the world traveling by train in the USA would be heavenly.  Speeding through the French countryside at 150 miles an hour was delightful.  Everything modern, clean and efficient.  Our last morning in Paris was a tourist delight walking in the Tuileries and checking out the beaux arts architecture.  Then to the Gare de Lyon and the train and on to Barcelona.

In one of those serendipitous travel karmas that we seem to fall into we have inadvertently arrived during Carnival.  The city is teeming with visitors including lots of costumed and face-painted denizens.  We arrived late in the evening and our cab driver couldn't find our hotel so he let us off in one of the winding gothic alleys and said it's right down there.  OK.  We got out and dragging our suitcases set off.  A time I was glad we travel with only small carry on bags.  Finally we stopped at a restaurant and the extremely nice maitre d walked with us to another alley and explained exactly how to go.  Our very lovely hotel appeared a few minutes later.  We're right near the Cathedral but as though of you who've been before know, the medieval streets are easy to confuse.  After checking in and walking around a bit we retraced our steps to the restaurant La Rioja that had helped us and had a wonderful tapas meal.   The anchovies on toast I had were melt in your mouth delicious.  The city is, of course, a food lovers delight and wandered through the Boqueria market drooling over all the goodies.  Beautiful marzipan candies in dozens and dozens of fanciful designs:  traditional fruits but also exotic animals and plants.  Sausages and hams in too many varieties to count and beautiful produce.

Musings on a Parisian Red Pepper

Diet is always difficult to manage while traveling.  Trying to maintain a healthy eating schedule and nutritious food is hard when so many wonderful fatty, gooey, butter laden goodies abound.  Especially in Paris.  So when we wandered down to the supermercado to stock our apartment with a few items, the produce aisle was the first I hit.  There were gorgeous green striped squashes, seductive egg plants, lettuce that was so fresh it looked like it had been plucked from the ground only seconds before and luscious looking peppers.  None of the produce was marked “organic” or “locally grown” but I would bet most of it came from farms close by and had been grown with a minimum of chemical help.  The red peppers called out to me and I bought one.  If Eve had tempted Adam with this one he would gladly have eaten it.  Back at the apartment I sliced it into strips and ate it.  Happy stomach and according to my nutrition app I got a big blast of vitamins C and A and lots of other good stuff.

While I was eating I watched a TV food show.  There are only two kinds of programming I can watch in French and somewhat understand with my limited language knowledge.  They are political shows and cooking shows.  I think this is because both are very formulaic and use a limited vocabulary.  Polititique is the same everywhere and so is cuisine.  The show I was watching was about wine production in the Loire Valley and featured spectacular shots of what seemed like miles of grape plants marching in soldier like rows, evenly spaced as far as the eye could see.  There were narrow paths between the rows and they were being plowed by a workman in what looked a scene from a medieval woodcut print.  The plow was a wooden contraction with rotating wheels that aerated that soil.  The plow was harnessed to a horse in front and then a workman behind was harnessed by leather straps to the plow and the horse so he could steer both.  The sun was beating down on a cloudless summer sky.  The workman, when interviewed said he love his work.  It was hard for me to imagine an American farm worker engaged like this.  The vineyard owner and the chef had set up a little table in the field.  A wine bottle sat in an ice bucket and the two and were drinking chilled glasses of the wine produced and having a fine time.

Arriving in Paris

Arriving in Paris

Enchanting Paris is always fun to come back to.  Even when it’s only a few days stopover on the way to Spain.  The grey skies and smells are unique to this city.  The perfume of shoots pushing through in the late winter days and the faint undertones of garbage from the Seine fill the air as always along the the more recent odors of roasting halal meats and incense.  The streets with their charming three and four story stone houses and winding lanes remain a constant in a world of change, but the people on them are no longer a distinct type but a diverse amalgam

OUr flight was an easy non-stop on Norwegian Air from New York and as usual we wrestled with finding our way into the city.  The RER train from the airport was a piece of cake but figuring out getting from the Gare du Nord to our apartment hotel was a bit confusing.  We made it however although because of a miscalculation I made we got off a stop earlier and had to walk a bit dragging our suitcases. It didn't help that we were a bit jet lagged. Not so much thought that we didn't set out to explore our neighborhood and go food shopping for a few necessary items.

We lunched as a little bistro where I had a Croque Monsieur and a  pastis thereby fulfilling my desire for a food craving left over from my earliest trips to the city.  Culinarily the place has moved on.  Ethnic restaurants of every stripe line the streets.  Asian, Middle Eastern, African:  they’re all here.