Ambrose and Mussolini

They say the dictator made the trains run on time. I don’t know about that, but he sure made a giant station in Milan. On the edge of monstrous. Going in from the piazza, you first cross a vast porte-couchère, that must be at least 100 feet high. Now it is closed to traffic, and used for various other things, like the Christmas market. Then you are in the atrium, with endless staircases going up to the First floor. Fortunately, if you go around them, you find elevators and moving ramps to take you to the newer mezzanine and then the first Floor. Anyway, it goes on and on – it is now really a big shopping mall. I think it was supposed to look like the Baths of Caracalla or something. Anyway, there are Fascist emblems everywhere – eagles and SPQR legends, and dangerous-looking lions – but not the fasces themselves.

Note size of people next to the door of the porte-couchère on the right

Anyway, I found my hotel only a short walk away, and the next morning I found a cab to take me to the Basilica San Ambrosio.  St. Ambrose of Milan was the teacher of St. Augustine at the end of the 4^th C. He was probably the most influential churchman of his time, since Milan was more important than Rome (as it is today, in many ways).  He is enshrined in a magnificent Carolingian basilica.


  

           

You enter through a large atrium into a shadowy and dramatic Romanesque interior.

At the end is a 9^th C altar clad in golden panels . 

    

To the side, in the treasury, there are remnants of 5th C. mosaics,

 and some floor-mosaics from the 4th. Ambrose himself can be found under the high altar, by stepping down five steps into the crypt. There he is, vested as an archbishop, in mitre and pallium, bearded face intact and visible. With him are two 3^rd C. martyrs (who therefore have crowns), Gervase and Protase. Many find this kind of thing macabre or amusing. (The guys next to me laughed: I glared at them until they stopped.) I found the visit moving.

There in front of me were the earthly remains of the great Doctor of the Church, who suggested that original sin.was the notion of private property. 

I remember from my architecture-as-art class fifty years ago that the Allies priority list for things to avoid bombing put the basilica on a higher level than the Cathedral. That was correct, I think.

My driver for this excursion spent some time in the US. He is a string-musician. He recorded with Preston Reed. He is an expert in ‘50s American swing (Les Paul) and we talked about guitars. I8 remember that the last time I* visited Milan, 33 years ago, Eric Monrad was with me. He now makes guitars, and we talked about that. Stephan also turned me on to Funk Off – a British jazz marching-band that is worth googling and listening to. 

Pleasant Montpellier

A very  pleasant place, with pleasant people. Sharif tells me that is has the largest auto-free zone in Europe. The whole central area is made up of tiny streets, except for a few grand, tree-lined boulevards, and they are given over to brand-new tram-lines that are just like our light rail in the Twin Cities, except that there are lots more of them, running constantly.

The stations for these sleek, silent ships are built up just enough higher than the sidewalk to permit wheelchairs to enter without a bump. There is hardly any space at all between the car and the quay, and the ramps from the sidewalk are unobtrusive. Each station is also sheltered with a large glass enclosure for rain and shade. [I suppose it is quite hot here in the summer.]

The architecture is just like Paris, only a bit lower: five-six-storey buildings with iron balconies, but the narrow, curving streets make it seem like Paris of a bygone time.

My hotel, the 2-star KallisteI  (about which the less said the better, except that the proprietor was very nice and I did have a really good sleep, which is, after all, the real point)  was within walking distance of the station. But, since I didn’t know exactly where it was, I went to the cab stand, which was quite a long walk from the station (in the opposite direction, as it turned out), because of the auto restrictions. The head of the line didn’t want to take me. He was most pleasant, assuring me that it was only a five-minute walk. This may have been true if I had known the way, but his directions were inadequate. So, I had a fairly extended tour of Monpellier’s main square,La Place de la Comédie, and curving back streets. It turned out that Kalliste was pretty close. I stopped for directions in a supermarket, but the nice young attendants had never heard of the hotel OR of the street (one block away) it was on. Clueless suburbans, I suppose. But they really were  helpful and not in a hurry to get rid of me. They asked their supervisor – an older woman, who knew.

This gave me the opportunity not only to experience a little of the people of Montpellier, but also to check out their holiday festivities. On this Thursday might everyone was out on the street. Bars and restaurants thriving, and a nice big outdoor Christmas market, complete with an old-fashioned carousel – occupying several blocks of the main street.  These seem to be popular in euroiope – at least where temperature permits. Theu have a huge one right in the middle of the  Place de la Défense in Paris (next to the OWS camp).

After struggling up the three flights to my 2-star room (a generous rating), I went out for dinner. I found that I was in Chinatown. Lots of nice-looking places with names like “Jade Garden” and “Pagoda” – mostly Vietnamese and Thai. But I didn’t feel like Asian food,  and the fixed-price menus didn’t look that appealing anyway, so I walked around the corner where I found a nice mom-and-pop hole-in-the-wall that styled itself Moroccan.  Maybe, although they looked more like pieds noirs to me. Anyway, like all the Montpellierains I met, they were extremely nice. Just like Catalans. And I got a really good,home-cooked tagine of eggplant, kofta (little burger patties) and merguez (the delicious, thin, North African lamb sausage ) with an egg. Along with the bread, I couldn’t ask for more. And the lady complimented my French. “You speak French very well”, said she. When I wrinkled my nose and shook my head, she repeated it. I told her she was very kind, but she insisted: “It’s true”. Well, I suppose my French IS impeccable – as long as I am talking about stuff to eat!

One way in which France definitely surpasses Spain is pastry. I had got up early, so I had plenty of time to read the paper over a couple of café crèmes and what may be the best croissant I have ever eaten. Right across the auto-free Place de la Gare from the station is a brassérie-viennoisérie (a restaurant that also bakes its own pastries). Not only do they sell them at the traditional bar (where one traditional worker was drinking his traditional pastis eye-opener), but they sell them out the window over an outdoor counter, where there was a long line. I went inside and sat down. The croissant (about a dollar) and maxi-chocolate (huge, chocolate-filled croissant at $1.30) were still hot from the oven. Heavenly.

Roman bridge over the Rhone at Avignon "sur le pont d'Avignon..."

I got to see the Rhone as we crossed into Avignon.  And caught a fleeting glimpse of Cezanne's favorite mountain.

Mt. St. Victoire, as seen by Paul Cezanne

Then I had an hour in Marseilles, 

Old harbor, with chalk butte behind

which gave me enough time to check out reservations from Ventimiglia to Milan. No dice. On December 11, the French revised their schedules, and this threw a monkey-wrench into the already iffy communications with the Italian computers. SO, I just had to wing it and hope that there was an evening train to Milan.

After a really good salmon sandwich (the fresh French demi-baguettes make all the difference), I got on my first non-TGV train, bound for Nice along the Côte d’Azur.  On the left, the pine-covered chalk buttes  of Provençe reflect the winter sunshine. Some have little villages or castles on top.

An occasional glimpse of the Mediterranean on the right. As far as I can tell, I am the only passenger in this 1^st-class car. Unlike the wonderful TGVs, this one has the old-fashioned layout with compartments for six [three facing three]. It also has a little table and an electrical outlet to keep my battery charged.

A word about the TGVs. They are very fast (almost 200 mph) and luxurious. All  the doors are automatic. The double-decker cars provide easy access to the lower level, for elderly passengers like me. The toilets are exquisite.

Since it is only a couple of days until Christmas, there are lots of travelers, many with small children and some with dogs! The latter custom is, apparently, well-established here. Dogs are also permitted in bars and brasseries – at least in this part of France.

There was a connecting train to Italy immediately after my arrival in Nice, so I just  got on it, without a seat reservation. They post the quay number only 20 minutes before departure, but I was first in line and went to the designated track. This involved some stairs up to the quay. A nice young Frenchman helped me with my bag. [This is the SECOND time this has happened to me in France, so don’t believe anyone who says the French are mean and nasty. Some are – mostly in Paris; most are not.] Then I walked to the end of the treack and sat down.

After awhile, I began to get nervous for some reason. I looked down the quay to see that no one was waiting anymore! When I walked back to the electronic sign, I found that they gad changed the track, so I had to clunk-clunk-clunk down the stairs, dragging my bag like Christopher Robin dragging Pooh. And then up to the right track. But there was time.

And I was excited to be able to get on today. The old train from Ventimiglia to Milan has one first-class car – old fashioned like the one from Marseille to Nice, only more so: you can shut the door and draw the apartment curtains. I could even fold up the arm-rests and streych out, but I am not that tired. The trip to Milano takes four hours, getting in at 9:00 pm, so the whole journey from Montpellier took just under 12 hours. Although there wasn’t time to get a reservation (which Thos. Cook’s Tinetable says is required), the conductors didn’t bat an eye. Both of them smiled warmly when I flashed my pass, and didn’t ask for any reservation.

There were great views of the cote d’azur from Nice to Italy. 

Menton, just west of Italian border

The train stopped at all stations, so we hit Monaco and villages I had never heard of. Lots of very high-priced-looking villas and condos on the left, beautiful bays and capes and the sea on the right. 

Condos above Eze 

I have the impression that rent it still considerably lower in Italy. Ventimiglia and San Remo are not so tony-looking.


So,, when I arrive in Milan, it will be just about 48 gours since i left Granada - 24 of which were in France. I think I am getting my money's-worth out of my Eurailpass.


                                

The Charterhouse

Of Granada, that is, not of Parma! La Cartuja is the old monastery of the Carthusians, noiw a museum. Humberto strongly recommended it, and he wasn't wrong. 

This order was one of the first offshoots of Benedictinism, more than a thousand years ago. St. Bruno pioneered a way of life that was coenhobitic (monks in community), combined with rather strict eremitism. The monks lived in little apartments witht heir own garden, workroom and oratory. Their meals (including one alcoholic drink of the region – beer in the north, wine in the south)were passed through a little door from the corridor. There was also a small entrance-reception room, called an Ave Maria, where they could receive guests, with th permission of the aboot. Once a week they would come out for Sunday Mass and a communal dinner in the refectory. All of this depended on the commitment of lay brothers, who did all the work. And once a month or so, they would engage oin the ascetic practice of peregrination, which was a long walk with one other monk, assigfned by the abbot, during which conversation was permitted. This assured that all the monks would actually know one another. The most famous charterhouse is, no dou9bt, La Grande Chartreuse in the Alps, where the monks invented the green liqeur that has their name.

The charterhouse of Granada is an 18^th C. baroque extravaganza. Some details:

• The tibia of some local saint is displayed in a crystal reliquary in the high altar   (between the two columns of the baldachino to the lower left, at about 8:00)

• A gilded baldachino over a statue of Our Lady, where the high altar used to be before it was pulled away in accordance with Vatican II reforms.

Above is visible the 20-foot wall of old glass panes behind the baldachino At first I thought they were mirrors, but  they look into the Sancta Sanctorum, where stands an enormous Sacrament house

 – all ornate pink marble and gilt – rising above the tabernacle, which stands on a slender pillar, so that it appears to float in the middle of the display. Low in the wall on either side is a circular glass window, for adoration and vigils, I guess. the whole room is crowned with an indescribable cupola:
     
                                 

• ·         The sacristy is a wonder. About a dozen individual dressing tables, built into the wall, with marble tops and Florentine inlaid drawers beneath. 

• An altar at the end opposite the door to the sanctuary is fully vested, though I think it was never used for the Mass. The piscina is right next to it, and I think it was used for preparations and ablutions only. Maybe as an altar of repose on Good Friday. The wainscoting and altar  are covered with the most amazing, strawberry-and-chocolate-sundae marble. The effect is joyous.

• All the ceilings are gilded. sacristy ceiling above. 

• The claustra is a pleasant, simple colonnade, with a central garden and fountain. unlike Cistercian cloisters, these columns are of uniform design.

• ·         The little parvis in front has an interesting feature. The Spaniards like pavements of smooth pebbles, set in masonry in a kind of terrazzo.Lots of sidewalks like this. Usually they make some kind of patterned design. Here they have added polychrome accents, by sorting the stones according to color. The designs are representational – large depictions of figures in battle, maybe American Indians. The art is further set off by green moss, intentionally cultivated between the stones, where the design calls for framing or background. Quite ingenious.

This is my last stop in Granada. On to Barcelona via the Gibralfaro Tren-hotel. A couple of hours to kill at the unprepossessing station, so9 I found a little bar across the street. Typically friendly. Woorking-class clientele, in addition to tourists. I ordered a racion of pork and beans. The Andalusian version uses big, greenish beans and some of their ubiquitous Iberian ham.  With bread, it was heartyand a perfect supper..

The sleeper was quite comfortable. Very solicitous young steward. Good lighting for reading, and enough electrical outlets to charge everything. Sleep was light, due to the gentle rocking, but constant, and I awoke rested, at Barcelona Sants, where I was able to reserve an earlier train for Montpellier, eat some tapas, and buy a universal charger for my camera battery.

Sants has a special VIP lounge, to which I am entitled as a first class passenger. The only problem is that from here to the border, where I change to the TGV, there IS no first class. Still, I was able to talk my way in and use the facilities.

It’s December 22, so there is lots of traffic here – looks like a long line for the baggage control. Spain was the country that suffered a terrorist attack on a train, years ago. So, now there are airport-style luggage scanners (no personal ones, though) and big guys walking around in uniform with dogs. I am assured that they are looking for bombs, not drugs.

Granada

When I was very small, I played a card game with my mother and grandmother called “Authors”. A kind of rummy, in which the aim was to collect all the cards representing the works of one of the authors. Washington Irving was one of them, and The Alhambra was one of the cards. He stayed here for awhile in 1829, and wrote about it beautifully. [BTW, the Spanish don't pronounce the "H" at all - not even a glottal stop - so it sounds like allahmbra.]

The enormous fortress (a small city, really) is built on the side fo the Sierra Nevada, above a canyon  with a river. It was built in the 14^th C., when the Nasarids became independent of Moorish Córdoba around the time of the reconsquista. It comprises several palaces and gardens, convents and churches, ruins and restorations. Happily, the main palace is almost perfectly intact. This is a blessing, because the decoration is unsurpassed. 

"Lion" Patio

The pictures speak for themselves. Room after room of eye-popping and jaw-dropping. Everywhere you look there is a picture framed by a Moorish arch, with ornate stucco or plaster-work, looking out at something beautiful like the facing hillside or an inner colonnaded patio with fountains and more decorative stucco or stone-carving. 

Mosaics and stucco with geometric and calligraphic designs, 

and glorious cedar ceilings. 

The gardens go on forever: Italian cypresses – some planted close together and carved into a topiary Moorish wall, complete with arched window, pools and fountains everywhere, more Aleppo pines and oaks, oranges and persimmons (loaded, just now) lots of interesting-looking ruins (baths, &c.),

Ut's all about water.  The Sierra Nevada provide a constant supply. The Moors har4nessed the mountain torrent called the Darro in a complicated network of pools and aqueducts, for fountains,  mills, baths and irrigation. Across the river is the old town – Albaicín –  going back to Roman times and before. 

My guide (see below) informed me that Granada has been inhabited by Tarsinos, Iberios, the Romans, Visigoths, and Arabs. He took me up to the top of the old quarter, where there is lots of lively activity. I stopped in to the taverna to use the servicios, where I had una sin alcohol (very popular here; every bar has non-alcoholic beer, sometimes on tap) and the free tapa which was a large, delicate version of what appeared to be falafel accompanied by some sautéed julienne of red sweet peppers. A couple of guys were singing flamenco on the terrace. This is the locale for flamenco taverns. There is even a school down the hill a bit.  

The taverns  and some ancient residences are built into caves in the hillside. 

Gypsies still live here. If they can afford it! There are such famous views of the Alhambra, with the snow-covered mountains behind, that housing here is very expensive. Even though they have to park the cars on the roof! Most of the houses are built back into the mountainside. Here is where the final battle of the reconquista was fought, and “the Catholics” (as Ferdinand and Isabella are called) wanted to be buried there. 

At the top is the church of St. Nicholas, which had been a mosque and before that a church, going back to the Romans. It got bombed during the Civil War, but it’s all restored and you can see the Moorish bricks, where they purposely leave some of the stucco off, so you can see them.

The whole place on top is called Sacromonte, because of something I only dimly understood. Apparently, there may be there the tomb of Granada’s patron saint, Cecilio, who was a disciple of St. Paul (whom the Spanish claim as a native: Saul of Tarsus, ignoring the Anatolian city of the same name!) Anyway, there is lots of archæological activity there.

My guide was a cab driver, who has an impressive knowledge of history and archæology. He could point out Moorish houses and even Roman vestiges in the old walls. Like all Analucians, he is courteous, modest, and friendly. He gave me a great tour, in clear and simple Spanish which I was able to understand. This was in lieu of a visit to the Carthusian monastery (closed for siesta). I will drop in tomorrow on my way to the train, to check ot its famous baroque interior. 


He told me of his recent trip to Jerusalem and Jordan, and he explained the custom of Spanish Nativity scenes, which are really models of the whole town – called a Belén (Bethlehem), with Herod’s palace and everything. He also took me shopping for some coffee and necessities. I just let the meter run, because his guidance was worth it.

I have to say that Andalucia is giving Catalonia a run for its money in the pleasantness sweepstakes. Madrid, like any capital, is a touch frostier that these provinces, but still a good deal more friendly than Paris. The people seem to be happy. The cleaning woman hums to herself. The cab drivers and waiters are unfailingly gracious.

I really lucked out on the hotel here. For EUR 45/night I get a really elegant and comfortable room with a view of an olive garden. Down the hall, one can stare at the Alhambra wall. The staff is genuinely helpful. I can recommend the Guadalupe without reservation. [Except that, as usual, one can do better for one’s money away from the hotel’s restaurant. Nothing wrong with it, just over-priced for what is served.]

The weather is what I am looking for: around 60 in the daytime, clear and sunny.

Tomorrow it’s the night train back to Barcelona, and from there on to Montpellier, for the night of December 22. It will take me the next day to get to Milan, where I will spend the night of 12/23. This will involve a good many connections, but with any luck, I should be able to celebrate Christmas in Bologna. A day or two there and then south. I want to stop in Sienna, Bari (St. Nicholas), and Reggio Calabria (Greek bronzes) on my way to rent a car in Palermo. I figure I will drive around the island and explore for as long as I feel like it before flying back to Paris from there. If it’s warm enough and if I can find a suitable accommodation (i.e.: a good deal) I may stay for a week or two down by Syracuse or Ragusa. The European financial crisis should be of some assistance in this regard!

Olives, Castles and Mountains

The Spanish countryside is full of olive trees.  Humberto tells me that a good deal of “Italian” olive oil actually comes from here, but Italy has more oil-caché.  Here in Andalucía about half the trees are oranges. The trip was fun: down the Guadalquivir valley toward Seville, and then up the low pass to Granada to the south. The former valley is flat and looks very fertile. It reminded me of CA’s central valley, except that it looks more rained-on. 

Lots of little white farmsteads (grange-type, which is to say a walled compound) and an occasional butte with castle. These formations are oddly-shaped - rather like the Tucson Mountains.

But the Sierra Nevada are serious. 11,000 feet high and really snow-covered (hence their name).  the highest mountains in Spain. The other side is the sea. The relief seems higher than Tucson, and the mountains are snowy a long way down. Probably because of the latitude.

My room,

I think I lucked out on the hotel. Not only is it 100m from the entrance to the Alhambra (my destination), but it is really elegant; much better than the big, rather noisy Maimonodes in Córdoba at exactly the same price ($60). Smaller hotel, but room is bigger. Bathroom better (with Jacuzzi-jet bathtub!), and a little balcony, from which I have a view of an olive plantation. Blissfully quiet.I stayed an extra day.

The Andalusians seem to be just as friendly as the Catalans. Everyone is really modest and polite. The cabs are pretty cheap, considering that you don’t have to tip. They are genuinely grateful for anything – even less than 10%.

Tolerant Córdoba

Córdoba has better vibes than Toledo. When St. Ferdinand conquered it in the 13^th C.,  it may actually have been kind of a relief to the Jews, because the golden age of Moorish enlightened rule had been replaced by more a fundamentalist dynasty that offered them the choice of conversion to Islam, deportation, or death. [So it wasn’t the Spaniards who started that tradition!] St. Ferdinand seemed to like Jews, and under his, and his successor (Alfonso the Wise) things in Córdoba got back to normal. That is, the Moorish-style tolerance had another flowering. But the city’s golden age was earlier,  It was, some say, the largest city in Europe in the 11^th C. Kiev may have been bigger, though. Both cities enjoyed good rulers, art, science, and culture.

For some reason, Córdoba produced some really great philosophers: Seneca, Averroës and Maimonides lived here. The latter two brought Aristotle to Western Europe.

The great mosque is really worth the whole trip. It is really a huge covered space – like the great bazaar in Istanbul. A forest of columns supporting horseshoe arches of alternating white stone and red brick. Row behind row of these lovely things produces a wonderfully hypnotic effect as one strolls through. It must have been great to come in here on a hot summer’s day, into the cool of the House of Prayer. 


                                   


Outside is a somewhat smaller space – the Orange Patio – with orange trees instead of columns and a fountain at the center for the ablutions required before entering the mosque. (Background is cathedral elevation; i5ts footprint occupies only a small percentage of the space).

The loveliest part of the building is the Qiblah, or niche indicating the direction of Mecca. 

Only this is somewhat more than a niche. Mosaics and a cupola with a glorious ceiling.

The Christians put their rather small cathedral right in the middle of the mosque. St. Ferdinand was careful not to wreck anything too terribly. He mostly built up. But Charles V redid it in the 16thh C., and was publicly disappointed with the result. More gold. More ornate work. Here’s the sanctuary lamp. [To get an idea of its size, see if you can spot the little glass lamp in the middle, which is about 18” high. Solid silver.]

The Hotel Maimonides was a good deal (big, and lots of empty rooms this time of year. It is literally steps from the main entrance to the mosque. Right across the street, and the streets are narrow. Fun to walk around, because autos are banned and you get the feel of a medieval city. And then there is the Roman bridge. Built in 1 BC, for 2,000 years it was the ONLY bridge in town. New ones were built only in the 20^th C. 

It seems as good as ever, although it is now retired, in that it’s reserved for pedestrians. One wonders whether anything our civilization has built will last for two millennia.

Pretty interesting food. Something called flamenquines, which are thin slices of pork loin rolled and stuffed with ham and then deep-dried. 

Also tried some really good tapas at a nice Flamenco tavern in the warren of streets behind the hotel: some honest-to-God acorn-fed Iberian ham and something called eggplants with honey. The ham is a classic: like prosciutto only better. They slice it extremely thin. It is the color of cordovan leather, but marbleized and tender. The eggplant was like little donuts, but, in fact, made out of eggplant, somehow. I arrived at 8:30 – long before the action starts – so the music was recorded: flamenco alternating with Spanish Christmas carols.

Tomorrow, on to Granada and the Alhambra.