Happy Christmas to all...

Outside it's raining. Inside there's a fire in the fireplace, and the cat is drowsing on her very own hearthrug. I'm listening to a favorite album -



- so long a favorite that I bought it first on LP, then tape, then CD. Now I can pull it out of the air.

Earlier tonight we had a light dinner at Gainsbourg, in Greenwood - dark, spacious, a gas fire on one wall, old trunks used as tables in front of comfortable couches, good food, interesting cocktails, absinthe if you dare. Since it is named for the Serge Gainsbourg, there's a cocktail called a Jane Birkin, as well as a Brigitte Bardot. Not forgetting the old reliables - Kir Royale (my favorite) and French 75.

It's going to be the dinner-and-a-movie (or two or three) Christmas. After Gainsbourg, we went back to I & Z's house, and watched "Holiday Inn," a movie I'd never seen. Although it's famous for introducing "White Christmas" to the world, it should be equally famous for Fred Astaire's July 4 dance among exploding fireworks.

Tomorrow Ian is cooking dinner - and he has a lineup of film noir classics we MUST see. Since the rain is forecast to go on for at least the weekend, this all sounds perfectly reasonable.

Before I go to sleep, I'll listen one more time to Alan Maitland reading "The Shepherd," courtesy of the CBC program, "As It Happens." If you haven't heard the program, it's worth checking out (NPR carries it.) "The Shepherd," which runs every Christmas Eve, is a lovely ghost story.

Five days to Christmas Eve...

The tree survived, the wind abated, and this morning the sun is shining. From the deck the view looks like this picture, except that there are even fewer clouds.

I should be out walking, for the Vitamin D and the exercise and easing a gimpy back. Physical therapist's advice is to walk on even ground, but if you try that in this neighborhood, you'd be confined to the two blocks in front of the building. So I plod uphill & down, assuming it will all even out eventually!

Time to finish and mail the last of the holiday letters. As much as I enjoy staying in touch with people, the logistics of note-writing, folding, stuffing & mailing feel much more of a chore than the actual writing of the letter. That's hard (but rewarding) work, especially if one aspires to stay out of the "awful Christmas letter" category.

"Santacon" hit Seattle yesterday - hundreds of people dressed as Santa or his helpers, gathering at 12:30 p.m. at the Fremont Troll, then spreading out to walk, ride or bar-hop for the rest of the day. A giggling group got on a bus I was riding, and everyone smiled as they trooped by to take over the entire back section.

My favorite was the young woman dressed as Santa - in a short red dress, black tights and boots, a short furry jacket, and a long white stick-on beard and mustache.

Holidays

Outside the wind is blowing like crazy, and I'm watching the one remaining maple tree below the building lash back and forth. For years I've expected it to go down someday, but hope its roots are still strong enough to survive winds and saturated ground.

Earlier this week a large evergreen planted close to a neighboring building simply fell over, its roots no longer able to hang on. The tree came to rest against power lines and stopped, remaining in place until it was cut down, a day or two later.

It's Christmas, almost. This year we're still without a plan for the 25th, although something will emerge soon. L & D are going to the Methow for a much needed break. Those of us remaining here have kicked around various ideas - including a movie and Chinese food.

Here's a wreath for any season, courtesy of the Viena (sic) Bistro in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) Romania.


And here are pictures full of sunshine, from the Playa de la Concha in San Sebastian, where this sculpture by Eduardo Chillida "combs the wind."

The car pix...

A long time ago - in May, to be specific - I posted from Durfort, France, on a day when we'd been enthralled by a fabulous assembly of vintage automobiles, parked for a couple of hours on the main square. I promised pictures, but never delivered.






So - late but better than never - here are the goods. Because the cars were tightly packed together, it was almost impossible to get good individual shots, so I cropped to show details - elaborate lettering, beautiful hood ornaments, unique solutions to everyday car problems (how to carry extra gasoline, for example) and most of all, the love and care lavished on these antique beauties by their owners.


Most of the cars looked as if they had just driven off the showroom floor (or out of the restorer's workshop.) There was one, however, that seemed to have arrived at the rally directly from a trans-Sahara trek.


Once or twice I have ridden in antique cars. Narrow tires and scanty springs make for a rough ride, but the stares and thumbs-up signs from other drivers make it all worthwhile.

And really - what a way to travel!

Ripping yarns

(Not to be confused with "ripping yarn," as in knitting, where the procedure is properly called "frogging." I asked why, and got the obvious answer: "Because you have to rip it rip it rip it." Oh.)

At the moment I have no knitting to rip out, but I do have a yarn to recommend: The Long Ships, by Frans G. Bengtsson. Published in Sweden during WWII, it appeared in an English translation in the 50's, but has been out of print for years. Now New York Review of Books editions has reissued the book, with an enthusiastic and highly readable introduction by Michael Chabon.

The book is "Once upon a time..." for anyone who loves a tale that makes a faraway place and time solidly real. The Long Ships takes place between the years 980 and 1010, and carries its hero, Red Orm, from his home in southern Sweden (in those days part of Denmark) as far south as Moorish Spain, to Ireland, England, and far out into the Atlantic, all in ships propelled by oars and sails.

Orm spends two years as a galley slave, matures into a fierce fighting man and a chieftain, serves the Caliph of Cordoba, turns Christian in order to marry a king's daughter, and has no end of ferocious encounters and hairbreadth escapes before ending his days as the wealthy patriarch of a large family.

Adventure stories are as old as the human race, and they never lose their appeal, especially when told with skill and verve. In his introduction, Michael Chabon celebrates the "deadpan humor" of the book, found on nearly every page. Bengtsson's extensive knowledge of the period illuminates the book, but never gets in the way of the narrative.


Well-written historical novels are a window into the past. While looking through this one, you may well wonder how descendants of these plundering, death-dealing, take-no-prisoners rovers of 10th century Scandinavia became the highly-civilized, forward-looking, peaceable Swedes, Norwegians and Danes of today.

Thanksgiving and after

Snow lasted long enough that we wondered if we'd spend Thanksgiving at home instead of at Vashon. Wind on Monday night brought down trees and major power lines all over the island.

Power came back to the south end Wednesday, about 2 hours before L & D and a friend arrived at the cabin. Roads were still a bit icy, but snow was supposed to start melting Thursday morning. By the time we started off on Thursday, all the main roads were bare and wet. On the island the side roads were covered with bits of fir branches - nature's own traction device!

Cabin holidays are the best - relaxed but festive. Good food, good company, laughter, games, books and conversation. The turkey was one of the freshest we've ever eaten - L & D raised an even dozen this year. Eight survived to become Thanksgiving meals.

Snow surprise

Otherwise known as #snOMG (its Twitter hashtag) or #snopocalypse. It's a given that we're weather wimps here, but when the forecasters predicted cold but dry, most snow to fall elsewhere, we believed it.

Today we got snow. And cold. And wind. And at 10 p.m., when it's supposed to ease off, and the storm warnings are scheduled to be lifted, it's STILL SNOWING.

People have spent hours traversing 20-minute commutes. Those who are lucky enough to live close to town (or at the bottom of long hills) are hosting slumber parties.

Daughter-in-law Zanne is spending the night, happy to walk here after seeing the chaos of chained-up buses blocked by stalled cars on a major arterial. I'm happy to be safe at home.

Earlier, I did take the bus to another neighborhood, mainly to go to the library to snag the last part of Your Face Tomorrow. If it's going to snow and be cold for the next few days, a good book is essential!

(This morning, the snow still looked relatively benign, especially when it was light enough to balance on the Japanese maple leaves.)

Reflections

In Venice I photographed favorite things - gondolas, gondoliers, peeling buildings, canals of all sizes, windows full of masks or marzipan. So many pictures are really about reflection - the way water captures and extends the beauty of boats and buildings.

Tonight there's a full moon here in Seattle, turning the surface of the lake into cold wavy steel. A few flakes of snow fell this afternoon, and more may come tomorrow.

All weather looks more extreme through a window. Late this afternoon I bundled up and went out for a walk in the dry cold. Any winter day you can walk without getting wet is a plus.

Reading: Your Face Tomorrow, a trilogy by Spanish writer Javier Marias. The writing is complex, but compelling (one must admire the work of Marias' translator.) All I will say about plot is that parts of the books feel like James Bond adventures written by Henry James.

Scrapbooks

I've occasionally cut and pasted and labeled scrapbooks of trip pictures, and it can be a messy, unsatisfying job (especially the labels - even my very best printing isn't exactly quality calligraphy.)

So it's a treat to put together a digital photo album, then get back a finished product that looks like a real book! Earlier this year, I made one as celebration of 20 years of partner church history, as a gift for the minister emeritus who was responsible for our becoming a partner congregation at the very beginning of the program.

Inspired by that project, I then made a smaller book with photos from a trip two years ago, as a gift for our Dutch hosts, and took it to them this fall, when Nancy and I again visited Holland.

Later on that same trip, we helped celebrate another friend's 80th birthday, and a book seemed the perfect gift. On the night of the party, I switched off the flash on my small camera, and circulated through the party snapping away, hoping for a good candid shot of every guest.

Nancy and I put together the book soon after coming home, and last week it went off to Dordrecht. Today we got an ecstatic e-mail thank-you, more than enough reward for our effort.

Birthdays should be celebrated!

Falling back

Although I love long light summer evenings, I think Daylight Saving Time begins too soon and ends at least two weeks later than is reasonable.

"Now the afternoons will be short and dark. How can you like that?"

But mornings will be earlier and lighter (for a while.) And long dark evenings are perfect for reading.

Leaves are almost completely off the trees, thanks to yesterday's wind and rain. Sidewalks swept clean are tattooed with dark leaf shapes.

Sparky the cat watches, fascinated, crouched in "attentive hunting cat" position, as big leaves float off the maple tree. Today she dashed out the door to pounce on one that drifted onto the deck. As if it were a bird, she picked it up in her mouth and brought it inside. I think she likes the crackly sound.

One friend is headed into a tribal area somewhere near Bhopal, India. Another spent a recent evening watching stars falling over an island in the South Seas. After three trips in five months, I should be content to be home ...

Avoiding election night gloom

...and blogging to avoid returning to my NaNoWriMo project. My darling daughter-in-law, who successfully finished the draft of a novel in last year's NaNoWriMo, convinced me it's worth a try, so I'm trying to translate one of the stories I've told myself over many wakeful nights. Progress reports to follow.

(So far very little to report. Last night I managed about 710 words. A friend who had been out knocking on doors trying to get out the vote came by to decompress, just in time to rescue me from having to write Chapter 2.)

It's election night, and I am gloomy about results. Here in Washington we have a Senate race that should barely be a contest - and in polls, it's too close to call.

Speeches from early Republican winners trumpet American exceptionalism. When are we going to grow up?

This afternoon Nancy and I worked on a book of pictures from our friend Jan's 80th birthday. His party, in Dordrecht, was one of the highlights of our trip in September.

Another highlight was the sojourn in Venice. Here are some pictures.





(I love gondolas.)

In Venice, again...

This has been an extraordinary travel year for me. This time last year Nancy and I planned another Tauck cruise as a way to take my mind off upcoming surgery, and deliberately set the date for October 2010 in case I wasn't well enough by spring.

So then Leah and I went to Spain and France for 3 weeks in May, and I went to Transylvania and Austria and Paris in August, and less than six weeks after returning from THAT trip Nancy and I took off for Holland, Venice and a short cruise down the Adriatic on the 23rd of September.

After a busy week in Holland, where we visited with the people who made us so welcome in 2008, we came to Venice a couple of days early, to have time to explore before the tour takes up. I now no longer remember how many times I've been here, but Nancy had never come to Venice, and it's fun to take a first-time visitor to some of my favorite places.

It's raining a bit, but that doesn't matter. There are lots of other visitors, but that doesn't matter either, because no matter how crowded Venice gets, there is always a quiet place just down a side passage.

Tomorrow we join the group for a welcome dinner, and Sunday the land part of the cruise takes off. Meantime, we're enjoying the style & comfort & old-fashioned elegance of the Hotel Danieli (incredibly different from my usual lodgings here - fun to be somewhere really upscale at least once!)

Pictures later, perhaps. Note: the Bellini from the hotel bar is a fine drink - can't believe Harry's Bar would do it any better (and it's farther than we want to walk tonight anyway!)

Solstice

September is the breakout breakup heartbreak month, not all the time, but often enough.

Tonight Ian and I went to a vernissage - the opening of a show of watercolors by a longtime family friend. He was easy to find in the crowd of well-wishers, because he spent the evening sitting on a tall chair near the middle of the room - "Doctor's orders!"

This in no way muted his natural ebullience. Though he had trouble articulating, he lit up as each visitor came to offer congratulations on a series of small elegant pictures that eloquently capture a place he knows and loves.

He is very ill - so ill that we may not see him again. According to someone we spoke to, our friend wasn't sure he would make this date.

It's the turn of the year, an early fall that is colder and wetter than usual. Since July, two people I've known for years have died in car accidents. A member of our family is contending with a series of health problems. Listening to the news makes me alternately furious or despairing.

While waiting for a bus on the way home, I decided to focus on the almost-full moon, just then making a pale showing in the eastern sky.

The last time I saw Paris...

...it was raining even harder than in Seattle tonight. In spite of the rain, it's not particularly cold - the balcony door is open, and Sparky comes and goes.

I'm sure the rain hasn't spoiled the Storm victory parade and celebration at the Seattle Center. The team had a splendid season, topped off by winning the WNBA championship in three straight games, and their loyal, enthusiastic fans are ready to celebrate.

Sometimes September is warmer than summer here, but not this year.

A rainy month is a good time to read. Before the Seattle Public Library shut down for its late August - early September furlough (second year for a regrettable event forced on the system by budget cutbacks) I lugged home an assorted bagful. Although the books weren't all from the same section of the library, they all focused on England, something I didn't actually plan.

I like English mysteries, especially those set in familiar places. Right now I'm working through Peter Turnbull's series of police procedurals set in York.

"Arts and Letters Daily" is an excellent source of on-line articles and reviews. In an article about successful children of famous parents, I read about Julian Hawthorne, Nathaniel's son, who lived well into the 20th century, and had his own literary career. In search of his autobiography, published after his death by his widow, I found instead Hawthorne and His Circle, a delightful memoir Hawthorne wrote in 1903. While it focuses on his father and mother and their well-known friends, the book highlights Julian's childhood memories of these people mixed with his reflections on growing up in a charmed atmosphere.

The Hawthorne family spent seven years in England and Italy. According to Julian, Nathaniel particularly loved England, regarding it as "the ancestral home." If his life had not been cut short, four years after the family returned to America, Julian believed his father would have returned to England to live.

My first job was in a small-town library, where one of the duties was to get new books ready for the shelves. In those days, this involved putting the dust jacket into a plastic cover, pasting in a pocket for the circulation card, and embossing the library name on "the secret page" - a way to identify the book in case it met with some disaster.

SPL books now have computer chips instead of card pockets, and you can check out books without ever interacting with another human. But Julian's book is old - I was fascinated to discover that the Seattle Public Library put it into circulation on April 10, 1913 (according to a fading date stamp.) Another stamp records the date it was sent to the bindery, to reappear in familiar green hardboard. The book still has a checkout card and pocket inside the back cover - last used in 1967.

The book didn't register on the check-out pad. "It's so old that it has to be hand-checked," explained the counter clerk, who pasted a dime-size orange dot onto the book's cover to remind me to hand it to a real person when I returned it.

Here's another picture of Paris in unsettled weather, taken from the Pont de Grenelle.

When the Paris high is lower than Seattle's low....

...it's almost time to go home! Amidst reports of record-breaking hot weather in Seattle, we listened to the steady drip drip drip of rain today - then went out in it anyway.

The Sunday market at Place de Bastille, always a lively scene, was almost as crowded as ever, and you had to be careful to dodge the umbrellas. We bought a slice of farm-made Brie, a small Charentais melon, some small sweet green plums, a bottle of Beaujolais Villages red, and a long baguette topped with poppy seeds. The bread man sliced it in half so it would fit into a bag that could be kept dry for the trip home.


(No pretzels at a Paris market, so far as I know - these pictures are from Salzburg!)

And tomorrow's holiday is...

...Assumption Day, freely acknowledged by Parisians to be the deadest day of summer. We hope at least one Sunday market will be up & running as usual.

Today the streets were very quiet, except near tourist gathering places, and even in a well-known and well-loved neighborhood bistro the lunch crowd was sparse.

We lingered a long time over lunch because a spell of heavy rain sent water running down the streets and splashing off outdoor tables. When it finally stopped, the afternoon turned bright and clear.

Museums are open even if the shops are not. On Thursday we went to Rouen, to see the cathedral, and also to see a special exhibition at the Musee des Beaux Arts - "Impressionists in Rouen." Someone had a brilliant idea to assemble paintings by all the Impressionists - famous and otherwise - who spent time in Rouen, and the result is attracting visitors from all over.

Highlight of the exhibition is the room which features at least 10 of Monet's pictures of Rouen Cathedral, painted at all different times of the day to show how light changes the look of an object from hour to hour.

Two of the cathedral paintings belong in Rouen (part of the museum's excellent collection of Impressionists) and two or three are from the Musee d'Orsay. One came from the Getty, another was visiting from Boston, and still another is on loan from the Serbian National Museum in Belgrade. It was exhilarating to look our fill at the paintings, then walk a few blocks down the hill to the cathedral itself, which is undergoing a careful cleaning process to restore the original colors of its limestone facade.

Rouen is worth a trip, with or without a special exhibition. In spite of heavy damage during WWII, its medieval center survives, and there are imaginative new buildings to fill in some of the blank spots. We stayed overnight in a small hotel near the center, and particularly enjoyed a lunch of the local specialty - crepes (both savory and sweet.)

CPR for the blog...

Although I was tempted to delete the last post, so I could re-use the title, I published it anyway, almost ten days after writing.

It seemed easier to blog on the spring trip, partly because Leah was so involved in journal-keeping. Here in Paris, where I've already had as long a stay (3 nights) as anywhere else since leaving home, I'm aiming to get back in the groove.

The new bank card DID come, delivered to Salzburg by FedEx, as promised, last Thursday. My host and hostess (who probably worried about having me on their hands for weeks if the card did not arrive) rejoiced with me; and after I returned from the nearest ATM with cash in hand, we celebrated with a glass of Poire William.

In Salzburg it rained. "Now you know why Austria is so green," said my host. All through the trip weather has been either hot or wet, or cold, without much in between.

Only someone from the Northwest would expect temperate weather in July and August. In Paris mornings are fairly cool so far, but by mid-afternoon people who left home in sweaters and jackets look very much out of place. Today it seemed there might be a thunderstorm to cool things off, as dark clouds piled up all afternoon, but tonight it's clear outside, and the only breeze anywhere is from a big fan stirring the living room air.

Everything you have heard about Paris in August is true. Even in heavily-touristed areas, most of the small shops and restaurants are closed for "les vacances," leaving courteous little signs on the door with a reopening date. Here in the 17th many shopowners cover display windows with brown paper before leaving for the beach or the mountains, and some blocks have nothing but blank storefronts. The good bakery and the butcher/deli are both closed, but Monoprix is open and lively (and air-conditioned!)

Upside of all this is that you can cross streets without taking your life in your hands. Yesterday the "velib" (rental bike) stands were all nearly empty, as people rolled through Paris on two wheels, taking advantage of light traffic.

I found the Sunday crowds - at Place Bastille, where every cafe was full after the morning market shut down, and at the Pinacotheque, a museum near the Madeleine, where it was the last day for an extensive retrospective of art by Edvard Munch.

Titled the "anti-cri," the show was an energetic effort to show that Munch did, after all, do something besides "The Scream" (called "Le Cri" in French.) And it was fascinating, because he DID produce masses of work, in many media, over a long and prolific artistic life. I particularly liked the woodblock prints he did early in the 20th century. Although many were monoprints, with just one color added, he often went back and hand-colored later versions, with some very interesting results. Toward the end of his life Munch even got interested in film, and at least one grayish, blurry, jerky production survives.

Today it was on to the Orangerie, the only place to see Impressionists in Paris just now (because the collection of the Musee d'Orsay is on tour while museum renovations are underway.)

Last time I was in the Orangerie was almost 30 years ago, when it held all the Impressionist works, and displayed them very badly ("skying" is the term - you could get a very stiff neck from trying to see the paintings.)

Eventually the museum was extensively remodeled, primarily to display Monet's huge "Waterlilies" panels in a large oval room all their own. They are the main reason to visit the Orangerie - I think the Musee d'Orsay carried off the best of the rest of the collection, leaving behind only a few gems and a lot of nice little paintings by famous artists.

It's one of the few museums open on Monday (another is the Cluny, a really marvellous place.) One aim of this sojourn in Paris is to lengthen the list of small out-of-the-way museums I have seen. On Saturday I made a good beginning by visiting the Musee Balzac in the 16th. It's interesting because it is one of the few buildings remaining from when Passy (now a very elegant district full of tall Belle Epoque apartment buildings) was the country - a place where Balzac could write and edit feverishly to make publisher's deadlines, and hide out from his creditors. Not many people find the museum, which is just as well, since rooms in the 18th-century house are very small.

I do have pictures from Paris, but not on the computer as yet. This shot was to test the zoom on the new camera, to see if it would pull in the view of the ruined fortress above the village.
(On the "Friends of Torockoszentgyorgy" Facebook page, another recent American visitor suggested we create an "I left my heart in TSG" bumper sticker...

The blog lives - I think!

I know - I promised my five (possibly six or seven) readers that there WOULD be a blog on this trip. It could still happen.

Today the word is that I need to travel with a cellphone.

It's not that I'm a luddite. In my luggage are a notebook, an iPod Touch, and a small digital camera. Generally I rely on e-mail and the net for communication and information, and generally that works well.

Then I got the dreaded "card denied" incident. Today. Saturday. High noon in Vienna, where most ATM machines are behind doors you have to open with a credit card, and almost everything official begins to shut down at about 1 p.m. Fortunately, there are still a few decent phone booths, but they have no doors, and are located on busy streets. And the "international operator" (I suspect an international imposter) assures you that in spite of what your bank said, the number you have just given him is not one he can dial free of charge. Fortunately, my other credit card still works.

So --- two phone calls, separated by a dash across the street, to get money while my card is (temporarily - 20 minutes to be exact) valid. A new card is being sent to me because somehow the old one has been hacked. Against a background of revving diesel engines, I spelled out a complicated Salzburg address where FedEx may find me next week. Stay tuned.

Other than that, Vienna is a pleasant place to be, especially since at the moment it is not suffering from the hot weather so prevalent farther east.

Picture is from Emma's yard in the village. Chicks were a day old, and would normally still have been inside, but, as Emma explained, this hen has "a mind of her own," and wants to be outside.

Finally summer (for a few days, at least!)

When I get home from a trip, I have two simultaneous desires - never to go anywhere again, and immediately to begin planning the next trip.

So far it has been easy to plan the next trip, because until today, our so-called summer weather has been so gray, cold and dreary. Today, just as predicted by the local weather guru, the sun came out and the temperature went up.

What he didn't predict was the brisk breeze, that is keeping the afternoon pleasantly warm for sensitive northwesterners who have spent all these months living under rocks.

July 4 came and went, in the rain, but with magnificent fireworks over the lake, courtesy of an intensive fund-raising campaign last spring.

And now it's the 6th, and on the 18th I leave for the next trip - this time to Transylvania and points east.

Oh no, not another holiday …

Not that I have anything against holidays. It's just that after navigating around - or through - four major ones in France this month, Memorial Day just feels like one more chance to recover from jet lag.

After hot hot Paris last weekend, it's jarring to return to "November with leaves" or "winter with flowers" - either will do to describe current Seattle weather. But it was off to Folklife this morning, bundled up. Fun to watch the Kisbetyarok Hungarian Dancers from a comfortable seat, and without having to help clean up a kitchen full of dirty dishes afterwards. (When they perform at Partner Church galas, I watch for a few minutes before scurrying back to the scullery.)

Folklife is also a major event for the Sousa Band, complete with Sedentary Majorette and the world's only sedentary Drill Team. Today I was part of the audience, enjoying the reactions of some friends who had never seen the group in action before.

The Mural Amphitheater is a wonderful place to perform, not just for its setting and acoustics, but its history.

"Nirvana played this stage," said my son, explaining to someone why he particularly loves this Sousa gig.

(And the picture? Seattle Center doesn't have a carousel - this one is in San Sebastian.)

Paris when it sizzles...

And it has been sizzling since Saturday, when we arrived after a short stay in Lyon. It's yet another holiday weekend - Pentecost - and even if it weren't, Parisians would be out celebrating the sunshine, because winter and spring were long and cold here.

Yesterday Leah and I went to the flea market at the Porte de Vanves, where we looked and looked and even bought a couple of small things, but flaked out by a crepe stand before the end of the tables and booths. (The crepe au citron was very good, thank you, though it could have used more citron.)

In Paris we have ridden buses whenever possible, for the opportunity to see the city. Even when full, they are often a better choice than the Metro, which has been crammed full of people all weekend. There are huge things going on in Paris over the holiday - tennis matches at Roland Garros, an enormous garden and farm and plant and animal exhibit on the Champs Elysees, and art exhibits and meetups and ordinary tourist activity. In the midst of all this yesterday, we joined the crowds in the Metro to get Leah and her suitcase to Gare de L'Est, where she was taking a train to visit friends who live in the suburbs.

Anyone who came to Paris for a first look at the Eiffel Tower will be somewhat disappointed. Its lower sections are hung with construction netting, and there's an extensive fence. Other parts of the Champ de Mars are blocked off, and the surrounding area is unbelievably crowded. We were glad to get somewhere quieter on Saturday night.

Tomorrow I leave the hotel at 7:30, to get to CDG in good time to check in for the Seattle flight. In addition to the flea market finds (very small) I'm bringing home a bit of Paris sunburn (not too large, fortunately!)

The sunny southwest, at last...

Finally the weather has changed. Cathy, who has been in France longer than any of us, said she saw a 10-day forecast that confidently predicted weather would improve about this time. Amazingly enough, it did - something those of us from the Pacific NW only believe when it happens!

Yesterday we drove to Cordes sur Ciel, a lovely hill town about an hour and three quarters north of here. It's the place Rick Steves says to avoid because it's an overcrowded tourist trap - which may be true in July, but not necessarily in May. Yesterday we were able to walk right into a restaurant with a view, and during our visit most people we saw were residents going about their normal activities.

Today the sun came out early, and by late afternoon we could sit on the terrace at La Cascade with books or knitting and really enjoy being outside.

Leah and I went off soon after breakfast to explore some of the side roads nearby. After a couple of hours of touring, during which we got no more than about 20 kilometers from Durfort, we still had not run out of interesting small roads to travel. In this part of France (settled for thousands of years) it's difficult to get more than 10 kilometers from a village or small town, and they are all worth a short visit.

After lunch, we went to Soreze, to visit with an American friend who lives in a small 16th-century house she has carefully brought back to life over the past few years. Afterwards, we all walked back to Durfort over a hillside path, enjoying views that included a field of red poppies straight out of a painting by Renoir.

Still freezing in France...

Where yesterday the Finnish ladies discovered that northern Scandinavia is the place to be right now because temperatures ranged between 25 and 29 Celsius (multiply by 2, add 32.)

Meanwhile, we bundle up to go outside, and stay close to the fire indoors. Yesterday the sun came out while we toured & shopped at the market in Revel, but everyone was in parkas. The market is recognized as one of the top regional ones in France, and there is an amazing array of food, most of it produced in the area or not far away.

At the market we purchased the makings for a festive dinner - bouilliabaise, two or three kinds of bread, vegetables Leah later used to produce a delicious chopped salad; several bottles of wine, and for dessert a pear tart AND a strawberry tart. (Leftover tart made a fine addition to this morning's breakfast!)

Today it's quiet. Most of the party have gone off to tour, leaving three of us behind to read or write or tend the fire. The sun is trying to come out.

Further adventures in La Belle France

Even in this age of the Internet, it's possible to feel completely clueless when travel is concerned.

Exhibit A: Weeks ago, when checking on train times for the journey from San Sebastian to Toulouse, I found a midmorning train we could easily make by leaving San Sebastian after breakfast. (To go from that part of Spain to France, it's necessary to take the commuter train to Hendaye, just across the border, then link to SNCF, the French system.)

When I checked a couple of days before we were to leave Spain, I could not find that train anywhere on line. Our best bet seemed to be to leave very early, then put in a couple of long waits.

So we left. Early. Before the sun was really up. The walk to the commute train station was pleasant, and we were in Hendaye much earlier than necessary. When we asked about the train I thought we had to take, the helpful reservations clerk said, "Oh no, Madame, you can take the 10:20" - the connection I wanted all along.

Instead of breakfast in San Sebastian, we dashed through a rainstorm to a cafe across from the station in Hendaye. Although it was called Cafe Jose and was, quite literally, steps from the Spanish border, the server just looked blankly at Leah when she asked for a "bocadillo" instead of a sandwich.

We spent much of that day on trains or waiting for trains, but finally pulled into Toulouse about 4:20 after an uneventful run from Bayonne. Our hotel, directly across from the train station, was quite serviceable, and we were happy to eat dinner and go to bed early.

Reason for wanting a hotel so close to the train was that most car rental offices in Toulouse are at the central station. However, we had not factored in Ascension Day, celebrated this year on Thursday the 13th. At the station, only one car rental office was open, and that agent had no available vehicles.

Plan B was an expensive taxi ride to the airport, where agencies WERE open. Without much fuss, we were soon off in our little silver Twingo, a diesel, which Leah likes so much that she is trying to think of a way to put it in her suitcase to take home! So far we have put nearly 300 kilometers on this peppy little vehicle - first the trip from Toulouse to Durfort on Thursday, then today about 200 kilometers as we drove south to explore some of the Cathar country.

It's cold and windy or raining here most of the time, but when the sun comes out it's lovely. La Cascade, where we stay in Durfort, is as welcoming as ever. This year there is the usual Seattle contingent, augmented with two women from Finland (cousins of a Seattle visitor.) One of the Finnish ladies is a retired biology teacher - the other is the current Finnish ambassador to Romania.

Tomorrow it's the big market in Revel, then back to Durfort to cheer on a parade of vintage cars that's due to come through the village about 11 a.m. Pictures to follow, I hope!!

Last night in San Sebastian.....

So we went to five bars, because Leah had to have the last perfect pintxo experience. (Somewhere in between, we also managed another "must do" - a walk on the wonderful hill climb above the fishing boat harbor.)

As always the food was spectacular, and making choices became the only problem. Our next problem is that tomorrow we're going to France, where people will expect us to sit down to eat a meal all at once - how can we do this after (mostly) standing up to eat small, frequent helpings of tortilla de patatas, bocadillos and a huge variety of pintxos for a week now? It will be a serious adjustment! (And all Spanish coffee is better than French - sad but true.)

Yesterday the weather came on clear, hot and sunny, and we walked all the way around the lovely Playa de la Concha, to the rocky headland where Chillida's 1977 sculptures "comb the wind."

Today it rained, but we took the bus to Hondarribia, about 30 minutes away on the expressway, and thoroughly enjoyed exploring its lower and upper towns. Lower town is contemporary, built mostly in the Swiss-chalet like style so popular around here - upper town is medieval or a bit later, all stone buildings, narrow streets, cobbled plazas, and expansive views. Food is good here, too - while waiting out a rain shower before the San Sebastian bus came, we stopped in to a local cafe, and had a drink. With it came a plate of four freshly-cooked sardines, and a couple of small pieces of bread - simple and delicious and so typical of cafe food hereabouts.

We will think pleasant thoughts about our "hospedaje" ("pension") - it's right in the middle of old town San Sebastian, and we've been most comfortable. Although we started out in a very small two-bed chamber, we were eventually moved up to a much larger front room with a view, for the same price...such a deal. Building is old but the owners have put money into modern baths and comfortable beds. And they are very nice people.

You can't come here without visiting the Guggenheim in Bilbao...

...although Leah says she has at least two friends who spent significant time here without paying any attention at all to the museum.

She herself visited here in 1997, shortly after the museum opened. Today we took a fast, comfortable bus from San Sebastian to Bilbao, through rugged green country that reminded us enormously of the Pacific NW. In Bilbao, we were able to try out two other means of convenient public transportation - first the tramline, which runs from the regional bus terminal to a stop near the museum.

The Museum is only part of a general rehabilitation program for the area of Bilbao where it is located. There is a wide promenade all along the river that runs through town, and at several points stroller can cross from one side to the other over interesting bridges (the most recent designed by Calatrava.)

The museum itself holds up well (though Leah the metalworker is worried about the condition of the elaborate metal facade.) Inside, we visited the permanent collection, including a number of large-size painting from the 50's and 60's. An enormous room is filled with cor-ten steel sculptures by Richard Serra, in a combination of spirals and arcs and mazes that can delight or intimidate, depending on your mood.

I've always thought of Serra's work as bombastic, intrusive and much too large for comfort. Today, in this space that is perfectly suited to his massive, yet playful constructs, I began to change my mind.

Two other large exhibits currently at the museum are the "Gluts" series, by Robert Rauschenberg, and a retrospective of sculpture by Anish Kapoor. Each exhibit is phenomenally varied, intriguing and thought-provoking, and we felt especially lucky to see the Rauschenberg.

After all that art, one can sit on an outside terrace with refreshments, and think about the vision and energy that created this new focus for a long-established city.

San Sebastian

Leah is the guide here. In Seattle, she cooked at Txori, a small-bites restaurant established by a man from San Sebastian who was nostalgic for the delicious and varied bar cuisine of his home city. Between a list of "don't miss" places passed along by a former colleague, and some tips from Rick Steves' guidebook, we are eating an amazing variety of pintxos (Basque for tapas.)

Pintxos can be seafood, mixed meats, vegetable and meat or fish, hot, cold, fried or grilled. Most are traditionally served on small slices of toasted bread. Tonight we ate bacalao (cod) with a parsley cream topping; a small grilled shrimp and serrano ham kabob served with piperade sauce, and a pintxo that consisted of grilled fresh anchovy & green pepper.

Among other things.

There are things to do here other than eat, of course. The city itself is set on one of Europe's only sand beaches, a long crescent that would be crowded in summer, but is almost free of people on a chilly May weekend. Crags formed from layers of sediment laid down millions of years ago, then torqued and upthrust into small mountains, bracket the main part of the city, and foothills of the Pyrenees roll back from the ocean. San Sebastian was a fashionable resort from the mid-1800's on, and many of the older buildings are in exuberant Art Nouveau style.

Today we rode the bus out of town a few miles to the Chillida-Leku Museum, dedicated to the work of Eduardo Chillida (1924 - 2002) a Basque sculptor who worked in materials from felt to clay to cor-ten steel, to make objects that range from delicate drawings to massive sculptures.

The museum is on the property that was once his home and studio. The studio, now the gallery for indoor pieces, began life as a 16th-century stone farmhouse. Pictures show the massive remodeling and rebuilding necessary to turn it into a functioning 20th century building.

Metal sculptures of all sizes and shapes are installed throughout the extensive property, and simply become part of the landscape. Wandering from one to another is a wonderfully low-stress experience, so different from a typical museum visit.

Hola from Madrid!

A recent post on a travel site I follow said Madrid "failed to charm."

I would love to know what those people did and where they went, because Leah and I find Madrid if not precisely "charming," then definitely fascinating.

We had a short time here - arrived Wednesday afternoon about 2 p.m., after a delayed (and bumpy) flight from Amsterdam. But we made excellent Metro connections from the airport, and found our hostal with no trouble. (Leah gets many points for her map-reading skills and serious guidebook research.)

We took full advantage of the two free hours the Prado (and the other major museums) offer - between 6 and 8 p.m. Tuesday through Friday, you can pick up a ticket and go through the galleries as rapidly or slowly as you like. Last night we had a list of things we had missed on earlier visits, and we took full advantage of the gallery plan and helpful guards. Tonight we returned, for more exploration and longer return visits to favorite galleries.

Since I was last there, in 2001, the Prado has gone through an amazing remodel and upgrade, that has added access, shop and cafe space, many new galleries and conference rooms. However, the museum still has its mysteries, and a visitor needs to be determined in order to get to the Bosch (El Bosco) "Garden of Earthly Delights" for example.

On display in the same area as Velaszquez' "Las Meninas" this spring is a visiting American masterpiece - "The Daughters of Edward Boit," by John Singer Sargent. Sargent studied in Paris with an artist who revered Velasquez, and he visited the Prado many times to study the master. Under glass is a page (in beautiful script) from the Prado's Museum Copyists' Book, which lists three visits by Sargent, including one on which he was registered to copy "Las Meninas."

This morning we spent time with 20th and 21st century art, at the Reina Sofia Museum. Since 2001 it too has had a massive upgrade, that includes an entirely new building and an extensive remodel of the former galleries.

Madrid is a wonderful place to eat, as well as to look at art. Today we sampled many bocadillos (little sandwiches), tapas of all sorts, and appropriate drinks. Fresh orange juice is available everywhere, and the coffee is splendid. (Not to mention the wine & aperitivos.)

Tomorrow we're off to San Sebastian.

Glorious full moon

But I have no picture. Last summer I tried taking pictures of the moon over the lake, but the results were disappointing.

Just imagine a large white moon, about halfway up the sky, free of the clouds for the time being, but lighting the ones nearby.

It's a spring moon, though the weather continues to be "winter with flowers." Everything bloomed early because of mild temperatures earlier in the year, but now we've had an almost normal quota of chill rainy days.

The blog is about to shift into travel mode, as Leah and I leave for points European next week. A friend we're joining later in the trip left today for Paris, and I'm wondering if she will run across any of this action.

Off to the Gala

Guests invited to a village wedding in Transylvania must wait until the groom, his friends - and the band - arrive to lead them to the church.

Tonight guests at our Partner Church gala won't be ushered in by a band, but they will see an authentic Transylvanian wedding costume (modeled by a willowy dressmaker's mannequin.) Through a long chain of circumstance, our Partner Church Committee received the wedding dress a number of years ago. It was assembled in the 1920's by an expatriate who wanted a costume for his daughters, and it was one of the daughters, then in her 80's, who gave it to us.

Transylvanian wedding costumes are made up of many pieces. The basics are a plain white long-sleeved blouse and full skirt. Embroidered bands of varying widths go around the neck, the wrists and the waist, and the bride wears not one but two aprons. The costume is finished off with a crown head-dress, trimmed in dangling ribbons.

Every stitch of the costume is made by hand. Ours has deep rows of dark-red silk lace, like that trimming the apron in the picture. It's beautiful work that now is almost a lost art.

Happy Easter - a little late

Drat! I started a post last week, saved it, then went on to other things. When I heard someone say "Happy belated Easter" yesterday, it seemed OK to revert & update.

So here's the belated Easter greeting. Although you can't tell from the picture (there's a reason to pose a person next to an object, and it's called scale!) this garish Easter egg is at least 7 feet tall.

It lives on an island in Snagov Lake, near Bucharest, a gift from a well-meaning group perhaps hoping to brighten the day for the lone priest who lives on the island.

The egg is like many things in Romania - too bright, too big, entirely out of proportion. Like the rest of Eastern Europe, Romania has jumped a long way in the past 20 years, and travelers are often reminded of the length of the jump. (And yes, some of my favorite places are IN Romania. It's that kind of country.)

The other picture is to remind myself (and anyone else who loves Japanese prints) that at long last an exhibition is on view at SAAM, thanks to a fine collection given or promised to the museum. If you love these prints (so influential in 19th-century Western art) go see the show!

The weather has reverted to winter, not surprising after our amazingly early spring. Question now is, "What's next?" (Snow level at 300 feet this weekend.)

Photos and other things

There's nothing like an official memory book project to take away the desire to blog.

On the other hand, resurrecting some old photos to use (by having them transferred from film to disc) reminded me that I do enjoy working with a camera. This picture is of spices in the market at Nice, taken in September of 2001. (Click on the picture to make it larger.)

Now that the "official" project is finished, I can return to random writings. Even poetry, thanks to a class I've been attending for a month or two. So far I've produced nothing new, just revised some old pieces.

The class feels more like a poetry support group (thanks to R. for the insight!) but since it encourages writing or revising, it's a help. And it reminds me that I have been privileged to work with some really fine teachers.

The memory book is for the partner church group. Someone is bound to be miffed because a particular picture was left out, or an activity slighted, but such is life.

I worked with an on-line album-making program, and found (on a first try, at least) that it was almost as time-consuming and frustrating as working with scissors, paper and glue.

However, as one Facebook friend pointed out, I didn't get glitter all over my fingers.

(It had never occurred to me to use glitter in an album. Not even cyber-glitter.)

Full moon, clouds - and tulips

February almost always ends too soon, even in leap years. Tonight there's a valedictory full moon, moving in and out of high clouds, and it's the anniversary of our last big earthquake. Much too easy to think "We're next,"after recent events in Haiti, Okinawa, and now Chile.

I've just displaced Sparky, who was curled in a favorite warm spot (corner of the couch, directly under the reading lamp) but she has found enough space to regroup. We also "share" a favorite chair (translation: she commandeers it the minute I get up.)

Cheers for the Canadian men's hockey team. I was, after all, born in Kamloops, and spent some formative years in a frozen-over prairie town where the ice rink was the entertainment and recreation center. Cigar smoke on a cold day still reminds me of going to curling matches with my grandfather.

Ian and I checked out the Ballard Sunday Market, where kale and cabbages and apples and honey and cheese and fresh fish and flowers and shoppers and dogs and musicians and stuffed toys and knitted hats and jewelry and pastries and hot dogs and home-made ice cream bars all co-exist on two blocks of Ballard Avenue.

What I really wanted was a better picture of the small dog in the pink sweater. It was only a bit larger than the stuffed cats and monkeys.