More Ancient Greece

Ancient Corinth
Nov. 22

We've seen a lot of ruins now, but they all have a different story to tell, and every time we pass through I like to imagine the other feet that have passed where mine now walk.

The ruins here in Ancient Corinth stand out to us for a couple of reasons. The first is that this was the home of Jason, of "Jason and the Argonauts" fame. He made a bad choice in his first marriage to Medea, a witch. However, monogamy NOT being a law in those days, his second wife, Glauk, promised to be a much kinder mate. Sadly for poor Glauk, Medea wasn't ready to share. The evil first wife sent Glauk a cloak as a wedding gift, when GLauk put it on as she walked through her new home, the poison that the cloak was soaked in set her on fire. Poor Glauk leaped into a large fountain in a futile attempt to douse the fire. The fountain (or it's base, anyway) still stands for us to muse over several thousand years later, long after Glauk's earthly remains and resting place have been lost. As I pointed out to the boys, this is also a poignant little reminder that monogamy makes for a happier life, all around!

More recent history makes this the site to which St. Paul sent his famous letter about love. My Biblical knowledge is not all that it should be; perhaps this question is already answered for me right there in the Bible, but what did the Corinthians do that prompted that most beautiful of admonishments? Did the behaviour of Jason and Medea set a standard of unhappiness that shaped behaviour for millennia to follow?

If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or clanging symbol.
And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge;
and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind, love is not jealous or boastful, it is not arrogant or rude.
Love does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice in wrong, but rejoices in the right.
Loves bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends.
1st Corinthians 13, 1-8

When I read that, then reflect back or the violence and tragedy of the pre-Christian millennia (not the post-Christ times haven't been filed with bloodshed), I can't help but think that humanity is advancing, one slow and torturous step at a time.


Nov. 23

In a particularly courageous mood, we braved the traffic and headed into Athens today. Originally, we had intended to move camp out of Ancient Corinth and closer to Athens; it's actually too cold to be tenting, and our digs on the first night in Corinth were pretty yucky, and quite pricey. However, as we were packed up and ready to head out of Ancient Corinth after seeing the ruins, we stop for a gyros, which was the most delicious yet. The "gyros guy" just happened to have a room to let, so we moved to his place, and decided it was easier to just keep our base here rather than try to find somewhere closer to the city.

We'd planned to take the train in to Athens, but we were told it would been very costly for the five of us, and that service is pretty erratic. So we got up early this morning, and since it is a Sunday, the traffic was light. I made copious notes as we followed the signs in to the centre, and we were able to find our way back out with relative ease.

Of course, the great thing about Athens on a Sunday is that the museums and attractions are free, so we were able to wander in and out of wherever we pleased, and not feel a great pressure to "get our money's worth"! With kids, this is such a better way to approach things! But we sure put on many, many miles on foot. The Acropolis is at the top of a significant hill, so it was a good thing we had the previous months of athletic training before attempting today!


Puffing our way up the side of the hill to the Acropolis, the trip was punctuated by many interesting, half-excavated ruins, including two beautiful theatres, so it wasn't a hard journey at all. We were shocked and surprised however, when we had made it to the top and were sitting on the steps for a rest before going in, to hear someone yelling and hollering and realise it was directed at us. Cachell's Paddington Bear, picked up at the Tower of London many months earlier, had been accompanying us on our tour, and it turns out he was the source of the trouble. No effigies are allowed in the holy site!!! He had to be stuffed deeply into a backpack before we were allowed further access, much to his -- and his owner's -- great indignation!! (You can just see the offending bear if you look in Cachell's lap in the photo!)



Delphi
Nov. 24, 2008

Lochlan's current favourite god is Poseidon, so we took a family vote and decided it was worth the extra couple of hours driving to head down to the tip of the Attica peninsula (south of Athens) and check out the Poseidon Temple right where the land ends and the sea spreads in all directions for miles around. It really was very beautiful -- except for the Parthenon, it was the largest collection of standing pillars that we have seen. And the setting was so spectacular... legend has it that it was here that King Aegeus stood day after day, watching for the ship to return that had carried his son Theseus away to Crete to battle the Minotaur. The deal was that if Theseus survived and was on the returning ship, he would change the sails from black to white so Aegeus would know immediately how he had fared. Of course, Theseus being a teenager, the celebration party on their return voyage was a little exuberant, and the sails were forgotten. Standing on those cliffs the lure of the sea below was enticing; I was mesmerised by thinking about Aegeus standing there, seeing the outline of a ship on the horizon, realising that it was the one... his heart beating faster, willing it closer, close enough that he could see -- and the piercing spear of agony when he saw the colour black. It would have taken very little, really, in that initial wild upsurge of grief, to follow the call of the waves and simply fly forward, into the oblivion below...
rainy dark,

It was a long drive up here to Delphi once we left the Poseidon Temple, but we managed to navigate a bit more successfully through Athens by skirting the east side, rather than the west side which we went through this morning. (The athens part of our journey alone took 1 1/2 hours!!) Not surprisingly, it rained for most of the afternoon and evening, so we arrived into Delphi in the dark, cold and wet. We had thought we'd try camping one last time here, but had failed to realise that this town -- home of the famous oracle -- is halfway up Mount . When we crested the summit, it was actually snowing! So camping was out! Nothing daunted, we just headed for a gyros and asked the owner... and although he didn't have a place, he and the other customers flipped out their cell phones and had us fixed up in a really lovely family hotel within 15 minutes. If in doubt in Greece, always go to the "gyros guy"! (And gyros are delicious, cheap, and really vary from region to region and chef to chef, so they're worth sampling often!)

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This sign was at the bottom of the lane (a T-junction), where we stayed in Ancient Corinth. It pretty much sums up trying to navigate in this country of crazy drivers and oddly labelled signs!! In Greece, the shoulder is the driving lane, and the driving lane is the passing lane! And they pass everywhere -- the favourite place being blind mountain corners!

ancient greece

Ingrid's Bungalow's
Ancient Asini
Nov. 12, 2008

Mitch was up early this morning, searching for better accommodations -- he found a bright and sparklingly clean blue and white bungalow in the middle of an orange orchard, which is perfect! We'll stay here for a week -- it's supposed to rain for a few days (no surprise there!), so a roof over our heads and a little kitchen will be the ultimate luxury!


We went into Nafplio, the 'big town' nearby, to quickly get groceries and to try and catch the local market before they packed up at noon. I LOVE markets -- as Lochlan and I were wandering through he said "I don't really care of we go anywhere else, Mom. I love this!" There is just such a sense of community in a market; here, all the local farmers have come down from the hills with their produce, which is absolutely terrible in the stores. Once they get over their initial shyness (which I think would be a factor in any country, speaking any language) I marvel at how all three of the kids will fearlessly pick out the fruit they want and then haggle for a price -- all in Greek! How do they do that?! I will never be that brave, but I am very proud of them (and when I have them with me I don't need to be brave!)

And perhaps the greatest thing is that we're literally in the middle of an orange orchard -- the trees touch the bungalows on all sides -- and so we are eating our fill of excellent mandarins! Yum! We offered to help with the harvest but there is apparently a knack to picking, so we'll have to content ourselves with watching and feasting.


Nov. 15, 2008

We took a little day trip today. We're down in a draw between the mountains here, and it is lush and green with irrigated orange groves. As we went up into the hills, east towards the coast, the landscape became much more rocky and desolate. Tucked away up here is the World Heritage site of Epidavros. There is a spectacular theatre here, which is still used for performances in the summer. In ancient times, however, the theatre was secondary; this was the centre of healing, and the site of an enormous Sanctuary of Asclepius, the God of Healing. It seems that most ancient settlements had an "Asclepion", which would have been the equivalent of a hospital or clinic. Epidavros was the main one, however, and people used to flock here to spend a night in the temple, where Asclepius would come to them and heal them in their sleep... although other types of healing, from soaking in mineral waters to blood-letting and leeching were also practised. Poor Asclepius had his heart in the right place... he became so saddened by the suffering of humanity that he wanted to eliminate mortality. For this dangerous idea, Zeus sent him to his own ignominious death... but I can sympathise with this most compassionate of gods; it is a terrible thing to watch others suffer.


Ancient Corinth
Nov. 22, 2008

Everyone I've ever talked to about Greece rhapsodised about the islands they went to (and how great the beaches were) or asked me which ones we're going to. This being the off-season, most of the ferries out to the islands aren't even running, but we're really not feeling the lack in any way. It has been an amazing voyage to just really get a feel for ancient history, and we've explored the Peloponnese pretty thoroughly.

An easy walk from our bungalow was the ruins of Ancient Asini, which was built on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea, and was great fun to clamber over and around. A little further inland, we walked through the hills and discovered all sorts of strange holes dug into the hills; it turns out they were burial mounds (or tholos), and in typical fashion for Greece, they had been excavated by the Swedes, and then left unfinished and emptied (the locals have been told they cannot build there, and the hills have been empty for years now).


The biggest burial mound in the area, and one of the world's most famous, was about 50 km away in Mycanae. This is an amazing place; it's the old palace of Agamemnon, and the stone lions that guard the entrance to what was the palace complex are the oldest building sculptures in Europe. The dogs are missing their heads, but they are still clearly recognisable as dogs; and they're several thousand years old. It was here that a sense of time really became hard to gauge; Mycanae has been settled since the 6th millennium B.C.! And one of the most exciting things about this place -- for us, anyhow -- is that the walls are said to have been built by the tribe of descendants of the Cyclops that lived up in the hills above. Certainly, the size of the blocks that the walls were constructed of seem to defy mere human powers; they are extraordinarily huge. And the landscape is so jagged and barren all around -- it's easy to imagine the hills swarming with one-eyed giants, clumsily lifting enormous boulders like children's building blocks.

And this palace was the site of such tragedy -- told and probably untold over the many centuries as well. Agamemnon was the brother of Menalaeus -- the old king who Helen betrayed when she had her fling with Paris back in Githio. When Menalaeus went on the war path (literally) and wanted to mobilise a fleet to Troy, he called on his more powerful brother for troops. We followed Menalaeus' trail in reverse as we came up from Gythio, through Sparta, and on to Asini and Mycanae. The problem for Agamemnon (and Odysseus and the others who were to sail to Troy in pursuit of the young lovers), was that the ships sat languishing in Asini, unable to sail because of the lack of a breeze, and Agamemnon got desperate. An oracle told him that if he wanted the fleet to sail, he'd have to sacrifice his daughter. With that strange Grecian acceptance of life as dispensable, he went ahead and sacrificed her. Although the goddess Artemis reportedly stepped in and spared the girl, sending her to be a priestess rather than taking her life, Agamemnon's wife discovered what he had done and went slowly mad. She waited the many years till he returned, and then murdered him his first night back in the castle. And it's Agamemnon's burial mound which is so famous -- it's a huge, beehive shaped mound erupting from the earth. It's totally empty now, but we were able to see many of the artefacts from here -- including Agememnon's gold death mask -- when we went to the National Museum in Athens. Somehow seeing the real-life 'props' for these tales makes them more believable, and sad. An exciting antidote to the tragedy, however, was that the original line of kings thought to inhabit Mycanae came from Perseus, and included King Eurystheus, who sent Herakles on his labours! We loved to think that Herakles himself may have passed under the Lion's Gate, with the Nemean lion's pelt flung over his shoulders, sending the cowardly king scarpering for cover...

Wandering through the Peloponese

Gythio (the old Port of Sparta), Greece
Nov. 9, 2008
I am cross-legged on my bed as I write this, looking out across our 18 inch balcony to the sea. It's lovely... I could sit out in the sun but it's too bright to see the screen! Rain drove us south from Olympia -- they were desperate for it, and we knew if we stayed long enough it would be sure to follow!! Guess we'll need to do the same now here; they haven't had any rainfall to speak of since April, so the olives and apples are really suffering.


I am looking across the little harbor at the tiny island of Marathonisi. (It's actually connected to the mainland by a short bridge now, so it's not really an island.) Local folklore says that this was the spot where Paris and Helen of Troy consummated their love affair, and so began the Trojan War. It's amazing to be living, however briefly, in a land where legend & history walk the streets alongside us.


We're staying in "rooms" run by a lovely older Greek lady, who is enchanted by the kids and keeps popping up to the nearby bakery to buy them treats. (They want to stay here forever!!) It's a nice, homey feeling place... and while there is not much to see in terms of actual sites, the sea beckons, and it is warm enough to at least paddle!




Grease
Tolo Beach, Greece
Nov. 11, 2008

I love our kids -- they're such good sports. We're here in a real pit of a 'bungalow' in Tolo, Greece. We ended up here in the dark... it was cold and we were tired and this seemed our best option but its pretty gross. Think mint green walls but worse than that, a thin layer of greasy grime that holds the dirt and is hard to shake coating everything. But the kids are just quite happy wherever we end up; once we spread out our cheerful blue and purple sleeping bags and have the smell of a home-cooked meal wafting through the air, they are 100% happy. They're sitting on the beds right now composing stories set in ancient Greece...

And I am happy now. We've cleaned the bathrooms with 'Meister Propre' ('Mr. Clean' bought in Germany) and paper towels, gone over the floors, and scrubbed out the sink and small counter space -- I debated washing up their dishes, but there is no running hot water, and they needed some serious work. Never mind -- we have our own, anyhow. The beds are clean (although I'm using our sleeping bags on top of their sheets), and that's all that really matters. And we have plug-ins, hot water in the shower, and little perks that always bring a smile to my face in this kind of place; here it is a draining rack for the dishes (sanitized by me and M. Propre)! -- I haven't seen a draining rack for months!

It's been an adventurous day... we left Gythio and headed north to Sparta itself. Not much left to see therenow thanks to war, earthquakes and fires... but we stopped to get Caelan's sandal fixed (he's been wearing mine for a week and looked like Mickey Mouse!). As we wandered the shops waiting for the repair we discovered that the Greeks have more children's shops per capita than I have ever seen -- and boys suits are commonplace! (I think they get dragged to church and expected to dress up for weddings routinely!) So Calean has been kitted out in Sparta with full battle regalia -- for the dining room on the cruise! We now have frocks from France for Cachell and myself, shirts and ties from Spain for the boys and a Greek suit for one (couldn't find anything today that didn't billow on Lochlan, but we'll keep looking!). And of course Mitch has the full Italian look: suit, shoes, shirt and tie!


Then we headed slightly west of town to Mystras, an incredible Byzantine palace and fortifications structure built high (HIGH!) up on a hill overlooking the valley around Sparta. The site didn't offer much in the way of information, but we hiked in a vertical fashion for several hours, and the views were spectacular!! The kids -- despite an occasional groan -- are still happy to leap and feint through castle ruins, wherever we come across them!!


We had planned to spend the night there, but the area didn't really have anything open for accomodation, and it did not beckon us to stay. We continued up through the ever=changing hills and vegetation to Nafplio, reputedly one of Greece's most beautiful cities. It has another set of castles strung up along the top of the hill looking down over the town... it was actually founded by the Venetians, so it has a much different feel than the other Greek towns we have been to. It was also impossible to find a place to stay in town (everything is either very high end or closed!), so we groped our way through the dark out towards the beach until we found this campground... too dark to pitch a tent, but we'll need to look for somewhere better in the morning light!

Greek Beginnings

Olympia, Greece
Nov. 4

I'm so happy to be based in a little town with the country all around us (Olympia is population 1450, which makes it not much bigger than the small towns I grew up in!). We are the only people in our campsite -- this is definitely the low season. We like it here -- the owner is a bit gruff but speaks to us in French. All around the campsite, which is on the edge of town, can be seen the scars of a huge forest fire; I remember hearing about the terrible fires that were ravaging Greece a couple of summers ago. The sight of the damage is sobering; the trees around the campsite are all blackened and dead, and a couple of buildings that must have been showers were destroyed as their timber beams burnt right through. The whole site must have been very close to complete annihilation -- the town itself, for that matter. And now the white-haired owner and his cronies are out with their chain saws, bringing down the skeletons of the huge old trees on the periphery, while higher up the hill a bulldozer is pushing down as well. There are so many olive trees mixed into the forests here that it's easy to imagine how a conflagration could be impossible to control; they're so full of oil that they must erupt like bombs and then burn for ages. Scary and sad; we've seen olive trees that were over 1100 years old, so they can have incredibly long lives if circumstances are right.

And the weather is glorious -- hot and sunny, but the evening come fast and things cool right off, so its perfect. Its good to get rid of that horrible feeling of always being damp.


Nov. 5

I've learned more about the fires -- they were just last year, and they actually destroyed half this campground. The kids found ruins of shower and toilet buildings further up the hill. Nearby, there are burnt-out buildings that have been partially pulled down. The hills for miles around are blackened -- they must have fought like tigers to keep the flames out of the ancient Olympia site. Apparently there were 3000 tourists in town off a cruise ship when they fire swept in -- terrifying.

And I was wrong about the olive trees -- they are amazingly resilient. All across the burnt-out hills you can see small tufts of silvery-green at the base of old black trunks, where the olives trees are springing back to life. No wonder they live for so many centuries. As we drive through the hills there are some obviously planted olive groves, but many just appear to be the wild trees that have been trimmed into some sense of order. Often in these little groves, especially as we get further up into the hills, totally off the beaten tourist track, there are little camps set up under the trees -- a shack that people obviously live in, and a little flock of goats or sheep, and an occasional donkey.

We went up into the 'mountains' (huge hills) today in search of centaurs. Hundreds of meters up some seriously stomach-lurching switchbacks, we found the beginning of the enormous oak forest of Folios. Apparently it is unique to the Balkans and eastern Europe in its size and exclusive oak vegetation, but we were much more interested in it's most famous inhabitant, the centaur Folos. He was a benevolent old guy in a species that were not just pretty ponies, and he was a friend to Herakles (Hercules) and mentored him through his labors. When Herakles went in search of the Aramanthian Boar , he stopped in Folios to visit the old centaur, who in a fit of hospitality gave Herakles some wine. Now we have discovered ourselves that Grecian wine is not generally of great quality -- it's usually sold in the same plastic bottles you buy water in -- so we can understand that when you get a good vintage, you want to use it sparingly. Apparently the god Dionysus had given this wine to the centaurs, exclusively. The others in the herd took great umbrage at Folos sharing this godly nectar with a mere human, and they attacked. With typical Greek nonchalance towards carnage, the story goes on to say how -- with difficulty -- Herakles managed to slay the entire herd, but poor old Folos perished as well.


We were hoping that we might come across evidence that some poor little foal (baby?) had been overlooked and as yet darted through the beautiful open spaces below the towering trees. Hard proof remained elusive, but certainly it remains a place of mystery and beguilement; we put on the masks we have from Venice and wandered through the trees and as the kids flitted in and out it was easy to imagine magical creatures lurking nearby, delighted by their laughter. The occasional ringing of the bell on an unseen goat's neck added to the sense of mystery -- maybe what we thought were animals was actually a band of satyrs, come to mourn the loss of their kindred...


Nov. 7

I'm starting to feel a little dubious about labeling ourselves 'gypsies' now that I've observed a few in the flesh. Although the idea of having no fixed abode or regular employment sounds romantic in Canada, in reality what I see are unwashed, unbrushed, uncouth little creatures and haggard, insolent looking adults. We drove around the countryside a bit today (as the weather is once again turning foul) and watched a family of about 10 people at a garbage dump, sifting through the contents and loading it into the small half-ton truck that presumably served as transport for them all. We were torn between repulsion and fascination, for although it was smelly and unpleasant, they did all appear to be quite happy; the kids were pitching in much more enthusiastically than mine do when asked to tidy up!!! An older woman in a long purple skirt and -- yes! -- large hoop earring stood aside somewhat and simply watched; she must have been the head of the household. Interesting.

Of course, although Greece has been part of the E.U. since 1981, the standard of living here varies wildly. Caelan has learned the word "hovel" and uses it constantly as we are driving -- "Mummy, another hovel... is that a hovel, Mummy?". We had discussed the word and I had explained to them that some of the shacks we were seeing were probably peoples' homes but the first time we passed a dilapidated little shed and there was a lady sitting smoking on the stoop, with piles of junk and garbage spilling out of the door and into the yard, we were all a bit shocked and horrified. On the other hand, most of these hovels have views our rich neighbors in Riverbend would give their eye-teeth for; which continues to beg the question for me, "what does a standard of living entail, anyhow?". I'm not sure that just measuring it in $$ and square footage is appropriate. The Greeks certainly seem to work a fair amount of pleasure into their days; everywhere, from the middle of an olive grove to outside every house and business, there are a couple of chairs set for a little afternoon relaxation. In this part of Greece, the villages up in the mountains contain people who probably don't even know what the E.U. is, and they could certainly care less if the world goes into a recession -- it won't affect them. The average mountain village seems to have one to two satellite dishes per hundred to two hundred people; a typical fat-cat oily Greek business man runs the place, and has a cousin connected to anything we could possible want!


One of our favorite sight is the flocks of sheep and/or goats that roam the countryside, accompanied by a shepherd. Because it has been so dry they are often grazing the grass in the ditches next to the roads. I feel uncomfortable taking their photos, but the image is one I will always associate with Greece.

And I continue to love the small town feel; we've gone to a place for 'gyros' twice now, and they are like old friends and know all about where we are staying and gossip about the people who own the campground -- no love lost there! The guy who runs the gas station asked how the boys were doing with their schoolwork when we stopped for diesel... another (very discerning) shop-keeper pulled Mitch aside one day when he was alone on the main street to mention he had some gold products that I might like!

The big attraction around here, of course, was the ancient ruins of the Olympic site. In Antiquity, the Games started in Olympia as a sort of provincial thing but became bigger and bigger until the whole Peloponnese and even further was involved, and all the warring territories swore a truce for the duration of the games. This went on for several centuries; when they Games were revived in 18?? they were moved to Athens, but the Olympic torch is still lit here in Olympia before ti begins its journey.


These are the first big ruins we've seen in Greece, and I thought the kids would be fascinated -- they were interested, and had some fun pretendning to be Olympians in the stadium, but what really got them excited was anything that refered to or informed their extensive knowledge of Greek mythology. So while they liked the temples to Hera and Zues in the site, they were really much more taken by the museum, where they spent ages poring over every display -- especially statues or friezes. I was ready to leave long before they were. I can't believe how they just eat it up.

Venetian Halloween

Venice, Oct. 29, 2008

Water. Everywhere. What a crazy day we had... we were damp and uncomfortable after a couple of rainy days camping in Florence, so we were hoping to drive out of the weather as we went north through the mountains to Venice. Instead, we came through torrential downpours that started small flash floods on the highways. Because the roads here -- even the 'peage' toll motorways -- have no shoulders to speak of, we couldn't pull over, but had to creep forward with the humidity so high we could hardly see through either side of the windscreen. That was exciting!

We stopped at an information booth on the motorway just before Venice, and the woman there made it clear in her disdainful and heavily accented English that we would be mad to pitch a tent in this weather... so we've ended up in another campground 'bungalow'. She figured that Venice would be flooded, but "toureests lova thees"! Last night as the rain and wind tore through the camp, I was very glad to have walls and a roof between us and the great outdoors.

Water to us on the praries is important, of course; it's the difference between burnt fields and prosperity, but here in Venice, water is life itself. They drive on it, play in it, and live on it; their front doors open upon it; it is their garden and their driveway; their livelihood and... in these days of rising tides... their bane. The lagoon around the city is laid out with channels just like roadways, complete with speed signs (14 km) and work crews manning bobcats and backhoes as well as flatdeck boats and floating platforms. Gondolas still ply the canals -- but only for the tourists; the locals use motor boats!

As I write this, the light has been dimmed by the shadow of a huge Norweigan freighter passing so close that even I could throw a rock and hit it. Now that she's gone past, the skyline of Venice sparkles in newly-washed splendour just across the lagoon.


Oct. 31st
Happy Halloween!!


The kids have been very concerned ever since we left for Europe as to what would happen for Halloween. Their hopes were raised by an occasional person in various countries assuring them "oh yes, we celebrate it now"... but the reality is that 'celebrating it' seems to mean some Halloween patterned goods in candy shops, and some decorating in a bar here or there. On the flip side, we've been travelling a continent where ghouls are quite commonly referred to, spooky houses and old castles abound, and the sight of a skull or skeleton is pretty common -- in a way, the whole autumn has been one long and drawn out homage to All Hallow's Eve!

And of course, being in Venice, the land of costumes and revelry, we figured we had to find some way to celebrate! The kids have been absolutely obsessed with the idea of Venetian masks ever since we set foot in Italy, so we decided to buy one for each of us as part of our Halloween celebration. We have now been to every shop that sells masks within a square mile of St. Mark's Cathedral -- some of them twice!!! We've have learned a lot about masks through this process, so Mitch (the anti-shopper) was somewhat appeased! All of us ended up getting our masks in different stores; they're quite an individual thing in regards to shape and personality, and getting the two aspects perfect is a stroke of luck (or perseverance!).

Yesterday afternoon we were given a pamphlet on the street by a girl in costume -- given the time of year, this intrigued us enough to look at it more closely. It was for a 'dinner theatre' style show about the history of Venice -- and "Time Out" magazine gave it a very good review. Kids were free (!!), so we decided to use it as an excuse to get into our fancy clothes that we've bought along the way. This meant pelting back across the city to catch a ferry back to the campground, doing a quick clean up and change, and then rushing back to catch the next ferry and have time for more mask hunting. It was really worth the rush, though... the kids got compliments everywhere they went because they were looking so spiffy, and the show was excellent... well performed and designed. We learned a lot!! Turns out that at its peak, Venice Carnival lasted eight months of the year, and once a mask was donned, it pretty much gave the wearer license to do whatever they pleased. In a country as zealously Christian as Italy, I had wondered how this would work.. but it seems that the monks and nuns were generally just as willing to put on a mask and step into a different lifestyle as the common folk! It's really a miracle more damage wasn't done than was over the centuries; every now and then a new Doge (mayor) and his government would crank out a new list of reforms, but it just seemed to lead to more craziness. For better or worse, the advent of the World Wars finally shut down the party town. I'd love to go back to modern-day Carnival itself (The week of Ash Wednesday), but I can't even begin to fathom how crowded it would be; we are here in the low season and the crowds are manageable, but its definitely busy.


We went back into town this morning for a final look around and to get the last couple of masks with a plan of wearing them once we all had one. We did do this a bit -- and it was surprising how few stares we got as we wandered down the streets -- but it has been drizzling with more rain all day, so fears of wrecking them has limited our time for masked revelry.



On the Venetian Lagoon
leaving Venice
Nov. 1st

Well, we've had a great time here... even in the rain, there is just something undeniably romantic about this city full of narrow pathways, so much water, and beautiful bridges. However, it is not a cheap place to enjoy and the rain presists, so it's time to move to the far South in hopes of warmer temperatures and to keep a tryst with the Gods the boys have read and imagined about for so long.

Our original thought was to drive down the Adriatic coast past what was once the Yugoslavian coastline and now is made up of Slovenia, Croatia, Montenegro and Albania. We were a bit doleful about the length of the drive... and then further investigation (most of it completed late last night!) revealed that our car insurance is not valid for Albania. Why? Because Albania has only really had cars for the last ten years or so since the Wall came down and Communism's steely fist loosened. But apparently the drivers are terrible, the roads even worse (just glorified cart tracks in many place -- and this is through some serious mountain ranges), and mechanics a rarity. Hmmm... while puzzling over whether or not to take our chances and drive anyhow, I did a little more reading about the people... since Communism has diminished, the ancient practice of blood feuding has waxed again. this means that if an offense is given to one family by the opposing one, the insulter must die. But then if someone in a family is killed, his death must be avenged by the entire clan clubbing together to track down and kill all of the men in the family that gave offense. You can see how all this can get a bit complicated and terribly hard on population numbers(!); the guide book then went on to comment cheerfully that tourists are rarely hurt in these struggles, which for the most part are centered in the North Eastern mountain areas. Great. That was right where we had to drive as Serbia was also nit allowed by our insurance documents. Conjuring up images of being stuck in some remote mountain town with broken axle and no way to fix it as the only mechanic in town was stabbed to death in front of us.... we decided to cough up the cash and take the ferry down to Patras. Less exciting perhaps... unless you are three children roaming a huge ship for the first time!! (And I like that kind of excitement better).

Besides, the view of Venice as we slowly slipped through the harbor and out to sea has been worth every penny. This way, we can admire the coastline of Albania from the ship!!

Time in Tuscany

Florence, Italy

Oct. 25

We're sitting on a patio terrace, overlooking the city of Florence. Dominating the skyline is the massive Duomo, which we toured yesterday -- a 14th century looming cathedral with a soaring dome (which gives it it's name). The inside of the dome is painted with exquisite scenes from the Bible, but it was the outside that really captured our fancy; it is candy striped!! The entire structure is made of rows of marble in shades of green, white and rose, so in a cathedral of these immense proportions, it's pretty amazing.


It's not the Duomo that is distracting us from the inevitable homeschooling this morning however -- it's the olive harvest. Even here in the city, no olive tree escapes giving up its bounty. As the trees in the campground have been picked, the olives have been dumped onto a corner of the terrace, so now they've come along to shovel them all into sacks and cart them away. I can't find anyone who speaks enough English to tell me where these are going -- I imagine they'll end up at the local mill to be pressed, but whether or not they come back for use in the campground restaurant, or are sold to pay for running costs, I can't figure out! Two days ago, as we were doing our work in our campsite, we were interupted by the arrival of the men to pick. They were working on the tree just over the fence from us: first they laid down a tarp to catch the fall, then one of them went up and ladder and attacked the fruit with a sort of hand-held rake. Considering these trees can live for centuries, he was pretty rough -- chunks of stems and branches went flying as well as the olives! His partner on the ground seemed to be there primarily to extract the largest chunks of tree from the heap of olives on the ground. Another type of harvest in another country. The olives in the area of France we were in are controlled by the 'appelation controllee" rules for the area (first developed to standardise grape production), and they cannot be picked for another six weeks to two months. Essentially, producers in each region -- even just people with a tree or two in their back garden -- have to abide by picking times decided upon by the local authorities which will yield the highest quality fruit. It's all extremely interesting for this farm kid... especially considering we're smack in the middle of a city!

And what a city -- it's leaving me feeling a bit overwhelmed. The statistics listed on the sightseeing boards list in the city centre: 214 palaces and towers, 167 churches and religious buildings, 61 museums!! Good grief!!


Oct. 27


Sunday was a gorgeous day; we drove out through the Tuscan countryside and enjoyed the sunshine and clear skies. Just to wander through the little towns, or stop off at a particularly interesting looking castle (they're so prolific we've almost become blase) makes for a gentle, happy day. This trip is really showing me what a country girl I am and will always be.

And quite by accident -- as is usually the way -- we stopped at the medieval castle and fortress of Monteriggio, drawn in by the spectacular beauty (and sword play potential) of it's immense walls. We had to take quite a long and winding detour through the countryside to get to it, and then there was another substantial hike up the hill... but what a reward we found inside! The walls themsleves were all that remained of the original big structures, but housed within one of the smaller buildings was a little display of mediaval armor, and they let us try it on!!! The boys were absolutely beside themselves with excitement... and I am sorry to say that the Cox family played our part in adding to the scarring on the low timbered ceiling in a room that contained an extra-long broadsword! Caelan was absolutely dwarfed by that armor, but he was in there with a grim determination that was comical and painfully sweet at the same time. He could barely lift the biggest sword, but when Lochlan wielded it, he had to have a go as well. We're coupling these kind of experiences with some great audio tapes about history... I don't know what use it will be in the big picture of their lives, but they know it inside out!




I had been hankering for Sienna since we left France, but all our unplanned detours that day meant that we didn't get to it (our original destination) till dark. But even that was okay... we've seen the inside of enough churches and monuments already that we could just wander through the walled town and soak up the atmosphere. Again, for the kids there was something magical about being in such a folk-tale kind of setting at 'the witching hour'. We found a little hole-in-the-wall bar that served reasonable food -- 'real' restaurants don't start serving meals at the ridiculously early hour of 7:00 pm, and they're outside of our current budget constraints at the moment, anyhow. Eating out in any way is a big treat for us, but as we munched on re-heated lasagna off plastic plates, the kids pointed out to each other that we will have 14 nights of gourmet food while we're on the cruise!



Oct. 28

Well, we've done our best to get to know Italy, but it has been raining off and on since we got here... it's so much easier to fall in love with a place when I'm dry!!! But the kids have been real troopers; we've spent a couple of days in the reasonable warmth and 'dryness' of a designer outlet mall. Our plan has always been to buy Mitch a suit in Italy... he needed a new one, Italian clothes fit a slim guy like him perfectly, and it saved us dragging one with us all this way just for the cruise. So we set the kids up with their school books, a walkie-talkie, and money to buy themselves some lunch while we tried on and compared suits of all kinds. They were SO happy to have this kind of freedom... they agonised over the best deal for their money (which of course included gelato!), and ordered in Italian... these kind of growing-up days stand out as epochs that leave me proud and wistful. Of course, we were never far away, but the foreign language made it all that much more adventurous -- and courageous.

Then today we decided to get out of the rain and follow up on a brochure to see a display of Leonardo da Vinci's machines while cashing-in on a "free lunch" with admission. When we finally found the place -- the tiny, one-way and usually unmarked streets of Florence are pictureesque but a nightmare to navigate -- we were wet, bedraggled and ravenous for lunch. When we saw that the 'included' sandwich was a pre-packaged job like you can buy at chemists in England, it made me laugh, but we all bellied up and picked out what we wanted from the selection of two types... then we watched in wonder as the guy behind the counter solemnly took out his tongs and fished a half sandwich out of a packet, put it on a plastic plate, and put it in front of us!! So much for our free meal... even Cachell was still starving when it was finished in three gulps!

Fortunately, the exhibition was great. Da Vinci is one of my heroes, and my enthusiasm has rubbed off on all the children. An excellent documentary film on his life done by the History Channel was playing (did they have a license to show it, I wonder?). It was really only there to add to the ambiance as it was in English and an hour and a half long, but we all plonked down and watched the whole thing from beginning till end. Well, almost end; when we got to the part where it discussed his study of medical anatomy late in his life, it showed da Vinci in a hospital morgue preparing to do an autopsy on an old man and a child. The kids had sat through countless war scenes and graphic descriptions of horrible machines for mass killing he designed, but the morgue scene drove them out of the room! Lochlan came back in, but when we left after it finished 5 minutes later we found Caelan lying on the floor under a huge model of a flying machine, where he had apparently passed out!!! Poor guy! Fortunately, the models were mostly hands-on, and so interesting that he was soon cajoled back to feeling fit again.


We all really learned a lot... I am fascinated and slightly repelled that Leonardo respected all living creatures to the point of being a life-long vegetarian, but at the same time, a large portion of his career was spent designing instruments of war for Italy's leading tyrants, including the Borgas. He also absolutely hated Michalangelo... but learning these things made him more human, and therefore much more knowable. We were all vibrating with the awareness that he had walked the very streets we exited onto, and we had to pass Michelangelo's David on our way back to camp... we'll never forget Florence or da Vinci and his contemporaries.

Towers and other off-balance adventures

Oct. 24, 2008

Florence, Italy

It's mid-night black in the heart of Florence, and I am typing this by the light of a flashlight hung from our table's umbrella. It's so mild that we can sit out in the evening to eat (or write) without being thoroughly chilled and uncomfortable -- this going further and further south as autumn sets in really works!!

Having said that, our first day away from the home comforts and warm welcome of the Adolph's was a bit of an adventure. We dragged ourselves out of France quite unwillingly; even after more than a month exploring Provnce and the South we still felt there was so much more to see. We really loved every minute of it, and we all felt our French improving through use -- and parting from Dagmar and Winfred was as painful as if we had known them all our lives.

So all in all, our moods mirrored the cold misty weather outside as we drove through the final eastern miles of France, and then on into Italy. The Italian-French border does NOT show Italy at its best -- and as we needed to put on some miles we motored straight through and south towards Pisa. We arrived in the town itself late in the afternoon, and in uncharacterisictally feckless moods we decided against prudence: we could pitch a tent in the dark, after all, and we were all keen to see the famous Leaning Tower.


And it really was worth the detour... it looks just like a big, squodgy wedding cake slapped together by a pasrty chef who had been into the cooking sherry! It is amazing that it has kept that slant for so many centuries; it started to lean before it's final tier was even built, and continued to fall off vertical for hundreds of years until 1986, when it was 4 degrees past the place deemed physically possible by all experts, and they closed it down and went to work propping it up. Thanks to 20th century engineering skills (and equipment) it was slightly straightened and shored up against catastrope. They still limit the number of entrants to 30 at a time, though!

The kids (and Caelan in particular) were all fascinated by their first encounter with street vendors from Northern Africa selling rip-off watches and purses and always ready with a price "just for you". By the time we tore ourselves away from the delights of haggling, it was well and truly dark. No problem -- we had managed to find a Tourist Info booth and actually had a map to a campground that was still open for the season. It took a bit of 'zigging and zagging' -- every country marks its roads in different ways and none of them are even remotely the same, so we were still working out Italy -- but we found our
way eventually. We parked, rolled out our tent that had just enjoyed a nice long holiday... and disaster struck. Somehow the tent had been wedged into the van in such a way that the connecting strings within the poles had rubbed against the metal supports until they frayed and broke in multiple places. And by this time it is pitch black and everyone was cold, starving, and tired after a long day's travel. Eeek... "these are the times that make for good stories,' I kept telling myself. In the end, we laid out the groundsheet at the end of the car, opened the hatch, and draped the fly over top, securing it at the bottom with our bags. It wasn't the Shangri-la, and its a good thing that the weather had warmed up as much as it had, but we managed. Cachell and I spent the night clinging to each other with the sleeping bag pulled as tightly around our heads as possible -- we discovered a big slug making its way up her bag as we were settling in. (Ugh!)

But we survived -- our dodgy stove had a small and unexpected explosion as I was putting a meal together, so having to sleep in a makeshift shelter seemed trivial in the face of what we could have had to deal with if any of us had been any closer to it than we were. And now we've got ourselves settled in Florence, and we're ready to explore this beautiful city and Tuscan countryside (not to mention the Designer Outlet Centre we passed on the way into town!).

Pirates and Prince Charming

Monaco... text to follow

More with a French Flavour

Text lost on damaged computer... will follow!

Bobbing along...

Oct. 10, 2008, St. Cezaire, France (near Grasse)

When Mitch was teaching in England he had an adult student named Mrs, Adolph who was always impeccably dressed and spoke with a posh European accent... I was keen that we look as professional as possible for her so I never hung around to chat, but she was incredibly kind. She loaned us a cradle when Lochlan was born and gave both the boys lovely baby gifts. Mitch wrote to let her know that we were taking this trip, and although I still felt shy about imposing upon them, she wrote back warmly asking we'd like to come and stay with her and her husband Winfred in their home in the south of France. So here we are, and having a wonderful time. They have a beautiful home up in the foothills of the Alps just an hour or so from the glitzy Mediterranean coast. They have been so good to us -- they've heated up the pool for the children and we have eaten like royalty since we got here. After weeks in the tent, to be spoiled like this is bliss!

We went down to Antibes today to check out the English bookstore (!!) and have lunch outside in the sunshine. As we left our restaurant we passed an big fountain that is in the heart of every 'old town' -- apparently these were provided for the women to have a communal spot to wash their clothes. Although the human inhabitants of the town no longer used the fountain, as we passed by a pair of pigeons were using it happily -- not for a bath, but being modern birds, they were actually showering! The wife (?!) was soaking wet and hand obviously finished, then sat on the brim of the fountain watching her mate as h stood under the stram and lifted first one wing and then the other, looking very much like an old man soaping his armpits. The kids were beside themselves with laughter -- but we tried to be discreet as it was clearly a private moment for the birds!!

Many museums in France are free for children, which makes it so much easier to take them places as there is no pressured feeling of having to 'get our money's worth'. Although we had a quick walk through the National Gallery in England, the time we spent with them in the Louvre was really the children's first introduction to art in a big way. They were interested but slightly overwhelmed by the enormity of the Louvre, but when we took them to Salvador Dali's castle in Spain, they absolutely loved every minute of it. So while we were in Antibes we went to the Picasso Museum, which is housed in an old castle right on the sea. I was impressed by not only the art, but the way the kids were able to look at it with interest and intelligence -- this is education in a huge way.

And then there was simply the experience of wandering through towns with names that vibrate with 'chic', like St. Tropez or Nice. This is the glamorous side of Provence... I just love this country. Every few miles yields something different; we went through Cannes and the over-the-top elegance of the expensive streets where the Film Festival happens, but then within an hour we were back up in the hillsides above the sea, with the ancient road that Napolean took through the mountains cutting its way through the autumn splendour of the forests and hillsides above us.

We are so lucky to be living this life...


Oct. 13, On the water just off Isle de Port Cros, France

We are bobbing along on the brilliant blue waters of the Mediterranean as I write this, just off the Island of Port Cros. We have been fantastically priveleged and are out with the Adolphs on their boat. We docked here yesterday afternoon in the most beautiful and sheltered little harbour. It's a rough half-circle of sloping hills thick with old olives and other trees I cannot identify, but they are all gnarled and twisted, survivors of this tough, dry climate and the occasional roar of the salty mistral winds. Completing the picture is an old castle ruin overlooking the bay, which upon closer inspection is riddled with the marks of cannon fire from conflicts as recent as WWI. (Reading the sign, the French attribute the damage to the English -- which is a bit strange as they were both Allies, but some historical relationships never really change, apparently...).

The island is fiercely protected as a nature preserve: no fishing is allowed in a large swath of sea all around it, and feeding of the fish or the disgusting practise of boats emptying grey water and sewage while in the harbour is strictly prohibited. Rangers prowl the shores and patrol the waters during the summer months to keep visitors in line. No one is allowed to live on Port Cros except for the rangers and a handful of staff who man the few restaurants, post office and one shop, but there is an intermittant ferry service from the mainland, as well as a handful of people who spend a night or two docked in the harbour. Because it is so simple and friendly, Winfred let the children have all sorts of freedom and adventures... the boys launched the tender (a sturdy little dingy) and with Cachell as lookout in the prow, they rowed all through the harbour; around yachts and sailing vesels and big motor boats, all with the greatest of safety. They landed their craft into the little rocky coves, uncovering ruined cannons and finding all sorts of sea life as we kept a discreet watch on them with the binoculars! They would scamble up through the forest to the top of the hills... and then roar back down, move five feet down the shore, and repeat the process. We could monitor their process from the boat or dock but the sense of empowerment it gave them to be all on their own, rowing along on waters 15 meters deep -- a weather eye cocked for pirates on the horizon! -- has matured them before our very eyes.


And while I was walking along the dock, keeping one eye on the children and the other on the crystal blue waters beside me, I saw an octopus!! Of course I called out excitedly to the others and soon we had a contingent of French gathered as well, who estimated that "la poulpe" was probably at leat two kilos; he was a big one! He swam around obligingly, stopped and splayed on the sea bed so close that I could see his beady little eyes as well as the mildly repsive swelling and compression of his gill sacs, and then swam again, actually cresting the top of the water like a dolphin. It was 'fantastique', as the French kept exclaiming! There were dozens of other fish lazily swimming by as well -- the protected waters mean they have no fear, and an occassional illicit bit of bread tossed in the water brings them flocking in the same way it attracts pigeons on city streets! There were no big fish like sharks or dolphins to be seen; the Adolphs have not seen dolphins in the area for over ten years as the traffic on this part of the Mediterranean has become thicker and the boats larger.

Caelan is piloting the craft as we are underway now, under the watchful eye of "Capitaine Winfred". I can see grottos in the cliffs -- no putting to harbour on this side of the island..
*

Oct. 15


I had to stop there, as the speed the boat was allowed to go as we circled the island was limited to only a few knots per hour (so as not to disturb the fish), and although the waters were not exactly choppy, they were full of swells that rocked us this way and that and kept the little (16 metre) boat from holding a straight course. Typing got more and more difficult, and to my embarassment, my tummy started to protest as the waves churned up the spicy gazchapo soup we had eaten for lunch!! I had to lie down (although I stayed above deck), and I must have dozed off a bit until the whine of the engines accelerating woke me. We were out of the protected waters and as the boat gained speed, the ride smoothed out considerably. I was just drifting back to sleep when Cachell and Dagmar were suddenly shouting excitedly; they had spotted dolphins off the bow! It was so exciting -- there was a whole family, leaping joyfully over the swath of foaming water in our wake. Their silhouettes continued to dance and twirl on the skyline as we pulled further and further away. The very fact that we had no expectations of seeing them made the sighting something I was truly thankful for.... although we didn't realise till yesterday that we had spent Canadian Thanksgiving out on the sea!! We certainly couldn't have asked for a better way to spend a holiday weekend -- and even without the awarness of official Thanksgiving, I had found myself thanking God for our good fortune every time we saw a different type of fish, or heard the children cry out in delight over some new discovery, or simply sat in the soft twilight, drinking rose and listening the gentle lap of the waves against the hull.

Life on the road...

Oct. 10, 2008, St. Tropez

We've holed up in a rented mobile home-style "bungalow" in a campground overlooking the Bay of St. Tropez. Sounds glamorous, eh? And it is -- if it wasn't for the beautiful cork tree swaying over our little terrace, we would have an unobstructed view of the Bay, with all it's yachts and sailing ships. On the other side of the tree there is a view of rolling hills, fields of grape vines, and more forests of gorgeous dome-shaped pines and more corks trees. But to tell the sad truth, what interests me most about this place is our little rented trailer that has the unparallelled comforts of a heater, lights, a warm and private shower, a toilet with a seat, and chairs!! Although back in Canada we have the equipment to camp with reasonable comfort, it's been a bit more of a challenge over here where the limits of first our luggage and then our vehicle mean that we are pretty much roughing it!!

It wasn't too bad in the beginning -- after our tent fly came off in rainy Wales, keeping our gear dry was the main concern, and anything after that was a bonus. Then when we landed in Switzerland our car was a little bigger, and it felt like luxury until we arrived at the campground and were informed we could not keep the car next to our tent; it had to remain in the parking lot almost 1/2 a kilometre away. This was nothing short of a catastrophe as I did all our cooking out of the back, and we perched on the bumper to eat (we discovered early on that picnic tables are not supplied in European campgrounds). Without the car, we also had no way to store our food (remember, coolers are North American inventions, and we wouldn't have room for one in the vehicle, anyway). I went off to my conference that first day in Switzerland, and when I got back Mitch had splurged and purchased a folding picnic table for a ridiculous price (I think it worked out to be about $150 Canadian). It seemed like heaven, even though it only had seating for four (thankfully the kids are pretty skinny!).

This new sense of comfort again rubbed off fairly quickly -- there was absolutely no shelter from the blistering heat or pouring rain in Lugano, it was really not much better than a gravel parking lot, and all for the bargain price of $75 per night. (At least the toilets had seats and were reasonably clean!) We had respite with our friends in Berlin for a couple of weeks which was a big relief, and then our next camping spot in Aachen, Germany, cost only 7 euros! Yeah! That kind of price was why we were camping! And it had not only grass and trees, but a picnic table!! Yahoo! Sadly we were only there for three nights before ending up at a site in Paris. It was very conveniently located for access to the city, and it seemed quite pretty as it was in an old apple orchard and there were still many gnarled old trees, laden with fruit. Sinister truths were slowly unveiled as our first day there passed, however... while there was a toilet or two with a seat (the rest were squatters), Cachell and I preferred to use the stall that was literally swarming with spiders and their broods than to face the horrors of the others!!! Fortunately, the lights didn't work in the shower stalls so we could just whip in and out and not look too closely! Then there was the internet; we paid a hefty 20 euros for two hours of internet connection, only to discover that it could only be accessed near the front office (again, a substantial hike away)! Nothing daunted, Mitch set out with the computer while I tucked the kids in and then followed him. By this time, it was pitch black, and the old orchard which had a tatty beauty during the day took on a much spookier aspect in the dark! I burst into a run down the last tunnel of trees, and was relieved to stumble into the light of the cluster of buildings at the front of the compound. I couldn't see Mitch anywhere at the picnic tables outside, so I ventured into the only open building... to be greeted by total silence and then a virtual roar of interest from the clusters of men drinking inside (women clearly being in short supply). I fled, all dignity abandoned, as well as all contact with home!


Happily, after our respite with friends in Spain, we found an excellent campground in the South of France. It was right against the Mediterranean. and we could walk through the camp and end up on a beautiful and incredibly long expanse of warm golden sand. 'Les Sablons', as it was called, also boasted two water slides, five heated pools (alas, none of them hot tubs!), tennis courts, archery, and the essential (for a French site) 'bouladrome'. The showers and toilets were nice and clean, if a little chilly (they were open to the sky), and because it was finally the low season, we had lots of space to ourselves and the price was reasonable. The cout d'etat, however, was the fact that the site was sprinkled with various mobile homes (like the one we're in here) and permanent tents, all of which were being packed up for the winter. These provided us with all sorts of treasures in the form of discarded and slightly broken bits; we are now the proud owners of a large umbrella to shade our picnic table from sun and rain, as well as a second little table which makes me almost feel like I have a kitchen (hurrah for duct tape -- it can mend most evils!). Of course, these new acquisitions (as well as a case of wine) mean packing up the car has become an act of great skill -- and like all such artistic endeavours, it is never carried out without a certain amount of cursing and banging! The kids and I have learned to find comfort in being so tightly packed into our seats that we have no wiggle room... fortunately the scenery is distracting!


The downturn in the world economy has forced us to get more and more inventive as we find ways to cut costs even further. This means that I handwash all our clothes and linens rather than spend 18 euros (almost $30) to wash and dry a load in machines. Although this does make my hands ache and is pretty unpleasant when the weather is chilly, I can't help but feel an affinity with the generations of women before me who had to do this onerous work without the benefits of running water or lightweight travel fabrics! Our other big savings is made by cooking the majority of meals ourselves on two little gas burners. Although these are a bit tempermental (so far my eyebrows have not been singed off, so that's positive!), and there is a definite hassle factor in trying to provide balanced meals with no refrigeration, they do have advantages. We may not be Diner's Club members, but we have dined in castles across Europe, on meals whipped up in the ruins of "the butteries"! And shopping for fresh meat and produce every day helps us understand on a much deeper level how the locals live -- deep freezes full of food and 4-litre milk jugs are purely a North American phenomena.

The good thing about life in our tent is that it forces us to interact with all sorts of people and make new friends. We spent an evening with some Dutch families drinking coffee so strong I was trembling all night, and the past week swapping stories about life on the road each night with another Canadian family and several bottles of the local wine. Our Paris site provided great comic relief in the form of the cleaners... I was pretty excited to see them (!!) and I happened to be washing clothes in the "sanitary block" at the time, so I watched them with interest. First they stood outside, smoking their way through several cigarettes and talking non-stop, before finally butting out, sighing, and retreating inside (each went a different way). The woman near me then unlocked a cupboard, sighed, took out a rag, sighed again, and flicked it around the sinks. Overwhelmed by the tedium of her work, she then returned outside for another three cigarettes, before retrieving her rag and setting off for another round. Later that day, with some concern I checked on our toilet stall -- but I needn't have worried, the spiders were still cavorting along the walls, undisturbed by the flick of any rag... .

The more challenging aspect of life in our tent is that as the weather becomes autumn, even the sunny south of France suffers from chilly mornings and short days, which make typing and homeschooling a little tricky! But Paris cleaning ladies stiff or stiff fingers on cold mornings help us appreciate the luxuries of home... or little shacks like the one we're in now. The next time you put a load in your washing machine or dishwasher, think of us... we're thinking of you all with love and affection.

Bon soiree.

Vignettes de Provence

Oct. 9, 2008

Sur le Pont d'Avignon,
On y danse, on y danse
Sur le Pont D'Avignon
On y danse, tout l'heurant

We have based ourselves in the Provencal town of Avignon, and our campground is on an island in the River Rhone, right across form the walls of the old town and with a splendid view of the fabled "Pont D'Avignon" made famous by the French nursery rhyme. From this delightful spot, we have been perfectly placed to day trip to all sorts of interesting places, none more than 20 km away, and each one unique and absorbing. Every day brings another amazing 'field trip' -- we're all learning so much, and then every night we come home to the lights of the Pont twinkling across at us.

Pont de Gard


Another bridge, this one is on a stature the little fabled one can never match. In our day of disposable everything, you only have to look at this huge structure to feel ashamed. This is merely a portion of a 200 km aqua-duct that the Romans built to move water through this part of the Empire. Pont de Gard was under construction as Jesus was teaching the word and dying on a cross. It is absolutely immense; three tiers of soaring arches high across a gorge. The river below is now sluggish and only half the width it clearly used to be -- but what an amazing place to kayak, or in warmer weather, to dive and swim. (The signs forbid diving within 200 metres of the site -- as Mitch said, they don't want blood on the bridge!)

The walls of the arches alongside where we could walk were at least free of the spray-paint that so many other historic sites in Europe sport, but what tickled the kids was the ancient graffiti carved into the huge blocks. The dates we could read were from the 1700 and 1800's -- but I am sure there have been 2000 years of messages and love notes scrawled into its supports.


The Roman Theatre at Orange


Wow -- this place has seen the drama of many lifetimes and incredible history played out on it's proscenium -- literally. Every Roman town on the outposts had a triumph arch, a marketplace, and a theatre for entertainments. At the height of the Empire, there were 300 entertainment days set aside every calendar year -- 200 of those were dedicated to theatrical events! Actors must have been better paid then -- and there was certainly less time spent selling shoes or waiting tables and more on stage!! Women were accepted as performers as well... but then as the Empire declined, theatre became more and more about spectacle rather than literary celebrations, and women's role on-stage became more and more tawdry. Eventually, theatrical exhibitions were pretty much porn, the art form was disbanded, and the theatres deserted. (Hmmm... this kind of makes a person wonder about the state of the American Empire if we think about the content of 'modern' culture in terms of television, film, and computer games these days... we're no longer a culture that values literaure, either...)

The theatre in Orange became an army garrison and prison... till the Goths invaded and totally sacked the place. The ripped out all the tile and statury, and stole or broke everything of value. The remains of the theatre would probably have gone the way of all the others in the area, except that when the Religious wars started, they used the 30 meter stage wall as a fortress, eventually building their houses right up against it, all the way to the top. You can see the holes they gouged to drive beams for floor supports in -- it's pretty amazing. So the drama of real life preserved the dramatic venue; when they decided to restore it in the 1800's, they had to rip out over 40 buildings till they uncovered the wall itself. The amphitheatre was only a shell, so it is a restoration (of course, that 'new' work was carried out about the time the Father's of Confederation were forming the country of Canada!). The theatre wall remains intact -- the only surviving Roman proscenium wall in Europe -- and they use it to stage theatrical and operatic works every summer. The bones of the place simply vibrate with drama... it has been witness to the joy and tragedy of mankind through the ages in reality as well as fiction.


The Barry Troglodyte Ruins



What a word: 'troglodyte'. I like to say it over and over... it just rolls off the tongue. Although the troglodytes weren't trolls or orcs or other spooky creatures, as we approached the troglodyte village, with soaring rockfaces looming on either side, it was easy to imagine a club yielding ogre lurking behind every tree. 'Troglodyte' means simply 'cave-dweller'. There is evidence that this area and it's caves had been occupied for over 4000 years. 4000 years!!! It's impossible to fathom that much time.

This particular village had been vastly improved upon... the natural caves which would have been a haven for prehistoric man had been enlarged over the years, with little sleeping benches carved out of 'rooms' at the back, and fireplaces and chimneys created in many. We even found a primitive toilet! (SOme things haven't changed too much over the years!) Eventually they built house fronts upon the caves, so they were a strange mixture of columns and arches -- in an odd way, it reminded me of the false second-storey fronts you sometimes see on shops along Main Streets in small town Canada.

Of course the children had an amazing time running from one 'house' to the next -- there were dozens of caves in the settlement, and they had obviously not been vacant for too many years, as some of the chimneys were still black with soot. It felt so primitive and other worldly that it was almost like a physical slap when I crested the hill they were built into and saw below a huge nuclear energy station spread across the valley below and filling the hills with belches of steam. There it was -- man's acheivments through the ages, in a bizarre juxtaposition right in front of me. I wondered if thousands of years from now someone would stand in the same spot and marvel at the ingenuity of present-day man -- or if the decaying nuclear plant will have dissolved all that exists around it. It was a chilling thought, and I was happy to go and find my family playing in the caves below... they seemed warm and cosy in contrast with the sterile chill of the nuclear plant.


Lavendar Fields


Provence is famous for it's lavendar, and I would have dearly loved to see fields of it in bloom... but we would have had to visited much earlier in the year. I was still keen to see the fields, but no one seemed to be able to tell us exactly where to go to find them. We went to the "Musee de Lavande", and while it was very interesting, with its large copper vats they use to distill the oil from the flowers, it was not fields!


A little disappointed, we travelled up the road to visit an Abbey that was in the neighborhood. That road was enough to curl anyone's hair! It wound it's way up a gorge through hillsides dense with trees and rocks, so we were surprised to turn a (rather sharp!) corner and see that along the valley fields had been hacked out of the forest. We were speculating on what they could be -- they didn't quite look like vineyards -- when the sun peeked out through the clouds again, and we saw the silvery purple shade of the plants. "Lavendar," we all exclaimed at once. Although the flowers have finished blooming this late in the year, the plants still give off a lovely smell and aroma, and even from a distance they were beautiful. The proceeds from the crops fund the Abbey, which houses an order of contemplative monks. Of course the monks of the contemplative order don't actually do menial work -- they spend most of their time in their little rooms, writing and reflecting -- and I wonder if there are still lower orders of 'worken monks" to tend the fields, or if these days the labor is carried out by hired hands. There were signs posted about asking for silence in many languages... and it did seem almost sacriligious to even speak around the beautifully simple old stone buildings, or even in the fields further away. I felt more contemplative and a much greater sense of God there that I had felt at any of the big famous churches we have seen along the way... and my little brood were scandalised when the silence was suddenly broken by laughter and chattering, and we saw a tour group obviously made up of high school students come milling out of a building, destroying the serenity of the moment . Some things are hard to teach... .


Chateau des Baux

I don't know what exactly I expected from Provence, but the fantastic rock formation and small mountains have been a delightful shock. One minute we're in rolling pastoral wonderland, with olive groves and vineyards and unexpected fields of pumpkins or sunflowers, and the next we're clinging to the edges of our seats as Mitch maneuvers the car up hairpin switchbacks and steep road punctuated with roundabouts. It's crazy and marvelous!!


With our little 5-seater van and a great driver like Mitch, we can go pretty much anywhere these winding roads take us. When we invited the Candian family we met in Avignon to go with us to see the Chateau des Baux, we had no idea how hairy the roads would be. Fortunatley, they are from BC and used to mountains, so even though they were driving a large camper, Robert managed to navigate the roads without much difficulty.

Perched on top of a mountain ridge, the drive alone up to les Baux de Provence was worth it. How the settlers of the town ever got up there, let alone built a settlement, a castle, and fought wars, all without the aid of modern machinery is baffling!! The ruins of the old Chateau still cling precariously to the cliff tops -- as we went out onto the site there were signs everywhere warning of danger in high winds; it would be easy to be blown right off!

Legend -- with some historical backing -- attributes the formation of the castle to Balthazar, one of the Magi, and the crest for Les Baux contains a large star. All these tangible links to Christ seem to stir my faith in unsettling but positive ways... and it was difficult to not believe in God as I stood there on the top of that windswept mountain with the beautiful south of France and the sea beyond stretched out below.