Sunday 11 August 2024

Moody: the works

A list of links to all my non-tech writings:

Essays

Glanglish - all with audio versions

Travel writings

Novels
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Introduction to Moody's Black Notebook Travels

I have two great regrets in my life.  One is eating a chicken sandwich in Varanasi, shortly before flying to Kathmandu.  This gave me the worst food poisoning I have ever experienced, nearly killed me, and meant that I missed a unique opportunity to visit Lhasa before it was turned into a Chinese Disneyland.  The other regret involves three Inter-rail trips that I made in 1979, 1980 and 1981.  They were extraordinarily rich in sights and experiences.  Stupidly, though, I did not keep a travel diary at that time, so all I have are vague, if important, memories of what I saw, thought and felt.

At least I was able to learn from these two huge blunders.  Afterwards, I no longer ate chicken sandwiches in exotic lands, and I kept travel diaries for all my major trips.  The latter took the form of black notebooks, bought from Ryman's, in two formats: one small enough to fit in a pocket, and another, slightly larger, that I kept in the travel bag I used for longer journeys. 

I now have dozens of these notebooks sitting behind me, filled with my illegible scrawl.  I have been meaning to turn them into digital texts for some years, and to bring them into the 21st century, but have never got around to it until now.  I am not transcribing them in any set order, but will place links to them below, as they go online, ordered chronologically.  There is no overall plan, no overall significance.  They are just what they are: quick thoughts jotted down in black notebooks, captured moments of a specific time and place.

1986 India I: Delhi, Agra, Fatehpur Sikri
1986 India II: Kashmir
1986 India III: Jaipur, Udaipur
1987 Italy
2024 Ravenna - new post
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2024 Ravenna

7.8.24

Sitting inside the astonishing Basilica of San Vitale.  This place - Ravenna - is for me not so much a unique collection of late Roman/early Christian art, as a personal reproach.  Although I vaguely knew of Ravenna, and that it contained some interesting art and buildings, I simply had no idea of just how great that art was.  It is almost unbelievable for me that this is the first time I have been here, given its importance.  And I arrived here only circuitously.  Studying Turkish, I have naturally explored the country’s greatest city - Constantinople/Istanbul. That, in its turn, sparked my interest in the Byzantine world - something that I have rather ignored (bad me).  And Byzantium and its history leads to the two Roman empires: east, centred in Constantinople, and west, in Ravenna.  


I therefore belatedly discover about Galla Placidia, Theodoric the Great - and his particular Goths (I knew about the latter in general, obviously).  And the unique fusion of Roman/Byzantine/Germanic cultures.  One result of that is the Gothic bible of Bishop Wulfilas, which I bought 40 years ago, and have sitting on my bookshelves (and now available online).  It’s our earliest major source of the Germanic languages.  The other result - obscured to me until now - are these buildings.


From the outside, the unusual octagonal shape of San Vitale makes it clear that this is something different.  The first steps into the interior space reveal a surprisingly high dome - I had not expected it to be so physically big - and the jarring baroque frescoes there.  But turn to the presbytery, and everything is redeemed.  Golden mosaics gleam everywhere, and the colours are as fresh as if they were made yesterday.  I realise belatedly that this is why mosaics are better than frescoes when it comes to ancient art: they fade more slowly.  With these mosaics we can see what the creators intended, not some pale shadow of their vision.


A striking beardless Christ in the apse, looking very young.   At the other end of the presbytery, an arch of apostles and saints, plus a reassuringly hairy Jesus.  But for me, the most gobsmackingly interesting are the mosaic panels on the apse side walls.


The one of Justinian - another name I knew vaguely, without fully grasping his importance - shows a man who commands.   No mere stylisation, but a real portrait, enhanced again by its colours preserved in stone. To his side, soldiers and the church, two pillars of his power.  Then on the other side an even more miraculous and unprecedented image, of Theodora.   To say that she was an incredible woman is an understatement. Rising from less than nothing - probably a prostitute - she not only became empress of the late Roman empire, but a great one.  And her imposing image here reflects that.  As well as her women attendants, there is a fountain, a cupola, and rich hanging cloths.  And once again, the face that looks out at us, 1500 years later, is a real person, an astonishing woman.


In the so-called Mausoleum of Galla Placidia - very hot, sweaty and airless - reminds me of when I was inside the great pyramid of Khufu - no ventilation there, either.  According to the (very efficient) online booking system, there are only supposed to be 20 people visiting the tiny building of the mausoleum at a time. But this being Italy, nobody really bothers with counting. As a result, the air is thick with old breaths. Beautiful ceilings - the intense blue, preserved through 15 centuries.  Also interesting the alabaster windows - obvious material to use if you don’t have big glass panes.


The mosaic of San Lorenzo (possibly, experts differ on who it is) - touching to see the little library of the new testament books to the left.  Lots of animals, flowers, Knossos-like motifs along the bottom of the mosaics.  The Garden of Eden in the vault by the door - amazingly abstract, amazingly beautiful.


Passing through the centre of Ravenna - a lovely city - to here, the Basilica of San Francesco, originally built in 450.  The midday bell tolls solemnly.  The main interest here is what seems to be a cistern, located under the altar.  Tiny, with goldfish/carp swimming over the submerged mosaics.  Reminds me of the rather grander cistern in Istanbul.  Ah, apparently not a cistern, but a flooded crypt.  Perhaps like the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, whose floor was raised nearly two metres to stay above the creeping ground waters.


In the baptistery of Neon.  Striking ceiling, with an aquatic Jesus rendered partially underwater through lighter mosaic stones.  Very varied portraits surrounding the central roundel.  Hot and humid here too…


In the covered market for lunch.  Like many other cities - Bilbao, Valencia etc. - these modern conversions of old buildings can be really good.  This looks tasteful, and is, above all, cool…  Ordered  cappelletti all’uso di Romagno al ragu rosso Morabrada - very intense, very good…


Back out into the humid heat.  Alas, the Arian baptistery is closed - no repeat of that beardless Jesus for us.  To the basilica of Sant'Apollinare Nuovo.  A church built on the orders of Theodoric himself.  Sadly, his Arian beliefs, widely adopted among the Germanic tribes, but later deemed heretical, meant he and other bits were expunged, covered or replaced with dull mosaic coverings.  All that can be seen are a few impetrational hands overlapping columns, like last ghostly vestiges of those sinking below the gold. Impressive, though, that the basic structure and design of this church are 1500 years old… As we leave, there is a mosaic of Classis high on the wall - once a port, now marooned miles from the sea. It’s where we will head for on our way back to the autostrada later this afternoon.


To the astounding Theodoric Mausoleum - much bigger than I thought.  Massive, and not just the 230-tonne stone bloack that forms the roof.  And with weird other-worldly patterns - not classical, but Gothic, presumably.  Overall this seems something from another civilisation, another planet…


Out to the other basilica of Sant'Apollinare, in Classe, now a village.  Wonderful to see this great church amidst the fields, not hemmed in by other buildings.  Simple inside, but spacious.  The eyes inevitably led to the apse and its great mosaic showing Sant'Apollinare in a paradise of green grass, populated by sheep, plants, trees, a huge cross shimmery over him, two saints on either side of it, and - rather spookily - the hand of god reaching down from the highest heaven.


Of course, all these magnificent mosaics make me think of the Capella Palatina in Palermo, and the nearby Monreale cathedral, both of which I saw at the beginning of the year.  Those are in many ways more dramatic, but these in Ravenna come from around six hundred years earlier, making their survival even more miraculous.  And the simple, striking fact that the 1500-year-old colours are so vibrant - like the glorious green of this church - is for me Ravenna’s most unexpected and most unforgettable gift.


More destinations:
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Sunday 4 August 2024

2024 France and Northern Italy

23.7.24 under the English Channel

Sitting inside the front carriage of the Eurotunnel train, passing under the Channel to France.  But rather than on a train, it feels more like a wormhole from the UK to France.  The gentle rocking, and occasional external noises sound like the workings of mysterious technology.  The slight bumps and shakes feel like ripples in space-time…

The road to the Eurotunnel terminal through southeast London, the unlovely part of the city.  Traffic good, even on the absurd contraflow on the M20, necessitated by Brexit’s self-harming madness.  The journey through France is part of our annual transhumance to Italy, passing through rural France and the Mont Blanc tunnel, an experience in itself, especially after the very different tunnels in Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan.

First stop Carrefour by the French Eurotunnel terminal.  Pretty grim, but makes me think of the Carrefour in Tbilisi, of all places - rather smaller, but more romantic just by virtue of its position. In Carrefour car park.  Very windy - the three wind turbines nearby whirling around…  Patches of blue in the sky.  Since I am edge-on to the wind turbines, I can see them reposition themselves slightly by gyrating, as the wind shifts directions.

In Saint-Omer.  A gentle carillon tinkles away.  A bit of a nightmare finding somewhere to park - a bloke sitting in his car for 30 minutes - I ask if he is going, he says “no”, he is waiting for his daughter.  Meanwhile, another place becomes free, but impossible to get to directly because of all the one-way streets here.  I make a circuitous alternative route back and manage to grab it.

Our small square - Place Sithieu - is actually a triangle.  Old buildings around it - some extreme prismatic roofs, like those in Paris, but less grand.  In the middle, a bronze statue of Pierre Alexandre de Monsigny - a musician apparently, but not one I’d ever heard of.

On the way here, driving along the almost deserted A26, some fab French place names: Fréthun, Les Attaques, Ardres, Louches, Zutkerque, Fecques sur Heim, Éperlecques, Sengues, Tilques.  They sound like the sort of place Proust would have visited and raved about.

Just noticed our Place is under the ever-loving eye of a fat CCTV camera, which rotates to view different angles and streets.  Around the town.  To the cathedral - beautiful aged white stone, with one of the biggest church organs I’ve seen.  The Jesuit college - incredibly tall - a symbol of arrogance and aspiration.  Built of bricks too.  Crazy mouldings - coats of arms, and at the bottom a huge broken pediment a metre thick.

Sitting by the theatre, an interesting rectangular structure with a roof similar to Mole Antonelliana in Turin.  Set in a square that would be rather grand were it not for the huge car park in the middle.  The architecture of the buildings around the square very varied, but very French.  Four/five storeys, steep roofs - very steep roofs. One opposite us with the inscription “Ludovici XVI Munificentia”.  It has two rows of windows in its tall steep roof, with four statues perched on the top balustrade at the foot of the roof.  Terrifying.

24.7.24 Saint-Omer

Up early, and onto the streets, the cathedral bell ringing out its one sonorous note, echoing off stone and brick.  To the boulangerie, the smell of fresh bread in the air.  Nobody about, even though it’s 8am now.  This place is beautiful but so dead…  As we return, the cathedral’s bell has become two, a tone apart, ringing with more urgency.  I doubt whether many will respond and attend the imminent mass…

In Avallon - or rather back in Avallon, since we were here almost exactly a year ago.  Our destination a huge living space near the clock tower arch and the amazing ancient church of Saint-Lazare.  Quite weirdly created from a couple of rooms, with the dividing wall removed to leave only the supporting beams.  Works, though…

Hellish journey here, took seven and a half hours.  Two main problems.   First, a big jam on the A4 by Reims.  This is anyway my least favourite road section, where the A26 mutates into the A4 for no reason, and then turns back again.  Totally trivial roadworks caused 30 minutes of blockage.

Then past Troyes - yes, as in Chrétien de Troyes - onto the D444 to Tonnerre.  Beautiful villages along the way, particularly Chaource.  Past Tonnerre, a sign saying “route barrée” - but without offering a workaround.  We plotted a longer alternative route and turned back towards Tonnerre.  Luckily, on the way we noticed a sign “Deviation” that was almost invisible.  It was the official alternative route, down very small back roads.  It passed through Viviers, Yrouenne and Poilly-sur-Serein, the heart of Chablis country - the town itself is nearby.  Finally back on the D944, quickly to Avallon.  It’s a nice town, livelier than Saint-Omer, but also more touristic.  Knowing the place a little made it easier to find our lodgings, and park the car nearby.  Always interesting going back, layering memory on memory….

25.7.24  Sallanches

Easy drive down from Avallon, along the A6, then A40 to here, Sallanches, chosen for its propinquity to the Mont Blanc tunnel.  To avoid the insane queues, we need to get there early tomorrow morning.  The hotel, Ibis Budget, lives up to its name: two-star, and everything minimally comfortable.  Interesting: no key, just a code to enter.  Very basic, but cheap-is (100 euros), and close to the tunnel.

As ever, the landscape nearby is stunning - great walls of stone glowing in the afternoon sun, which is strong now.  30°C+.  The mountains look greener than I remember them: maybe more rain this year has made them particularly verdant.

20.8.24  La Thuile

In the Hotel La Thuile, in the village of La Thuile, in the Aosta valley, bordering France.  This place is schizophrenic: popular ski resort in winter, and hiking centre in summer.  In fact, my one and only experience of skiing was not far from here, in La Plagne.  I’m glad I did it, but it’s not something that ever really grabbed me as it does some.  I think skiing is popular in part because it is quite straightforward – you fall down a hill with a certain care – while accessing instant excitement in beautiful scenery.  

In fact this place is more than a ski centre, it’s a kind of Butlin’s holiday camp in a stunning location.  There are lots of mini shops here – including a butcher – as well as various games and activities.  It’s easy to see why there are lots of families with small children here.  Less clear is why there are so many older people.  Most of them seem unable to walk very well, let alone go hiking in the mountains.  Perhaps it’s the thought that counts.  To be fair, the air here is great – we are at about 1500 metres.  Nothing compared to Kyrgyzstan, but higher than the tallest UK mountains.

We chose here for a location near to the Mont Blanc tunnel, so that we could get there early and avoid the sometimes horrendous queues.   We didn’t spot that it was not only among the mountains, but actually up them.  

We turned off the main road in Aosta, to Morgex, then a positively Georgian road with nine rather steep and sharp turns took us up high quickly.  Mountains stunning in the late afternoon light.  The only problem I have with this particular beauty is that it is so neat and well-tended.  In this, it is the opposite of Tajikistan/Kyrgyzstan.  But I can imagine that one day both of these will be as popular as here, and just as neat.  Something will be lost, but of course the local economies will gain, so I shouldn’t carp.  And as with so many places, I have been fortunate to see them before this happened.

Driving through the village of La Thuile, it was striking how un-Italian it looked – all Swiss-style chalets and buildings.  The hotel too has wood everywhere – not unattractive.  Outside, the evening air is noticeably cooler here.  One bonus: no mosquitoes, which were bad in the low-lying parts of the country.

21.8.24 Avallon

We arose early, in order to get to the Mont Blanc tunnel before the queues formed.  Air markedly colder than in the other parts of Italy we had visited.  As we drove down from the ski resort/summer station, the sunrise illuminated the mountain wall towards France with the topmost peaks picked out like towers along a massive fortification.

About three cars at the toll booths for the tunnel – we didn’t even queue for ours.  The tunnel itself quite empty towards France, more traffic coming in the opposite direction – big lorries mostly.  Out into France, and huge horizontal banks of low-level cloud lay alongside the mountains.  This part of France with its huge swooping viaducts is particularly beautiful in the broken sunshine.  So dramatic, it makes driving here such a pleasure.

Easy road today: straight along the A40, on to the A6, to here, Avallon.   Not just to the town we stayed in before, but to the exact same place, by the clock gate, with the handy car park opposite.  Coming back makes the journey a real joy, because I knew exactly where I was going, no stress.  Ditto with the accommodation, which feels like a little home from home, since it required no effort of familiarisation.

Avallon warm and bustling with people.  Mostly people with dogs, it would seem, oddly enough.  Got to see inside the collegiate church of Saint-Lazare nearby.  Amazing stonework around the door.  Inside musty but atmospheric.  A fine organ over the door.  Outside, a carved inscription that starts fully legible, but becomes more and more eroded towards the end, a wonderful metaphor for time and loss.

Tomorrow, we go back up to Troyes (hi, Chrétien), then on to Saint-Omer.  Not the same place, but nearby, so at least navigating the one-way streets will be easy.

22.8.24 Avallon

During the night, the big bell on the clock gate tolled the hours not once, but twice, with a distance of a minute or so.  It also gave a quieter semitone tinkle for the half-hours.  But it’s amazing how you can sleep through such things – I only heard a couple of them…

More bells – this time back in Saint-Omer.  More precisely, in the Clos du Bailli hotel.  This is barely 50 metres from our accommodation here a month ago.  The hotel’s design is unusual. It was clearly a house of some local well-to-do individual.  Today, it is kitted out with period furniture, prints and even tapestries: all rather impressive.  There is a courtyard at the front, visible through railings, and the hotel entrance alongside – where the carriages passed, I imagine.  The rooms lie in the house itself, which sits at the angle of Place Sithieu and the cathedral’s Enclos Notre Dame.  We are in room 12, which has a great view of the triangular Place.

The journey here split in two: from Avallon to Troyes, passing through a series of picturesque villages, the best of which was Chaource.  The downside of these charming villages is that they often have speed limits of 30 km/h – about 19 mph.  The surrounding countryside is attractive, agricultural, with plenty of trees in same places, in others, vast open spaces.  At Troyes we joined the A5 briefly, before turning north, on to the A6.  Then a long and rather boring drive up here.

Saint-Omer seems busier than before – more tourists presumably.  Lots of people smoking cigarettes here – I thought that was out these days.  I saw lots of individuals limping as they walked, and others with knee braces.  Weird.

In search of a supermarket we walked along Rue de Dunkerque, which seems to be the main shopping street.  Found a small but decent Carrefour there.

Tomorrow, a short trip to Calais, then under the Channel and home.  As ever, the journey back is easier than out, because the destination – home – is known.  And the journey home has about it a sense of the inevitable, because transhumance by its very nature – a temporary transfer of residence - implies a return.

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