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Saturday, November 29, 2014

THE COLORS OF ROME



Rome is a city of pastel colors, mellowed by the ages.




The original brilliant white marble of the ancient Roman ruins is mostly weathered now.





Except for the monument to Vittorio Emmanuele II that shocks the eye with its dead white mass. So out of character with the rest of the city. It's often know as the wedding cake or typewriter.



Ancient wood has weathered to gray and the original brick is exposed.



The bronze doors of the Roman Curia (Senate) in the Forum have turned to verdigris green as have statues and the original doors now at the Basilica San Giovanni.



The old Roman brick retains warmth from millennia of sun.



The stucco facades of burnt sienna and terra rossa radiate warmth.





My favorite color is red. The Roman designer, Valentino, has his own flaming red signature color. The luscious color signifies the allure of fashion and temptation. And of course, we can't forget Ferrari Red. Pompeiian Red – that rich color so beloved by the ancient Romans to express the richness of life. It was made of cinnabar which contained mercury; now it is made from iron oxide. Infrequently seen on buildings, the ancient Romans loved it on frescoes.



The sky is a brilliant blue and the umbrella pines are a deep and dark green.



Vegetables are always bright and tasty.



Some of the small colors flaunt their colors too.



Medieval floors of marble and glass glitter in the shifting light.



And above all, the vivid Italian flag of red, white and green flutters.


All photos by the author except for the fresco painting which is from the website Ancient Rome and the photo of the sidewalk cafe, courtesy Krista Bjorn.




  

Sunday, November 9, 2014

BLOWNBACK: Trying to see Quebec in a Nor'easter




Trying to see Quebec in a Nor’easter isn't easy, it turns out. My first try out the door resulted in being blown back inside. The wind sent people rushing either backwards or forwards or even off their feet, and the few remaining brightly-colored leaves whirling off the trees. It was freezing with the wind chill.

I had not been in the beautiful city of Quebec for many years and was looking forward to enjoying fall color while strolling in the sun through the upper town and the Plains of Abraham where in 1759 Generals Wolfe (British) and Montcalm (French) led their troops in the battle to control Canada.The British won but both generals died of mortal wounds. I wanted to stroll on the terrace in front of the Chateau Frontenac and visit the museum in the Ursuline monastery and show my husband General Montcalm’s skull (why I don’t know but the last time I saw it the relic was displayed by a 95-year old French nun who had the most beatific face I have ever seen.) It was not to be because the wind in the upper town was too strong to make headway. Instead we retreated to the lower town close to the river where we saw warnings about the coming winter and the dangers of ice falling off the buildings.



We wandered the cold streets to enjoy the street art while contemplating whether I should buy one of the fur coats in the show windows of the many furriers.





Discarding the idea, we warmed up in the lovely small church of Our Lady of the Victories, named after the French who resisted two British sieges, one in 1690 and the other in 1711. The ship model hanging in the nave is the Breze, a 17th century vessel that brought French troops to Quebec.



But when we passed a closed restaurant with a terrace decorated with dead branches and feathers from birds who long ago had departed for warmer climes, we gave up. Further touring of the UNESCO World Heritage Site would have to wait for another season.


A taxi driver ferried us up to the looming hotel Chateau Frontenac, a great pile of stone built by the Canadian Pacific Railroad, completed in 1893. One of its many claims to fame is the meeting with Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt 1943 to plan the Allied Invasion on D-day.



It’s now managed by the Fairmont, and is luxurious indeed. We whiled away the afternoon with lunch in the terrace restaurant, Bistro Le Sam, and at the bar called 1608, the two names memorializing the founding of the city by Samuel de Champlain in 1608. The focus on the selection of local cheese and charcuterie is highlighted on their website: http://www.fairmont.com/frontenac-quebec/pdf/lcf-1608-tasting-guide-sep-2014/.








Our lunch focused on a cheese plate from Quebec artisan cheesemakers: from top to bottom in the photo the cheeses are Kamouraska, Gaulois, and Reserve del la Perade. Delicious! As was the Chardonnay and the view over the river.

Unwilling to leave, we moved to the bar for another glass of wine before heading out into the cold.


The gorgeous d├ęcor features a globe with three Canada Geese winging their way. One appeared to be flying in a southerly direction. When we put our empty glasses down we followed its lead. 




Monday, September 29, 2014

MACHINES AND GODS IN ROME






One of the twenty museums managed by the city of Rome, is the Centrale Montemartini. It’s also one of the most creative. I don’t know who thought up using the city’s first public electricity plant, built in 1912, to display works from the “basement” of the Capitoline Museum, but whoever it was a stroke of genius.

While other old buildings along the Via Ostiense were torn down, this one was saved because of its architectural significance. Built in Art Nouveau style, the white building was named after an Italian economist of the period. The area along the busy thoroughfare that was once the direct route to Ostia and the sea is rather scruffy but improving. The museum is set back behind office buildings in a courtyard where the lovely lamp standards and the little water hydrant with the ever-present SPQR (the Senate and the People of Rome) welcome the visitor.



Beyond the exhibit of the industrial past, a tribute to industrial archeology, the museum opens out into two floors of treasures from the time when Rome ruled the world. And what treasures they are:
mosaics:



grave monuments, 





gods and gilded youth, 



the remainders of a colossal statue of the goddess of fortune, 



and a row of Roman portrait sculpture from the Republican era.



The most striking displays are those placed in juxtaposition with gigantic black boilers, massive turbines and diesel engines.



I have to admit, my favorite of all the sculptures, is one of a not-so-humble shoemaker (just like Rome, Italian shoes are eternal). This fleshy guy, who must have been proud of his appearance, had the tools of his trade sculpted above his portrait. If he was worried about his place in history, he can find comfort from all the visitors who contemplate his memorial (although I suspect a few might snicker).



Each era has its wonders, and the museum is a good place to contemplate how one led to another.



For more information you can go to www.centralemontemartini.org

All photos, copyright by Judith Works.  

Thursday, August 28, 2014

SITKA: Kale Smoothies and Cathedral Bells







Sitka is a small town with a big history. There has been human activity for the last 10,000 years when it was settled by the Tlingit people, but is best known to American history students as the capital of Russian America. The Russians arrived in 1799, naming their fur trading outpost Fort Saint Michael. The Tlingit managed to throw them out in 1802, but not for long. Alexander Baranof, the Russian governor, won the Battle of Sitka in 1804 and renamed his nascent town New Archangel. In 1804 it was named capital of Russian America, which comprised all of Alaska and a fort near Bodega Bay (Fort Ross) and plantations south of the Russian River in California. When the Russians were forced to sell off Alaska in 1867 due to financial woes, Sitka was the site of the signing of the Alaska Purchase.

While my husband went in search of sea otters and other wildlife, I spent day in search of memories of Russia. I did not have to look far. The National Park Service maintains the Russian Bishop’s House, completed in 1843 as an ecclesiastical palace, New World style. It includes the first bishop's personal residence and chapel along with a seminary and native school.


A portrait of the czar presided over Bishop Innocent and his samovar when he entertained dignitaries:





Russia’s interest in the coastal areas of Alaska was mainly limited to the trade in sea otter pelts, the most valuable of all furs. When the population of otters was close to extinction, the Russians drifted home. A leftover pelt was draped over a bench in the Bishop’s house. The Park Service tour guide asked if I wanted to try it on. Of course! The fur was soft and dense, and very heavy. It wasn’t hard to imagine Russian aristocracy wearing their sables and otter furs as their horses dashed through the snowy countryside.



Not all Russians made it home alive. The dark and overgrown cemetery is a melancholy reminder that life in the vast wilderness territory was tenuous. Some of the headstones are made of ship's ballast.




The lovely Russian Orthodox church is in the center of town:



Built in 1848, the cathedral was nearly destroyed by a fire in 1966. The priceless icons, enormous chandelier and other church furnishings were saved, and the church was rebuilt to the same plans.



A Native American priest welcomed me. I told him I was waiting for a friend who is the bell ringer. Near noon, she and I climbed the 58 steep steps to the top of the bell tower where all Sitka listened to her short concert played on eight bells.








You can watch and hear the music recorded on what looks like a cold and wintery day when she hosted a group of visitors.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSAU5fgQx-Q&feature=youtu.be




My stereotyped view of the locals was upended when I had a quick lunch at the Homeport Eatery which provides coffee, baked goods, a pub, creperie and organic wine bar for citizens and tourists. A rough and ready type wearing rain gear and rubber boots bellied up to the bar to order a kale smoothie and a veggie crepe. Apparently real men are different in Alaska.



The last part of my tour was several of the many art galleries in the small town. My favorite was the Rose Gallery next to the Bishop’s House. It is filled with exquisite local art and walrus tusk ivory carvings by natives who live on islands in the Bering Sea. I purchased several fine woodcuts by Eric Bealer who lives in a tiny village on Chichagof Island, north of Baranof Island where Sitka is located.



Sitka has an annual music and arts festival running in the summer. We are already making plans to return to see more wildlife, sample native jazz and other enticing offerings.


All photos copyright Judith Works, except that of the Russian cemetery taken from photos on Bing.