Florence and Pisa

Florence - the cradle of the art world. Medici, Renaissance, Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, da Vinci - just a few importants coming from this little place. 

First things first. My first steps on Italian soil and my first of taste of from-Italy gelato. Mmm, dark chocolate and pistachio (I admit to getting pistachio nearly every chance I had). Little tip, just two scoops at a time.

The Ponte Vecchio - I had seen pictures but somehow did not realize it was a real place. This photo doesn't even look real but it's real, y'all. Built in the middle ages, it spans the Arno river and was once the hub of the gold trade. Notice the tiny windows above it. That is the secret Medici walkway  leading from the Medici home to the town hall. In WWII this bridge was not bombed (while most others were) because the Nazis thought they might just want a secret passage way. Thank goodness!

You can't have access to Carrara marble (and bronze too) and not make something from it. The middle left photo shows the original placement of the David (now with a faux that they'll allow to be exposed to weather); the bottom middle photo shows yet another David, this time in bronze, at the top of the city. 

Despite already taking in the two reproductions of the David I was not really prepared to see the thing itself. Photos cannot capture its intricacies, strength, and impressiveness. Michelangelo said that he simply freed statues from the marble and, in reference to the David, said he just cut away everything that wasn't David. If you only see one thing in Florence, the David is the thing.

The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore is usually known as Brunelleschi's Dome for the architect who figured out how to not let the dome of the cathedral crash in and kill everyone. The cathedral itself is gorgeous in colors of white, green, and blue symbolizing faith, hope, and charity

The hole for a dome of the cathedral was a little larger than anyone knew what to do with but the semi-crazy Brunelleschi had some ideas (which he refused to share with anyone and made everyone just trust him). Patronized/tolerated by the Medici it all worked out. In related news, the bottom photo is actually the Pantheon, in Rome, where Brunelleschi was given permission to cut a lovely little block out and discern it's composition - information that was needed for his dome.

Next we traveled to the little city of Pisa, home of less-good architects.

 The Leaning Tower of Chee-sa.

 The tower is actually a bell tower and part of a larger church proper. The tower, as you know, leans but has since been fortified in it's current position so it's no sinking anymore and it's not dangerous.

At the site is this piece of art that was one part disturbing and one part amazing. It's a fallen angel and I'll leave it there. 

We took all the necessary photos and, having been in Florence earlier that day, felt creative. Welcome to how I do art. 

And when one has exhausted one's creativity and desire to take entertaining photos, one takes entertaining photos of others. 

And when you are done with that, climb the tower. Yes, sir, we climbed the tower. 

And we were rewarded with these views of Pisa. Day one in Italy was a success!

Barcelona, Aix de Provence, and (hey) Marseille

From the billowy and rolling hills of Ireland we took a much-too-early flight to old Barcelona. I thought my grasp of Mexican Spanish and my extensive knowledge of Central and South American cuisine would help me get around; alas, to no avail for it was all in Catalan and what Spanish there was was distinctly un-cholo, my dialect of choice. 

An hour's train ride north of Barcelona is the impressive Benedictine monastery Montserrat (not to be confused with the island by the same name), or "serrated mountain" or "the spork" (I lie not), begun in 880. We reached it via that yellow funicular (and took a second one even higher for a more astounding view). It really is an entire city (my photos don't do it justice) and a place where you could spend some quality time just hanging out. 

In the basilica (the building with all those saints) people come to visit "The Black Virgin" which is a statue of Mary that's turned black over time. In her outstretched hand is a little ball that everybody touches and says a little prayer to. We paid our respects but surely did not touched the ball (cue Jimmy Fallon saying "Ew!") and being LDS and not Catholic didn't say a little prayer - just looked. 

 

Back in Barcelona it was basically an architecture tour. Barcelona was, like most European cities, of a specified size so that the city could be protected. At the turn of the last century that was no longer working for the bulging Barcelona and so new settlements were made, called the Eixample (pronounced "Eye-shahmp-la"). Pictured above, the Church of the Holy Conception was originally built in the 13th century but during the expansion was moved brick by brick to the Eixample. Explain that logic. 

The architect of the Eixample and my heart was the Moderisma (aka Art Nouveau) patron saint Antoni Gaudi. The above is an amazing family home, called Casa Battlo, he designed for the Battlo (pronounced "Bye-yoh") family built from 1904-1906 which was innovative in the technologies of the actual house and in the amazing beauty of the place. It's whimsical and lovely, full of mosaic and fancy, and much cooler than my photos can show.  

Gaudi was not just a Catholic, but a pretty amazing one. He planned out the indescribable Sagrada Familia (Church of the Holy Family) which is unlike any cathedral I've seen. It has the basic shape and idea of a cathedral but is white and bright and ornate in a totally new way. Google it. By far the best cathedral I've ever been to and I've been to a couple few (this post contains at least four!). So, work began on this building over a hundred years ago and it's still not completed - that's how massive and intense this is. Gaudi never intended to finish it during his lifetime (actually not planning out certain parts in order to make room for new artists), saying, "My Client is not in a hurry." If you can only see one thing in Barcelona, this is your one thing. 

Gaudi's vision expanded to housing developments. His failed project in the hills of Barcelona created a fantastic view of the city, but no one wanted to live so far out. Still it gave us Park Guell which was awesome and again my photos don't do it credit. The neatest part of the park cost more than we were willing to spend so I have no photos of that. The park continued in the Modernisma style of innovation and curves.

We were rather obsessed with our hotel. It had a tiny little elevator and, with our large backpacking backpacks we got in but we could not get out so much well. Also, it had a neat little window. I love European windows that really open. 

And before we knew it we were ready to set sail on our 12-day Mediterranean Cruise.

First excursions - Aix de Provence and Marseille, France.

Our port was (hey) Marseille but we took a bus ride past Cezanne's mountains to Aix de Provence, as in Herbs de Provence. It's basically a cute French town overrun by tourists (read: expensive shops and not much else) so we just ate a lot of pastries, wandered the streets, and got some herbs (not those kind!) at the market. You might notices that the city flag of Aix (that's its nickname and I'll use it to show I'm cool)  and the city flag of Barcelona (never pictured) are the same because the same people founded the cities. Also, notice the bust above the city buildings. It was once Louis the XIV but after that relationship didn't work out a bust of Marie, the symbol of the revolution, replaced the ousted king. She is, I'm told, on all the city buildings. Oui, Oui,

In Aix is a church that's basically an add-on-to-an-add-on-to-an-add-on - but, like, the neatest crappy additions ever. You can see the three distinct building materials in the photos (top right). The Cathedrale de San Sauveur was originally built in the 5th century and featured a baptistery - which caused Jessica and I to do a lot of ho-humming about the LDS belief of baptism by immersion. A few hundred years later some more was added and then finally the last bit in the 18th century. 

We headed back to (hey) Marseille to tour another, but grander, edifice - the Basilque Notre-Dame de la Garde - Our Lady of the Guard. It's situated high on a big hill (on top of the former fortress) giving a good work out to get there and a fantastic view as a reward. 

The cathedral features (and is kind of famous for) an intense amount of ex-votos, tokens of gratitude for blessings received from prayer and as testimonies to others. These tokens include pictures and little ships (this is a coastal city after all), jerseys from matches won - any little symbol of the miracle. The ex-votos are all around the church, on walls and hanging from the ceiling. 

Oh, look, there is the Chateau D'If. 

France was quite lovely but mostly tasty. Barcelona was quite hot but mostly artsy.

Ten Years We've Been Rusting/ Needing So much More Than Dusting

On August 11, 2004 I arrived to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, said goodbye to my family and smiled down the hall as I reported for my mission.

It was the best of times and it was the worst of times. This morning I reflected on many memories and wanted to share a few because, hey, this is my blog and I get to do as I please.

My companion Sister* Fuchs and I went with ward member Schwester Sold to visit a less-active sister in the ward. I needed to use the toilet and excused myself. It was a pretty neat bathroom and had one of those old-timey lock and key (which was fairly common in the Vaterland). I locked it up and proceed to take slightly longer than usual because the bathroom was interesting. When I wanted to come out I could not get out. I turned the key left and I turned the key right. I jiggled the key. I pushed it in. I pulled on it. I had probably been gone for hours at this point. Then I heard footsteps and I froze. Luckily it was Sister Fuchs' sweet little voice, "Sister, are you ok?" "I've locked myself in," I explained. Giggles and footsteps leaving me. Abandoned! and embarrassed! And then a gaggle of footsteps who instructed me in the fine art of unlocking a door.

Schwester Winter, in the bottom left photo below, had a thick accent of some variety (Hessish?) and wherein I met her at the beginning of my mission, I spoke and comprehended next to no German. But she was so sweet and kind and loving. After a visit she said something to me which I did not understand but decided meant, "I hope you don't get transferred." I replied," Hopefully not!" and smiled broadly. In English, Sister Turley (next to Schwester Winter on the other side) explained, "She just said she hopes to see you Sunday."

We weren't having a great day of door knocking (because when you are knocking on strangers' doors your day is obviously not going great... Willkommen in Deutschland!). We were on a row of town homes and each porch had a barrier to the other so you couldn't observe one front door when you were on another. Down the lane came a woman who shouted "Hallo!" and waved warmly. Sister Reiter grinned and hallo-ed back - happy to have anyone glad to see us. What I saw and she could not see was that our friendly lady was waving to the neighbors. Poor Sister Reiter. That laugh kept me going for a few bad days, it did.

I'd like to note a few things. First, I served before sister missionaries were allowed to look cute. Second, I guess my face absorbed all my makeup every single day. Last, photography just ten years ago was crap. Try not to see my iPhone reflected in the photos.

I still feel that my mission was the best thing I have done in my life so far. It's been the smallest singular event that has affected my life. In one sacrament meeting on the mission a brother talked about missions and how the mission does more for the missionary than anyone else. I was offended. I didn't come on a mission for me! Later as I've reflected on that I now completely agree. What a blessing missionary service it. 

*Sister missionaries go by the English word Sister so as to not be confused with nuns. Regular ward members still go by the German word for sister, Schwester.

Ireland

I went on a long trip in June with my friend Jessica and I'll be posting photos at my leisure and hopefully for your pleasure. I'll start with Ireland. We didn't have a lot of time anywhere but we saw a goodly amount (as evidenced by the hugeness of this post - c'mon you can get through it!). We began and ended out journey in Ireland and Northern Ireland (and events are not in the order experienced). I'm in love with Ireland and I'm ready to move to Ireland any day of the week.

I learned a lot (for the couple days we were there). First, I learned about independence and identity. Second I learned about about identity and immigration.

Kilmainham Jail
Ireland had a civil war about a hundred years ago. When I was young I thought that the Civil War, as in the American Civil War in the 1860s was the only one then had happened or would ever happen and thus we could all call it the Civil War. Unfortunately it's not a the, it's an a. However, like all tragedies great things come to pass, characters come to the front who encourage and inspire us. This is what I learned in Dublin and the Kilmainham jail.

There is a strong feeling there. It's dark and sad. And inhumane. I didn't like it. I think I've only ever felt that way at Dachau, the Nazi concentration camp near Munich, Germany. I took only a few pictures at Kilmainham because of that feeling.  The jail was built in 1796 at a time when humans didn't treat other humans like humans. All genders and ages and offenses were housed together. It was cold, and dark, and damp. During the great famine it was worse, but some would purposely be incarcerated because it was better in than out, though it was horrific in.

And they had gallows, attached right to the front of the building - there are two and it's those little white parts above the doors of the balcony. There is a large snake above the doors. Terrifying. The jail sits on a hill and was a perfect gathering place for publicly hanging people. One would have to have a lot of anger or no emotion at all to be a part of that.

Kilmainham was fairly innovative. They figured out that it was best to have just one inmate per cell and came up with this style of block, where one guard can see the goings-on of many prisoners. I believe that this is the style of many prisons today.

The fame of Kilmainham derives from its execution of the leaders of the Easter Rebellion, the surge towards independence from the island across the way at the beginning of the 20th century and for its holding of other political prisoners. We had to choose between the Book of Kells and Kilmainham and Rick Steves gave Kilmainham more triangles (meaning it's more of a must-see) so we trusted him (as we did at other point and were never disappointed). The experience was dark but inspirational and helped me to understand humans and our history a bit better. I'm glad we went.

Powerscourt and Glendalough
We attended church in Dublin. I love that my faith is the same wherever I am and that I always have friends wherever I go. And every LDS church has a steeple- thank goodness or else we would have never spotted it. I enjoyed church, too, because in faraway Ireland there wasn't the contention and political issues that are plaguing where I currently live. It was a little group of believers who cared most about belief and their relationship with God and Jessica and I both really needed that.

Near Dublin is the beautiful Powerscourt Estate, which the savvy will recognize as the estate of Edmond Dantes in the 2002 film The Count of Monte Cristo. My photos do not to the estate justice.

The gardens are extensive - we didn't even go into any of the buildings - and basically Eden. When have a ever been surrounded by such a massive amount of beauty?! Perhaps only at Butchart Gardens in Victoria BC; but this was wilder perhaps and likely more lush. 

In shocking contrast to Powerscourt is the subtle Glendalough monastery. Nestled to a large hill (I'm from Utah so you have to be huge before I'll call you a mountain) and remove from life, the ruins of a monastic settlement from the sixth (wha!!) century. The buildings, I think, are in fantastic condition. There is a sweet and rather large cemetery with both old and recent headstones. Relatively few people were in the park, giving the verdant surroundings a serene ambiance. 

Northern Ireland
Then we took the journey of several hours to Belfast and drove along the Antrim coast. I had assumed that the scary part of the experience would be driving on the "wrong" side of the road. No, it was the tininess of the roads. Apparently the Irish have no sense of personal space or boundaries. But they do have a gorgeous countryside that, to me, is more relaxing than any sunny Caribbean beach.

Because we got to take a good country drive we saw lots of interesting things, like beef and a pink phone booth (I was only expecting red), and some amazing views.

We visited Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, a 65-foot bridge suspended almost 100 feet between to jutting rock-island-things (technical term is a volcanic plug, whatever that means). It was used for salmon fishing which was better, until recent years, on the one rock-island thing.

Carrick-a-Rede is green and sea-y and windy. The water is clear and on a clear day you can, apparently, see Scotland.

Not at all far from this magnificent site is the Giant's Causeway, whose sheer hugeness and natural precision cannot be shown photographically. It's an entire cliff-way - can you see the tiny people on the tiny path? We walked it all. And the dark rock at the bottom is anything but ordinary rock. 

Caused by a volcano, the rocks have formed little basalt columns - perfect hexagons, stacked neatly -and you can climb all over them!

The legend goes that a giant, Finn MacCool (that's my real last name) got hit up by the Scottish Giant Benandonner (a similar phenomenon is across the way in Scotland) to have a great fight so Finn built a causeway (road across water or a wetland) so the two could meet up. Scared of Benandonner, Finn was hidden by his wife is a great cradle and presented as a baby. Benandonner gave up the fight, concluding that if the baby was this size the father must be amazingly huge. A sleepier version of the legend says that there was actually a fight and Finn won. (I wonder what the Scots think of that?)

Finn's paraphernalia is all around, a chimney and this "boot" I'm sitting in for example.

We failed to arrive at Dunluce Castle before it closed, but we got to walk around some of the grounds. Being a ruin and all, Jessica and I weren't too disappointed. We were more disappointed to find out that the story about the kitchen of the castle falling into the sea was likely not true.

Ireland is a small, exquisite, beautiful land. I'm saddened by the immigration that is taking place. So many of its people are leaving to find work in other countries - a historical problem. If you are Irish and reading this and you aren't living in Ireland, please go back. I really think Ireland needs you. From what I saw and learned about Ireland there are loads of reasons to be proud and we have to keep that going by keeping as many Irish in Ireland. Beside, your accent (if your national pride keeps the accent) is much too difficult to understand.