11 August 2005
Set off to somewhere called Huijbergen in the Netherlands - but the Convent where I should have found the madonna appears to be closed, the windows were boarded up and there was a "for sale" sign.
So off to Leiden to spend a glorious day in the Museum. A long drive, not helped by getting thoroughly lost in Den Haag (a city that doesn't believe in direction signs). After a couple of hours there, including a wrong turning which involved paying nearly 2 Euros to get out of a car par I never wanted to enter in the first place, I finally reach the campsite I've been looking for - very near Leiden. A disapproving woman took my money and grudgingly allowed me to camp on her site. The longed-for cup of coffee wasn't to be had as the camping shop had sold me the wrong gas cylinder, so I went to bed with a bottle of water and a bag of crisps. To look on the bright side, after the baptism of fire that Den Haag proved, at least when driving I no longer have heart failure every time I have to turn left or approach a roundabout.
The Dogon
12 August 2005
There was a massive thunderstorm in the night and the family in the next tent, who seemed to have every possible mod con (including what looked like a freezer and a microwave) had their radio or TV on half the night and switched channels every five minutes to make sure I did't get too bored.
There are lots of museums in Leiden and I decided to visit the Ethnographic museum first, basically because it was the nearest, but also because I spotted a poster for their temporary exhibition on the Dogon (who live in Mali) and produce beautiful artwork (see below). Most people have heard of them in connection with the star Sirius, which apparently they knew about when "discovered" by westerners. I was disturbed, but not surprised to hear that Dogon art is highly prized and sold for vast sums - but that little of this money finds it way back to the people.
There was so much to see that I never even got to the Ancient History Museum (whole purpose of visit!), so decided to stay another night and go for it tomorrow.
There was a massive thunderstorm in the night and the family in the next tent, who seemed to have every possible mod con (including what looked like a freezer and a microwave) had their radio or TV on half the night and switched channels every five minutes to make sure I did't get too bored.
There are lots of museums in Leiden and I decided to visit the Ethnographic museum first, basically because it was the nearest, but also because I spotted a poster for their temporary exhibition on the Dogon (who live in Mali) and produce beautiful artwork (see below). Most people have heard of them in connection with the star Sirius, which apparently they knew about when "discovered" by westerners. I was disturbed, but not surprised to hear that Dogon art is highly prized and sold for vast sums - but that little of this money finds it way back to the people.
There was so much to see that I never even got to the Ancient History Museum (whole purpose of visit!), so decided to stay another night and go for it tomorrow.
Waterworld
13 August 2005
I always forget how good it is to be near the water so much of the time - and I think this contributes to my love/hate relationship with Leiden. After living here for a few months in the early 90s, I often think of visiting so this is a great excuse.
Essentially, Leiden is a Renaissance town - probably the closest equivalent in Britain is Oxford. It has, perhaps, a similar mixture of respectable burgers and more-or-less scruffy students. Staying until today meant I could browse around the market and indulge once more in my favourite chips with peanut sauce. I eyed up the stroopwaffels (syrup wafers), served freshly made and hot but perhaps I've got too old for such delights, the smell was too sweet and sickly for me today.
I forgot how you take your life in your hands crossing the road - not the cars but the incredible number of bikes. The lethal quotient of these are now enhanced by a fair number of "bromfietsers" - bikes with little motors. They come at you from every possible direction and some that seem impossible. I sat outside a cafe with some freshly pressed juice and watched bikes being apparently abandoned - left in rows, most unlocked. As impatient shoppers push through the row of bikes quickly becomes a random heap.
Once in the museum, I headed straight for the Netherlands history section and found a dozen or so large stone altars, all dedicated to Nehalennia. I'd come a long way to see these altars, and the real stone, there where I could touch it, was too much and I felt my eyes fill up again ....
The Ancient History Museum is another seductive place ... again, it took most of the day and I didn't see everything. Feet aching, longing for a hot bath and camera batteries depleted again, I gave up for the day.
I always forget how good it is to be near the water so much of the time - and I think this contributes to my love/hate relationship with Leiden. After living here for a few months in the early 90s, I often think of visiting so this is a great excuse.
Essentially, Leiden is a Renaissance town - probably the closest equivalent in Britain is Oxford. It has, perhaps, a similar mixture of respectable burgers and more-or-less scruffy students. Staying until today meant I could browse around the market and indulge once more in my favourite chips with peanut sauce. I eyed up the stroopwaffels (syrup wafers), served freshly made and hot but perhaps I've got too old for such delights, the smell was too sweet and sickly for me today.
I forgot how you take your life in your hands crossing the road - not the cars but the incredible number of bikes. The lethal quotient of these are now enhanced by a fair number of "bromfietsers" - bikes with little motors. They come at you from every possible direction and some that seem impossible. I sat outside a cafe with some freshly pressed juice and watched bikes being apparently abandoned - left in rows, most unlocked. As impatient shoppers push through the row of bikes quickly becomes a random heap.
Once in the museum, I headed straight for the Netherlands history section and found a dozen or so large stone altars, all dedicated to Nehalennia. I'd come a long way to see these altars, and the real stone, there where I could touch it, was too much and I felt my eyes fill up again ....
The Ancient History Museum is another seductive place ... again, it took most of the day and I didn't see everything. Feet aching, longing for a hot bath and camera batteries depleted again, I gave up for the day.
Ardennes and Champagne
14 August 2005
Long drive from Leiden to Rheims, made somewhat longer by managing to miss Brussels ring road, so drove right through - still, Sunday morning, wasn't too bad. Direction signs were useless again but I headed due south - the sun helped - and soon found the way again.
Was rewarded on arrival at Walcourt - the Basilique de St Materne.
Isn't she beautiful? I have an awful temptation, if I ever find myself alone with a Black Madonna again, to peep under her frock. If you can make out the small picture above, she is most definitely dark of skin but the robe looks awkward, wrapped as it is around the infant Jesus. Isis said "My veil no-one has lifted" so I'm not sure if I dare ... the only reasons I can think of for the robe to be fitted in this way are (a) she is naked, or (b) she has obvious pagan symbols below the robe.
I had the same reaction to this madonna as to the one in Dunkerque - breath caught, almost in tears. What I feel is recognition - but why and how?
I loved this place in Walcourt. My favourite things, beside the Lady, were the vending machine for postcards and other souvenirs - the kind that you would normally buy Mars Bars and packets of crisps from - and the statue below - does anyone know who she is? There was no indication on or near the statue. I was struck by the resemblance to Atargatis, the lovely goddess with a city on her head, in token that she (like Inanna) has the attributes of civilization in her gift.
Walcourt is quite near the French border and it wasn't long before I was in the Ardennes and heading for Avioth and another Basilique. This one was very popular with tourists, lots of people and a whole crocodile of nuns were in attendance. I was disappointed to see that this madonna has obviously been whitened, although if you look at the picture closely there are signs of this.
Also, there are postcards on sale in the church (in a much more sophisticated vending machine) showing her as much darker, as well as a set with the paler features. Interestingly, this madonna didn't have the usual effect on me.
Driving through the Ardennes I was aware of the landscape; rounded hills and rich farmland. I passed at least seven roadside shrines - every one was to the virgin. I wondered about Shakespeare's Forest of Arden and wished I could spend more time here; there is something of the grail in this place; I can't explain exactly. But this is so much the Lady's country.
Reading several books about Sicily has made me want to spend more time there so I'm reluctantly cutting out several black madonnas from the itinerary. So far I've driven myself quite hard and need to remember that this is supposed to be a holiday!
Long drive from Leiden to Rheims, made somewhat longer by managing to miss Brussels ring road, so drove right through - still, Sunday morning, wasn't too bad. Direction signs were useless again but I headed due south - the sun helped - and soon found the way again.
Was rewarded on arrival at Walcourt - the Basilique de St Materne.
Isn't she beautiful? I have an awful temptation, if I ever find myself alone with a Black Madonna again, to peep under her frock. If you can make out the small picture above, she is most definitely dark of skin but the robe looks awkward, wrapped as it is around the infant Jesus. Isis said "My veil no-one has lifted" so I'm not sure if I dare ... the only reasons I can think of for the robe to be fitted in this way are (a) she is naked, or (b) she has obvious pagan symbols below the robe.
I had the same reaction to this madonna as to the one in Dunkerque - breath caught, almost in tears. What I feel is recognition - but why and how?
I loved this place in Walcourt. My favourite things, beside the Lady, were the vending machine for postcards and other souvenirs - the kind that you would normally buy Mars Bars and packets of crisps from - and the statue below - does anyone know who she is? There was no indication on or near the statue. I was struck by the resemblance to Atargatis, the lovely goddess with a city on her head, in token that she (like Inanna) has the attributes of civilization in her gift.
Walcourt is quite near the French border and it wasn't long before I was in the Ardennes and heading for Avioth and another Basilique. This one was very popular with tourists, lots of people and a whole crocodile of nuns were in attendance. I was disappointed to see that this madonna has obviously been whitened, although if you look at the picture closely there are signs of this.
Also, there are postcards on sale in the church (in a much more sophisticated vending machine) showing her as much darker, as well as a set with the paler features. Interestingly, this madonna didn't have the usual effect on me.
Driving through the Ardennes I was aware of the landscape; rounded hills and rich farmland. I passed at least seven roadside shrines - every one was to the virgin. I wondered about Shakespeare's Forest of Arden and wished I could spend more time here; there is something of the grail in this place; I can't explain exactly. But this is so much the Lady's country.
Reading several books about Sicily has made me want to spend more time there so I'm reluctantly cutting out several black madonnas from the itinerary. So far I've driven myself quite hard and need to remember that this is supposed to be a holiday!
Frustration .... and cheese
15 August 2005
Drove down to the wonderfully-named Troyes - France is big! I thought I must be a long way south until I checked the map and found I'm not that far from Paris! Into champagne country, although I didn't see any vines at all so far.
Finally arrived at Chatillon-sur-Seine, about 50 miles south of Troyes, and had a frustrating time looking for Notre Dame des Graces. Turns out that she is not these days normally kept in the little church now dedicated to St Pierre (formerly the church of the Notre Dame abbey, built in the 12th century) but is in the church of St Vorles, but that, the old woman who seemed to be looking after the church told me, is closed. She didn't speak any English and my French wasn't up to understanding exactly why it was shut down. I went to see, but there was no sign of repairs going on. Odd. Even odder was the wall just opposite this little church, in a large car park. For no apparent reason there are three cows heads sculpted on a wall with no other purpose. Here they are:
The "sensible" explanation might be that this is where the market is held - certainly the car park is large enough. But a closer look at the cow on the right revealed strange markings:
Sure, I get the alpha and omega - but what of the signs on the left of the picture??
Well, I wasn't going to solve this one in an afternoon and was looking forward to visiting Auxerre, which has amazing pagan roots. Today was a bank holiday in France and everything was closed, so no maps, no tourist centres, no help at all. No-one I asked had heard of the church or any Notre Dame or miraculous statue in the area. I do have a plan for finding these churches already - normally I head for the top of the highest hill and failing that, for the oldest part of the town. Then I drive around at random and ask women of middle-age and above. Nothing worked. Discouraged, I gave up, having driven a hundred-mile round trip.
Still, I did see lots of fascinating buildings and ruins, both Roman and medieval - of course, no Reformation means there is lots more to see for the ancient history fan. I also drove through the village of Chablis and was rewarded with the sight of endless rows of vines. Now, all I know about viticulture (why isn't it viniculture?) you could write on a postage stamp, but even I could see that these grapes must like well-drained soil and a position on the side of a hill, not too steep. The soil looked gravelly and very pale. For miles and miles, there was nothing else growing, except the ubiquitious fields of sunflowers on flatter ground and the odd cabbage in cottage gardens.
I noticed from signs on the road that I was following a famous wine-tasting route. Not much good to me! Perhaps I imagined, when I finally stopped to eat tonight, the slight curl of the waiter's lip as I ordered an Orangina to go with my beautifully cooked meal, and drank the same with the plat du fromage that followed?
Incidentally, if French restaurants can manage to serve cheese at room temperature, why can't we?
Drove down to the wonderfully-named Troyes - France is big! I thought I must be a long way south until I checked the map and found I'm not that far from Paris! Into champagne country, although I didn't see any vines at all so far.
Finally arrived at Chatillon-sur-Seine, about 50 miles south of Troyes, and had a frustrating time looking for Notre Dame des Graces. Turns out that she is not these days normally kept in the little church now dedicated to St Pierre (formerly the church of the Notre Dame abbey, built in the 12th century) but is in the church of St Vorles, but that, the old woman who seemed to be looking after the church told me, is closed. She didn't speak any English and my French wasn't up to understanding exactly why it was shut down. I went to see, but there was no sign of repairs going on. Odd. Even odder was the wall just opposite this little church, in a large car park. For no apparent reason there are three cows heads sculpted on a wall with no other purpose. Here they are:
The "sensible" explanation might be that this is where the market is held - certainly the car park is large enough. But a closer look at the cow on the right revealed strange markings:
Sure, I get the alpha and omega - but what of the signs on the left of the picture??
Well, I wasn't going to solve this one in an afternoon and was looking forward to visiting Auxerre, which has amazing pagan roots. Today was a bank holiday in France and everything was closed, so no maps, no tourist centres, no help at all. No-one I asked had heard of the church or any Notre Dame or miraculous statue in the area. I do have a plan for finding these churches already - normally I head for the top of the highest hill and failing that, for the oldest part of the town. Then I drive around at random and ask women of middle-age and above. Nothing worked. Discouraged, I gave up, having driven a hundred-mile round trip.
Still, I did see lots of fascinating buildings and ruins, both Roman and medieval - of course, no Reformation means there is lots more to see for the ancient history fan. I also drove through the village of Chablis and was rewarded with the sight of endless rows of vines. Now, all I know about viticulture (why isn't it viniculture?) you could write on a postage stamp, but even I could see that these grapes must like well-drained soil and a position on the side of a hill, not too steep. The soil looked gravelly and very pale. For miles and miles, there was nothing else growing, except the ubiquitious fields of sunflowers on flatter ground and the odd cabbage in cottage gardens.
I noticed from signs on the road that I was following a famous wine-tasting route. Not much good to me! Perhaps I imagined, when I finally stopped to eat tonight, the slight curl of the waiter's lip as I ordered an Orangina to go with my beautifully cooked meal, and drank the same with the plat du fromage that followed?
Incidentally, if French restaurants can manage to serve cheese at room temperature, why can't we?
Tales of brave Ulysses
19 August 2005
I had my Cream CD playing as I drove into Ancona, on the Italian Adriatic, and the above track started up just as the bay came into view. A wonderful choice - the place seems redolent of romance, an azure sea (not, so far, wine-dark), easy to imagine heroes arriving here, or of the sad defeated ones from Troy looking about for somewhere new to bring their Goddess and start again.
But I'm getting a bit ahead of the story ... have had a series of problems getting online so here's the catching up, unfortunately without photos until I can get them uploaded:
Tuesday 16 August
Not a great deal to say about today - I drove from Troyes to Avignon and took a side trip to Mazan, where there is apparently at least one black madonna. However, the church, as I'd half expected, was closed. Some women told me that it only opens for an hour in the afternoon every day. But the town itself was very odd, with an atmosphere I can't describe. Not altogether friendly. I'll come back to this subject, I hope.
Wednesday 17 August
Up at dawn, excited, to visit Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer in the Camargue. I was at first not that impressed - the Camargue looked a little bit like the Somerset Levels. But, as the Levels do, the place quickly grew on me and I was thrilled to see a whole flock (if that is the right word) of pink flamingoes in a stretch of water very close to the sea.
The church itself is extraordinary - probably unique. Built like a fortress and indeed has been one in the past, much assisted by the fresh water spring found inside it, there is a crypt containing a statue of "Sainte Sara" - in fact, Sara-Kali, Goddess of the Gypsies. To this day, Gypsies retain ancient rights in this crypt, including that of dressing the statue, which they do in many colours.
This is a rather "arty" photo, I liked the effect with the nearby candle flames. There's another below, you can perhaps see her a little better:
There is also a large painting of the arrival of the two eponymous Maries, by boat from Palestine, miraculously as they had no oars, rudder or sails. Like a double Aphrodite, they appeared in this strange spot, and began to preach to the local people.
Interestingly, I read that the town was once sacred to a triple Goddess comprising Isis, Artemis and Hecate. Outside the church (and passed over very quickly by the English language guide that I read) is a lion in relief. There is also a pagan altar in the church and a hand of Fatima in a display cabinet, along with other remains.
This is what remains of the lion - interesting how often she is associated with the dark mother:
It occurs to me also that the whole spot has a very lunar feel - the white Camargue horses and posters advertising bullfights; in the souvenir shops are bull and horse pictures and pottery. Both, of course, are lunar animals.
Below is supposed to be the pillow of the two Saintes Marie. It looks more like an ear to me ... perhaps we can whisper our secrets to the compassionate Mother?
Finally, to show that the cult is alive and well, the picture below is of a modern piece, apparently given to the people of the Camargue by the artist:
I might try to visit again on my return. But for now, had to move on, so took the motorway route along the coast to Italy. An amazing experience in itself. I had expected a few tunnels, after all, this is the spot where the Alps meet the Mediterranean, but I lost count after thirty-five or so, and there were just as many dizzying overpasses. This is one heck of a feat of engineering, the tunnels go all the way to Genoa and beyond, must have cost billions. Another thing I quickly became accustomed to was the existence of houses and whole villages just above the tunnels - often with neat, terraced gardens running down almost to the top of the entrance. How adaptable we humans are!
As usual, the Italian frontier passed without any apparent restriction to free movement. I suppose my nervousness about passing this particular frontier comes from childhood. In 1963 we visited Italy by train and I still remember being terrified of the stern "policemen" - as I thought of them - who boarded the train every so often and barked instructions at everyone. Now there are seemingly no borders and I appreciate not having constantly to change money and/or be interrogated, but I do wonder about the price we're paying.
The other thing that I noticed immediately in Italy is that Italian drivers are exactly as the generalization goes. Maximum speeds are universally ignored - I'm driving along at the speed limit (when I can figure out what it is) and someone passes me so fast that the car rocks. They must be doing at least 130 miles per hour. If you drive too slowly (ie at the speed limit) and have the temerity to pull out to pass a slow lorry or string of caravans, they come up behind to about three inches distance, hooting and flashing. Terrifying is the only word I can think of to describe this, and very tiring, I've found.
In fact, if I ever make a trip like this again, I want someone to ride shotgun - act as navigator, save me from running round the car every time we reach one of the many left-hand-drive automated motorway tolls, and gesture at Italian drivers (they use both hands and I don't dare!) Interested? Let me know - of course, you get to pay your own expenses!
Service stations on the motorways are so different from ours, and I do like them. There are no prepacked sandwiches but a kind of mini-shop that puts our delicatessens to shame, selling good bread, cheese and ham. You have to queue twice (once to pay, once to show the barista your ticket) to get a coffee, but it is excellent when it comes, as are the home-made sandwiches and pastries. Large groups of Italians stand around, spilling out into the sun, talking, laughing, cuddling babies and children. A far cry from the miserable, portion-controlled service stations of British motorways.
Apart from getting horribly lost on the hills above Bologna, where hairpin bends on dizzying heights were mercifully obscured by the growing darkness, not much else to report from today. I did have the privilege of watching a hare from my terrifying eyrie, though.
Thursday 18 August
A day off - that is, I only drove about 150 miles instead of the more usual 400. Checked out the beach at Senigallia, a little way up the coast from Ancona - but mile upon mile of cars, hotels and greased Italian and German tourists made me beat a hasty retreat.
Signing off for now - pictures to come soon.
I had my Cream CD playing as I drove into Ancona, on the Italian Adriatic, and the above track started up just as the bay came into view. A wonderful choice - the place seems redolent of romance, an azure sea (not, so far, wine-dark), easy to imagine heroes arriving here, or of the sad defeated ones from Troy looking about for somewhere new to bring their Goddess and start again.
But I'm getting a bit ahead of the story ... have had a series of problems getting online so here's the catching up, unfortunately without photos until I can get them uploaded:
Tuesday 16 August
Not a great deal to say about today - I drove from Troyes to Avignon and took a side trip to Mazan, where there is apparently at least one black madonna. However, the church, as I'd half expected, was closed. Some women told me that it only opens for an hour in the afternoon every day. But the town itself was very odd, with an atmosphere I can't describe. Not altogether friendly. I'll come back to this subject, I hope.
Wednesday 17 August
Up at dawn, excited, to visit Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer in the Camargue. I was at first not that impressed - the Camargue looked a little bit like the Somerset Levels. But, as the Levels do, the place quickly grew on me and I was thrilled to see a whole flock (if that is the right word) of pink flamingoes in a stretch of water very close to the sea.
The church itself is extraordinary - probably unique. Built like a fortress and indeed has been one in the past, much assisted by the fresh water spring found inside it, there is a crypt containing a statue of "Sainte Sara" - in fact, Sara-Kali, Goddess of the Gypsies. To this day, Gypsies retain ancient rights in this crypt, including that of dressing the statue, which they do in many colours.
This is a rather "arty" photo, I liked the effect with the nearby candle flames. There's another below, you can perhaps see her a little better:
There is also a large painting of the arrival of the two eponymous Maries, by boat from Palestine, miraculously as they had no oars, rudder or sails. Like a double Aphrodite, they appeared in this strange spot, and began to preach to the local people.
Interestingly, I read that the town was once sacred to a triple Goddess comprising Isis, Artemis and Hecate. Outside the church (and passed over very quickly by the English language guide that I read) is a lion in relief. There is also a pagan altar in the church and a hand of Fatima in a display cabinet, along with other remains.
This is what remains of the lion - interesting how often she is associated with the dark mother:
It occurs to me also that the whole spot has a very lunar feel - the white Camargue horses and posters advertising bullfights; in the souvenir shops are bull and horse pictures and pottery. Both, of course, are lunar animals.
Below is supposed to be the pillow of the two Saintes Marie. It looks more like an ear to me ... perhaps we can whisper our secrets to the compassionate Mother?
Finally, to show that the cult is alive and well, the picture below is of a modern piece, apparently given to the people of the Camargue by the artist:
I might try to visit again on my return. But for now, had to move on, so took the motorway route along the coast to Italy. An amazing experience in itself. I had expected a few tunnels, after all, this is the spot where the Alps meet the Mediterranean, but I lost count after thirty-five or so, and there were just as many dizzying overpasses. This is one heck of a feat of engineering, the tunnels go all the way to Genoa and beyond, must have cost billions. Another thing I quickly became accustomed to was the existence of houses and whole villages just above the tunnels - often with neat, terraced gardens running down almost to the top of the entrance. How adaptable we humans are!
As usual, the Italian frontier passed without any apparent restriction to free movement. I suppose my nervousness about passing this particular frontier comes from childhood. In 1963 we visited Italy by train and I still remember being terrified of the stern "policemen" - as I thought of them - who boarded the train every so often and barked instructions at everyone. Now there are seemingly no borders and I appreciate not having constantly to change money and/or be interrogated, but I do wonder about the price we're paying.
The other thing that I noticed immediately in Italy is that Italian drivers are exactly as the generalization goes. Maximum speeds are universally ignored - I'm driving along at the speed limit (when I can figure out what it is) and someone passes me so fast that the car rocks. They must be doing at least 130 miles per hour. If you drive too slowly (ie at the speed limit) and have the temerity to pull out to pass a slow lorry or string of caravans, they come up behind to about three inches distance, hooting and flashing. Terrifying is the only word I can think of to describe this, and very tiring, I've found.
In fact, if I ever make a trip like this again, I want someone to ride shotgun - act as navigator, save me from running round the car every time we reach one of the many left-hand-drive automated motorway tolls, and gesture at Italian drivers (they use both hands and I don't dare!) Interested? Let me know - of course, you get to pay your own expenses!
Service stations on the motorways are so different from ours, and I do like them. There are no prepacked sandwiches but a kind of mini-shop that puts our delicatessens to shame, selling good bread, cheese and ham. You have to queue twice (once to pay, once to show the barista your ticket) to get a coffee, but it is excellent when it comes, as are the home-made sandwiches and pastries. Large groups of Italians stand around, spilling out into the sun, talking, laughing, cuddling babies and children. A far cry from the miserable, portion-controlled service stations of British motorways.
Apart from getting horribly lost on the hills above Bologna, where hairpin bends on dizzying heights were mercifully obscured by the growing darkness, not much else to report from today. I did have the privilege of watching a hare from my terrifying eyrie, though.
Thursday 18 August
A day off - that is, I only drove about 150 miles instead of the more usual 400. Checked out the beach at Senigallia, a little way up the coast from Ancona - but mile upon mile of cars, hotels and greased Italian and German tourists made me beat a hasty retreat.
Signing off for now - pictures to come soon.
Loreto and the Beautiful South
20 August 2005
I was very disappointed with Loreto - it is just too big, too grand and too full of Catholic tat in appalling taste. This is where Mary's house in Palestine is supposed to have miraculously appeared by means unknown. Others say that a local family paid for the house to be transported, stone by stone, during or soon after the Crusades. Apparently some archeologists are convinced that it is a genuine house from Palestine of the correct era, but of course no-one can prove whose house it once was.
Either way, the house is now completed covered in marble, statues, tourists and "do not" signs. (I'm having problems with this keyboard, the letters appear to be mostly Arabic so I can't find some punctuation marks, by the way.)
There were some really devout people at this huge place. And the Madonna? Well, for some reason she just didn't affect me, perhaps because I felt too far removed, there were layers of glass and a lot of distance between us punters and the Lady. But she is certainly very dark of skin. Photographs weren't allowed, and there were many people about; it would have felt extremely disrespectful to start snapping away. I contented myself with reading the English guidebook, which told me that the statue was black because of centuries of candle smoke, then went on to say that the present statue was replaced in 1921 and "unfortunately" the artist made her black again. Unfortunately? Disregarding the racist implication of this, it is an odd statement. Surely the artist was briefed better? Perhaps s/he simply assumed that the Madonna was black because the church liked her that way? Or because it is well-known that she should be black? There are no answers, of course, only questions.
Incidentally, if these Madonnas turn black because of candle smoke, why are so many equally ancient ones very white and pink after centuries?
I did buy a tiny statue of the Madonna, for a Catholic friend. Also a cute little Pinnochio puppet for my grandson .... then left as quickly as possible. I drove south, about 150 miles, having found a ridiculously cheap hotel room in a place called San Giovanni Rotondo, which turns out to be another place of pilgrimage - to a Padre Pio, of whom I must confess I had never heard. Turned out also to be in the middle of nowhere - there's always a major snag with these bargain rooms! Once more I found myself clinging to the side of a mountain in deepening dusk. Anyway, apparently, Padre Pio was a Capuchin monk who received the stigmata and went on to become a great healer and miracle worker. He was due to be canonized, I'm not sure whether that has happened yet. His photo was all over the hotel, and looked rather benevolently over my bed last night - a fabulous room of white tiles, marble and a queen-sized bed, all for a little over 20 GBP (can't find a pound sign anywhere).
The Madonna certainly knows how to pick a good spot - here's a view from nearby:
The south of Italy is very different from the north - much less green and lush, the part I'm in now looks a bit like the arid red landscape of cowboy movies. It also looks much poorer and more sparsely populated, and I'm still a long way from the deep south. But at last, I got to see lemon trees and olive trees!
So now I'm in Manfredonia, which is a tiny bit below the "spur" of Italy's leg, on the Adriatic coast, if you're following this on a map (and if not, why not?!) Was was just taking a photo of the Black Madonna in the church here, prior to wandering about , when the batteries died on my camera and the spares I'd bought in France decided not to work either. I came in search of a battery shop and found this computer shop with one internet machine for hire - great synchronicity!
I'm living a bit hand-to-mouth when it comes to getting online and can't get my photos on here yet, but living in hope!
I was very disappointed with Loreto - it is just too big, too grand and too full of Catholic tat in appalling taste. This is where Mary's house in Palestine is supposed to have miraculously appeared by means unknown. Others say that a local family paid for the house to be transported, stone by stone, during or soon after the Crusades. Apparently some archeologists are convinced that it is a genuine house from Palestine of the correct era, but of course no-one can prove whose house it once was.
Either way, the house is now completed covered in marble, statues, tourists and "do not" signs. (I'm having problems with this keyboard, the letters appear to be mostly Arabic so I can't find some punctuation marks, by the way.)
There were some really devout people at this huge place. And the Madonna? Well, for some reason she just didn't affect me, perhaps because I felt too far removed, there were layers of glass and a lot of distance between us punters and the Lady. But she is certainly very dark of skin. Photographs weren't allowed, and there were many people about; it would have felt extremely disrespectful to start snapping away. I contented myself with reading the English guidebook, which told me that the statue was black because of centuries of candle smoke, then went on to say that the present statue was replaced in 1921 and "unfortunately" the artist made her black again. Unfortunately? Disregarding the racist implication of this, it is an odd statement. Surely the artist was briefed better? Perhaps s/he simply assumed that the Madonna was black because the church liked her that way? Or because it is well-known that she should be black? There are no answers, of course, only questions.
Incidentally, if these Madonnas turn black because of candle smoke, why are so many equally ancient ones very white and pink after centuries?
I did buy a tiny statue of the Madonna, for a Catholic friend. Also a cute little Pinnochio puppet for my grandson .... then left as quickly as possible. I drove south, about 150 miles, having found a ridiculously cheap hotel room in a place called San Giovanni Rotondo, which turns out to be another place of pilgrimage - to a Padre Pio, of whom I must confess I had never heard. Turned out also to be in the middle of nowhere - there's always a major snag with these bargain rooms! Once more I found myself clinging to the side of a mountain in deepening dusk. Anyway, apparently, Padre Pio was a Capuchin monk who received the stigmata and went on to become a great healer and miracle worker. He was due to be canonized, I'm not sure whether that has happened yet. His photo was all over the hotel, and looked rather benevolently over my bed last night - a fabulous room of white tiles, marble and a queen-sized bed, all for a little over 20 GBP (can't find a pound sign anywhere).
The Madonna certainly knows how to pick a good spot - here's a view from nearby:
The south of Italy is very different from the north - much less green and lush, the part I'm in now looks a bit like the arid red landscape of cowboy movies. It also looks much poorer and more sparsely populated, and I'm still a long way from the deep south. But at last, I got to see lemon trees and olive trees!
So now I'm in Manfredonia, which is a tiny bit below the "spur" of Italy's leg, on the Adriatic coast, if you're following this on a map (and if not, why not?!) Was was just taking a photo of the Black Madonna in the church here, prior to wandering about , when the batteries died on my camera and the spares I'd bought in France decided not to work either. I came in search of a battery shop and found this computer shop with one internet machine for hire - great synchronicity!
I'm living a bit hand-to-mouth when it comes to getting online and can't get my photos on here yet, but living in hope!
Ice cream suits, weddings and hassle
23 August 2005
When I returned to the church in Manfredonia with my new batteries there was only time to take one picture as a wedding party was arriving. Here she is, below.
I went outside to join the crowd of onlookers and found myself apparently on the set of a "Godfather" movie. There was the beautiful bride, all in white, with friends, bridesmaids, in all colours but many in smart black. A lone trumpeter followed the procession. As the ceremony proceeded, I noticed a lot of men in ice-cream coloured silk suits standing around outside in the square, vigilant. As I approached my car, one quizzed me and I gave him to understand that I was leaving, didn't want to intrude. He was very happy to hear this and helped me out of the tight parking space. Who were they? My guess is brothers of the bride, perhaps more distant relatives, too. Was my imagination working overtime? Were they there as protection from rival families, or, surely more likely, for tradition, protecting the honour of the bride?
I drove to Lucera next, in search of my next Madonna, in a 12th century cathedral, but unfortunately when I arrived all was boarded up and work going on. I hoped the cathedral would be open anyway, but on walking round found doors locked and scaffolding everywhere. The building was in appalling condition, so I'm glad something is being done, but sad to miss another Madonna.
It was still fairly early so I decided to drive towards Reggio di Calabria (where I take the ferry for Sicily). Eventually I joined the motorway heading for Taranto, where the road begins to follow the instep of Italy, and was driving along minding my own business when a chap in another car started to harrass me - he would pass me, slowing down and making obscene gestures, then slow or even stop until I passed, and repeat the process. I was driving along pretending that nothing was happening, of course. As time went on he was moving closer and closer to the back of my car and I began to get really scared. Would he force me off the road? With this thought came anger - I would NOT be his victim! Part of me - a large part - wanted to stop and confront him, but I realised I probably wouldn't be understood in any case. Dammit, I speak four languages, why the hell don't I know any Italian? I couldn't see how big or old the man was, didn't want to look too closely and he had dark glasses on. In Britain, maybe I would have confronted him in a service area or somewhere else very public, but it just didn't seem like a good idea here.
Exits are infrequent on Italian motorways - probably because of the toll booths on each one - but I got lucky and spotted one coming up just as the man was passed my car again (this had gone on for about 50 miles). Without indicating, I drove off the motorway and performed a series of hair-raising manoeuvres (probably just normal driving to most Italians) and drove off in a random direction.
I was really scared and also surprised - hadn't expected to attract any sort of unwelcome male attention, but clearly my age is less important than my "unprotected" status. Because the unwelcome attention didn't stop there. Today, I got lost in Reggio di Calabria, couldn't find the place I was staying. After an hour, in despair, I saw three old guys round a car and stopped to ask for directions. They looked blank, then one brightened and said something that sounded like "Sigue me", which in Spanish would mean "Follow me". "Si, si, grazie," I said and he got in the car and set off like the clappers. After about half a mile he drew up, jumped out of his car and came to my window - I had started to feel uneasy as this looked like a pretty random stopping place to me. He then started to ask me questions - who was I with, when did I plan to leave, what time would I like dinner ... I kept saying I didn't understand and made sure he saw the wedding ring I'd decided to wear while here. He didn't get it and came closer, breathing beery breath and sweat over me. At this point I lost it a bit - he got some of the anger from yesterday - and yelled at him in Spanish. "What is the matter with you? I'm a grandmother, leave me alone! Act your age!" He stepped back in surprise and I drove off quickly. From the rear window I could see him gesture, as if to say "Women! Who can understand them?"
I don't get it - I am discreet to the point of disappearing, as much as possible. I think it is the foreign car, my long hair (which has got very light in the sun). I've noticed that older Italian women don't wear their hair down, and am considering getting mine cut short when I can find somewhere. I don't want to look, or feel, like prey. This all seems unfair, I have seen young women walking round alone, unmolested, in bikinis.
Pity about all the hassle - it made me forget that on the Adriatic Coast motorway I passed a town with the truly wonderful name of Val Vibrata. Sounds like a minor member of an feminist punk rock band! Calabria is beautiful, as almost everywhere has been. Very mountainous, there are incredible views of sea and mountain all the way down to Reggio and when I finally saw Sicily, I could see that it is no further from Italy than the Isle of Wight from the south coast of England - in fact, not quite so far.
When I returned to the church in Manfredonia with my new batteries there was only time to take one picture as a wedding party was arriving. Here she is, below.
I went outside to join the crowd of onlookers and found myself apparently on the set of a "Godfather" movie. There was the beautiful bride, all in white, with friends, bridesmaids, in all colours but many in smart black. A lone trumpeter followed the procession. As the ceremony proceeded, I noticed a lot of men in ice-cream coloured silk suits standing around outside in the square, vigilant. As I approached my car, one quizzed me and I gave him to understand that I was leaving, didn't want to intrude. He was very happy to hear this and helped me out of the tight parking space. Who were they? My guess is brothers of the bride, perhaps more distant relatives, too. Was my imagination working overtime? Were they there as protection from rival families, or, surely more likely, for tradition, protecting the honour of the bride?
I drove to Lucera next, in search of my next Madonna, in a 12th century cathedral, but unfortunately when I arrived all was boarded up and work going on. I hoped the cathedral would be open anyway, but on walking round found doors locked and scaffolding everywhere. The building was in appalling condition, so I'm glad something is being done, but sad to miss another Madonna.
It was still fairly early so I decided to drive towards Reggio di Calabria (where I take the ferry for Sicily). Eventually I joined the motorway heading for Taranto, where the road begins to follow the instep of Italy, and was driving along minding my own business when a chap in another car started to harrass me - he would pass me, slowing down and making obscene gestures, then slow or even stop until I passed, and repeat the process. I was driving along pretending that nothing was happening, of course. As time went on he was moving closer and closer to the back of my car and I began to get really scared. Would he force me off the road? With this thought came anger - I would NOT be his victim! Part of me - a large part - wanted to stop and confront him, but I realised I probably wouldn't be understood in any case. Dammit, I speak four languages, why the hell don't I know any Italian? I couldn't see how big or old the man was, didn't want to look too closely and he had dark glasses on. In Britain, maybe I would have confronted him in a service area or somewhere else very public, but it just didn't seem like a good idea here.
Exits are infrequent on Italian motorways - probably because of the toll booths on each one - but I got lucky and spotted one coming up just as the man was passed my car again (this had gone on for about 50 miles). Without indicating, I drove off the motorway and performed a series of hair-raising manoeuvres (probably just normal driving to most Italians) and drove off in a random direction.
I was really scared and also surprised - hadn't expected to attract any sort of unwelcome male attention, but clearly my age is less important than my "unprotected" status. Because the unwelcome attention didn't stop there. Today, I got lost in Reggio di Calabria, couldn't find the place I was staying. After an hour, in despair, I saw three old guys round a car and stopped to ask for directions. They looked blank, then one brightened and said something that sounded like "Sigue me", which in Spanish would mean "Follow me". "Si, si, grazie," I said and he got in the car and set off like the clappers. After about half a mile he drew up, jumped out of his car and came to my window - I had started to feel uneasy as this looked like a pretty random stopping place to me. He then started to ask me questions - who was I with, when did I plan to leave, what time would I like dinner ... I kept saying I didn't understand and made sure he saw the wedding ring I'd decided to wear while here. He didn't get it and came closer, breathing beery breath and sweat over me. At this point I lost it a bit - he got some of the anger from yesterday - and yelled at him in Spanish. "What is the matter with you? I'm a grandmother, leave me alone! Act your age!" He stepped back in surprise and I drove off quickly. From the rear window I could see him gesture, as if to say "Women! Who can understand them?"
I don't get it - I am discreet to the point of disappearing, as much as possible. I think it is the foreign car, my long hair (which has got very light in the sun). I've noticed that older Italian women don't wear their hair down, and am considering getting mine cut short when I can find somewhere. I don't want to look, or feel, like prey. This all seems unfair, I have seen young women walking round alone, unmolested, in bikinis.
Pity about all the hassle - it made me forget that on the Adriatic Coast motorway I passed a town with the truly wonderful name of Val Vibrata. Sounds like a minor member of an feminist punk rock band! Calabria is beautiful, as almost everywhere has been. Very mountainous, there are incredible views of sea and mountain all the way down to Reggio and when I finally saw Sicily, I could see that it is no further from Italy than the Isle of Wight from the south coast of England - in fact, not quite so far.
Stomach misbehaving ....
23 August 2005
The ferry to Sicily was uneventful and after disembarking I set off in entirely the wrong direction for the motorway, of course. There's a view from the ferry below:
First stop Modica, near the south coast - the motorway is still under construction a lot of the way, and roads dwindle down until the last 20 miles or so of the drive to Modica is very deserted, very dusty. I could see why, after a while - passed a quarry where what looked like beautiful white marble was being excavated. It is easy to forget that I'm now almost as far south as northern Africa and it is hot, and dusty. I can hear crickets outside right now. There is plenty of green, lots of olive, fig and lemon trees, I believe there are carob trees, but don't know what they look like.
This is the Goddess's land as well, it just feels that way. Again, lots of roadside shrines to the Lady; Madonnas everywhere. I've passed more than one stream called Briga, interestingly. There are so many places I'd love to go to but don't think there will be time. Also, my stomach is complaining about something I've eaten, which is a bit worrying.
The ferry to Sicily was uneventful and after disembarking I set off in entirely the wrong direction for the motorway, of course. There's a view from the ferry below:
First stop Modica, near the south coast - the motorway is still under construction a lot of the way, and roads dwindle down until the last 20 miles or so of the drive to Modica is very deserted, very dusty. I could see why, after a while - passed a quarry where what looked like beautiful white marble was being excavated. It is easy to forget that I'm now almost as far south as northern Africa and it is hot, and dusty. I can hear crickets outside right now. There is plenty of green, lots of olive, fig and lemon trees, I believe there are carob trees, but don't know what they look like.
This is the Goddess's land as well, it just feels that way. Again, lots of roadside shrines to the Lady; Madonnas everywhere. I've passed more than one stream called Briga, interestingly. There are so many places I'd love to go to but don't think there will be time. Also, my stomach is complaining about something I've eaten, which is a bit worrying.
Weeping madonnas
24 August 2005
Wasn't feeling up to scratch on Monday but set out early for Syracuse yesterday. First called into Pozzallo to pay for the ferry to Malta tomorrow. I must admit that I gulped when I saw the size of the catamaran that runs the regular ferry service - it is very small! The journey only takes an hour and a half, apparently this is the fastest ferry in the world. Better check that I have some seasickness tablets!
At Syracuse I couldn't resist the santuary of the weeping madonna. Dubbed an official miracle by the church in the 1960s, this is an ordinary statue of the virgin which apparently wept real tears for several days in 1953. The church did get the fluid tested by a laboratory, which found that the liquid was consistent with human tears. Who knows? The locals have constructed an 800 foot high upturned ice-cream cone over her, (well, that's what it looks like!) complete with a crypt.
In the crypt I was hesitating, wondering how to get down to see interesting ruins (a sign of an earlier place of worship?) when a man came over and asked me in a sort of prayerful manner if I'd like to get down to the lower floor. I was a bit hesitant, but agreed. He set off and half-way down the stairs, took my arm, which was a bit surprising. My firm "No!" made him let go, but then he got even friendlier, so I kicked him and ran away. Should probably have gone to the Information Office and told them they had a creep hanging around but hardly anyone I've met in Sicily speaks any English at all. There also seems to be a great love of filling in forms, and I could imagine completing half a dozen, in triplicate, and maybe trying to explain it all to the local police.
A bit shaken, I went off towards the archeological park, to see the Greek ruins, but my stomach was getting the better of me and I already felt too hot - have got a bit burned, despite taking care. So I decided to leave the ruins until a cooler time of day and visit the Archeological Museum, which was fascinating. Full of images of Demeter and Kore, there must have been a hundred of them to every warrior or god. Photographs not allowed, again, but I got a few sneaky ones .... I was particularly struck by this lovely Goddess (can you see the little person inside her?)
Also by this Gorgon. I believe she is also at the centre of the Sicilian coat-of-arms, which is apparently otherwise almost identical to the one of the Isle of Man. I can't remember the name of it ...
This was my favourite though - I hope you can see it. A beautifully tender Mother Goddess, nursing two infants. She was in a roped off area but I ducked under it, I was so thrilled by her ....
Returning to the car, realized to my horror that I'd left the lights on full after going through a tunnel earlier. In the bright sunlight you don't notice. Of course, the battery was flat. I went to find the car-park attendant to see if he had any jump leads. An elaborate mime and explanation in Spanish, Latin and a bit of French were watched in silence, then he suddenly brightened and started to mouth something. He wanted me to pay for the parking, I think. I finally realized that the poor man was a deaf-mute (surely there is a better expression for this, but I don't know it).
He finally got a colleague, but they just wanted to push me out of the car park and not to be worried about this mad Englishwoman. I let them do so and called the AA European Helpline, they got me a breakdown truck eventually. Not that I needed one, but only a push or jump leads. But forms had to be filled in, passport produced, car documents carefully noted. I had spent quite a while telling the nice Italian helpline operator all about it - thought I'd done quite well until later when I finally found the Italian dictionary and realised I told her that the battery had a vole in it!
Annoyed that I haven't got to see very much yet, but stomach is demanding a rest, I'm dehydrated from sitting in a hot, dead car for a long time and quite frankly don't want to be too far from a loo for the next few hours.
Wasn't feeling up to scratch on Monday but set out early for Syracuse yesterday. First called into Pozzallo to pay for the ferry to Malta tomorrow. I must admit that I gulped when I saw the size of the catamaran that runs the regular ferry service - it is very small! The journey only takes an hour and a half, apparently this is the fastest ferry in the world. Better check that I have some seasickness tablets!
At Syracuse I couldn't resist the santuary of the weeping madonna. Dubbed an official miracle by the church in the 1960s, this is an ordinary statue of the virgin which apparently wept real tears for several days in 1953. The church did get the fluid tested by a laboratory, which found that the liquid was consistent with human tears. Who knows? The locals have constructed an 800 foot high upturned ice-cream cone over her, (well, that's what it looks like!) complete with a crypt.
In the crypt I was hesitating, wondering how to get down to see interesting ruins (a sign of an earlier place of worship?) when a man came over and asked me in a sort of prayerful manner if I'd like to get down to the lower floor. I was a bit hesitant, but agreed. He set off and half-way down the stairs, took my arm, which was a bit surprising. My firm "No!" made him let go, but then he got even friendlier, so I kicked him and ran away. Should probably have gone to the Information Office and told them they had a creep hanging around but hardly anyone I've met in Sicily speaks any English at all. There also seems to be a great love of filling in forms, and I could imagine completing half a dozen, in triplicate, and maybe trying to explain it all to the local police.
A bit shaken, I went off towards the archeological park, to see the Greek ruins, but my stomach was getting the better of me and I already felt too hot - have got a bit burned, despite taking care. So I decided to leave the ruins until a cooler time of day and visit the Archeological Museum, which was fascinating. Full of images of Demeter and Kore, there must have been a hundred of them to every warrior or god. Photographs not allowed, again, but I got a few sneaky ones .... I was particularly struck by this lovely Goddess (can you see the little person inside her?)
Also by this Gorgon. I believe she is also at the centre of the Sicilian coat-of-arms, which is apparently otherwise almost identical to the one of the Isle of Man. I can't remember the name of it ...
This was my favourite though - I hope you can see it. A beautifully tender Mother Goddess, nursing two infants. She was in a roped off area but I ducked under it, I was so thrilled by her ....
Returning to the car, realized to my horror that I'd left the lights on full after going through a tunnel earlier. In the bright sunlight you don't notice. Of course, the battery was flat. I went to find the car-park attendant to see if he had any jump leads. An elaborate mime and explanation in Spanish, Latin and a bit of French were watched in silence, then he suddenly brightened and started to mouth something. He wanted me to pay for the parking, I think. I finally realized that the poor man was a deaf-mute (surely there is a better expression for this, but I don't know it).
He finally got a colleague, but they just wanted to push me out of the car park and not to be worried about this mad Englishwoman. I let them do so and called the AA European Helpline, they got me a breakdown truck eventually. Not that I needed one, but only a push or jump leads. But forms had to be filled in, passport produced, car documents carefully noted. I had spent quite a while telling the nice Italian helpline operator all about it - thought I'd done quite well until later when I finally found the Italian dictionary and realised I told her that the battery had a vole in it!
Annoyed that I haven't got to see very much yet, but stomach is demanding a rest, I'm dehydrated from sitting in a hot, dead car for a long time and quite frankly don't want to be too far from a loo for the next few hours.