It was definitely springtime in Provence.
It was definitely springtime in Provence.
It was definitely springtime in Provence.
Zak learns to bullfight.
Coliseum in Nimes.
Nimes was our homebase for the trip. It wasn't the most exciting town, kind of a hub, but it does have this Roman arena, Les Arenes, which was built in 50 A.D. And for those who were curious as to what the big draw to Nimes was, it was bullfighting in the arena. No Mary Kay World Convention. Damn. I needed some moisturizer.
The Forbidden Fruit
This is a shot I like to call, "The Forbidden Fruit." Ah, carbs. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. This is a patisserie in Nimes.
Zak tries to find the Pont du Gard aquaduct. Being a man, he won't ask for directions. I have a feeling we're close, though.
The Pont du Gard aquaduct is a World Heritage site run by very nice people who told me my French was beautiful.
The aquaduct was built in 90 A.D. This is the largest remaining part of the ancient water system.
Me. In case you couldn't tell.
I love the reflection the aquaduct made in the river below. We lucked out with beautiful weather.
Pity Breaks Open the Heart
On Sunday, the English National Opera (orchestra and chorus) gave a benefit performance of "A Child of Our Time," by Michael Tippett, at St. Paul's Cathedral, as a memorial for victims of the tsunami. Gjertrud and I lined up outside St. Paul's at about 4:30, just as the light was fading. By 5:00, when the doors were meant to open, there were hundreds of people lined up down Fleet Street. It was brisk, but clear, so we weren't standing miserably in the rain, and we managed to get great seats, right under the mammoth dome. It was the first time either of us had been inside St. Paul's, and we spent the better part of the hour before the service began craning our necks to look at all of the detail in the frescoes and carvings throughout the cathedral. The place was packed by the time the service started; I don't think I've ever said the Lord's Prayer with so many people before.
"A Child of Our Time" is about Kristallnacht and the persecution of Jewish people during World War II, but its sadness, and final message of hope, was more than fitting to mark the occasion of the tsunami, which was of also a tragedy of incomprehensible scope and scale:
Is evil then good?
Is reason untrue?
Reason is true to itself;
But pity breaks open the heart.
The English National Opera orchestra and chorus (and soloists for that matter!) were incredible, and their sound resonated through the cathedral. The 1000-plus audience, including the kids who sat directly in front of us, were riveted. Nobody moved, no one rustled a program, nothing. The piece is so powerful, and the soloists were so engaging, that we were all wrapped up in the moment. When they finished, the whole gathering sat in silence for a minute, in contemplation, before beginning the thunderous applause. I saw alot of tears on my way out of the cathedral. I'm sure there were alot of happy UNICEF volunteers that night, who were placed at each door with donation buckets at the end of the evening.
The piece is a narrative, between a mother and son separated in the pogroms, woven around African-American spirituals. "A Child of Our Time" is a wonderful modern requiem, in that it invokes the suffering of so many times and places; the holocaust, slavery (and in the music of that time, the Hebrews' exodus), and now, the tsunami. Suffering is universal, and ageless. But what I loved is the final, comforting message of the work:
Here is no final grieving, but an abiding hope.
It seems, then, that hope and redemption are universal, too.
The final spiritual:
Deep river, my home is over Jordan,
Deep river Lord,
I want to cross over into camp-ground.
O, chillun! O, don't you want to go,
To that gospel feast,
That promised land,
That land where all is peace?
Walk into heaven, and take my seat,
And cast down my crown at Jesus' feet.
Deep river, my home is over Jordon,
I want to cross over into camp-ground,
Lord!
"A Child of Our Time" is about Kristallnacht and the persecution of Jewish people during World War II, but its sadness, and final message of hope, was more than fitting to mark the occasion of the tsunami, which was of also a tragedy of incomprehensible scope and scale:
Is evil then good?
Is reason untrue?
Reason is true to itself;
But pity breaks open the heart.
The English National Opera orchestra and chorus (and soloists for that matter!) were incredible, and their sound resonated through the cathedral. The 1000-plus audience, including the kids who sat directly in front of us, were riveted. Nobody moved, no one rustled a program, nothing. The piece is so powerful, and the soloists were so engaging, that we were all wrapped up in the moment. When they finished, the whole gathering sat in silence for a minute, in contemplation, before beginning the thunderous applause. I saw alot of tears on my way out of the cathedral. I'm sure there were alot of happy UNICEF volunteers that night, who were placed at each door with donation buckets at the end of the evening.
The piece is a narrative, between a mother and son separated in the pogroms, woven around African-American spirituals. "A Child of Our Time" is a wonderful modern requiem, in that it invokes the suffering of so many times and places; the holocaust, slavery (and in the music of that time, the Hebrews' exodus), and now, the tsunami. Suffering is universal, and ageless. But what I loved is the final, comforting message of the work:
Here is no final grieving, but an abiding hope.
It seems, then, that hope and redemption are universal, too.
The final spiritual:
Deep river, my home is over Jordan,
Deep river Lord,
I want to cross over into camp-ground.
O, chillun! O, don't you want to go,
To that gospel feast,
That promised land,
That land where all is peace?
Walk into heaven, and take my seat,
And cast down my crown at Jesus' feet.
Deep river, my home is over Jordon,
I want to cross over into camp-ground,
Lord!
On the Road Again
I've been back in London almost a month, and I'm appreciating it more and more everyday. As the days get longer and there's more light, and as each day passes without a torrential downpour, I feel a little more attached to this big city. Still, it's time to get out for awhile.
My friend Zak and I decided we wanted to take a trip. Originally, we thought Budapest, as Zak is Hungarian and wanted to go in search of his roots. I wanted to go along to laugh at him as he searched for his roots. You know. Anyways, HowthehelldotheymakemoneyAir doesn't fly there, and we couldn't get cheap enough tickets. So I started poking around for cheaper flights to other destinations. I thought 99 pence to Stockholm, plus fuel tax, was pretty good. Zak was absolutely certain he could find cheaper and I was frankly a little miffed, so I said, "whatever, if you can do better, do better."
Well, he did. He managed to find us tickets to Provence for next weekend, for 10 pounds each. RETURN. TOTAL. RyanAir has sunk to a new low when the ticket costs 1 pence (pent? cent?), and they eat the fuel tax, except for 5 pounds. I mean, WHAT?! C'mon. I decided not to be miffed anymore. Zak is the new king of Budget Travel. So we're going to Nimes, in Provence, which is the birthplace of denim and Perrier. It's built near the old Roman city of Gaul, so there are lots of pretty amphitheatres and aquaducts that will make for nice pics, I'm sure.
The only problem is, something FISHY might be happening in Nimes that weekend. Every hostel and bed and breakfast was booked SOLID, but JUST for that weekend. They were all available at any other time during the month of February, but not the weekend that we'll be there. We eventually found a budget hotel near the city centre that had room for us (god, we sound like Mary and Joseph or something). I'm just worried that it's going to turn out that the World Satanists Convention or the Mary Kay World Summit or the Association of Needlepointers' Annual Meeting or something. Stay tuned for more details...
My friend Zak and I decided we wanted to take a trip. Originally, we thought Budapest, as Zak is Hungarian and wanted to go in search of his roots. I wanted to go along to laugh at him as he searched for his roots. You know. Anyways, HowthehelldotheymakemoneyAir doesn't fly there, and we couldn't get cheap enough tickets. So I started poking around for cheaper flights to other destinations. I thought 99 pence to Stockholm, plus fuel tax, was pretty good. Zak was absolutely certain he could find cheaper and I was frankly a little miffed, so I said, "whatever, if you can do better, do better."
Well, he did. He managed to find us tickets to Provence for next weekend, for 10 pounds each. RETURN. TOTAL. RyanAir has sunk to a new low when the ticket costs 1 pence (pent? cent?), and they eat the fuel tax, except for 5 pounds. I mean, WHAT?! C'mon. I decided not to be miffed anymore. Zak is the new king of Budget Travel. So we're going to Nimes, in Provence, which is the birthplace of denim and Perrier. It's built near the old Roman city of Gaul, so there are lots of pretty amphitheatres and aquaducts that will make for nice pics, I'm sure.
The only problem is, something FISHY might be happening in Nimes that weekend. Every hostel and bed and breakfast was booked SOLID, but JUST for that weekend. They were all available at any other time during the month of February, but not the weekend that we'll be there. We eventually found a budget hotel near the city centre that had room for us (god, we sound like Mary and Joseph or something). I'm just worried that it's going to turn out that the World Satanists Convention or the Mary Kay World Summit or the Association of Needlepointers' Annual Meeting or something. Stay tuned for more details...
I love this installation outside Ernst and Young's buildings at MoreLondon, on the South Bank. What, did they run out of trees? Did they think we didn't notice, oh, in autumn, or at night? "Oh look, that one tree is glowing neon!" It reminds me of that song from Sesame Street, "One of these things is not like the others, two of these things are kinda the same..."